ii><':w><¥>»',vr 






^^\ 






\^'^ 



^m 



i% 









fv^*"- 







3^-^V 



A's; ' AtfJBL'^M 






.J.Mw -^^z 






^^^ 



^.^'^ 









>^»5>> ^^ ^ 



r/'J/? 



J..J 

(^A///'^'^ 




>y> 






]:<.(,ic.. 

.I'll a. 

TIk' 1 

1 p. m. 



•i. 15.'t 
the Lilii'ii 
DV of tlio 

3. Xo 
lioiTowcr 

4. Of' 
I if two oi 

5. Th. 
)iroliil)ite 
i)e])aiti)i 

(i. Doi 
iiiiiy at t 
weeks. 

7. Th< 

8. Bo(, 
£=— with ail i 



]0. Ap] 

uses of f 







11. J5o. 

(■])lacc(l 
1-J. AVlicli a liook has been ii'taiiioil by a Ion nweihcyoud two weeks witli' 
irtilied to tlie Disliin siii^ oitieer of tht^ I>eiiaitmeJ 



renewal, its )irie 



nil bi 



ni.l (lediietc'd from the 
i:i. Writiu!.;- on the leav( 



lai y of the ]>ersoii 



utliholdiim it. 



is of books, and the foldini; or turniii'j; do 
of their leaves aic strietly )irohibited : violation of this lille will debar eniplo' 
from further iirivilejics of I lie Library. 

14. Ill seleetiiiii' books from the shelv<'S care nmst be used in handlin;! tl 
reidaeiii" tin 



lot drawn on tli 



■li thev were taken : 



iber of tlie shelf iiiav be ascertained from the label alu 



1"). Employes, 
liooks ill their 



(Hiittiii<j: tin 



>f th<' Deiiartment. nmst return 



po: 



ssion belonuiii'.i' to th(> l.ibraiy. Final payment of tli 



.salaries will be withheld by the Dishnrsiiii;' Olheer niitil he is satislied tliat 
books ehar^-4Ml auaiiist them at the Jalirarv liave been retuiiu 



IG. I'or inlViniicments of anv of tl 



rnles (he Librarian is aiithori? 



liy order 



ir refuse the issue of l)ool;.'»to the eulpalde perse 



if th.' Secret:! 



GEO. M. LOCKWOOI). 



(i:!.")!>!)— io:\L) 






^ >^ ^^ 





















-> -^>T> > :_ 






»1> 1 















^y^ >> j> 












■>s,5 :> ) j> > >j 

3>"!> ^ ^> > > >'>. 


















>3 J :*> 



)j> o ym 






'- . > :> jS 



«^ 












=>^^S> >'^ ^ 



> _»^ .'>. 






5 J- ^^? 



>"" 


^=» 


^' 


^>)Z 






it 


> '^^aiar J* i;>>> - 


> 
> 
> 

> 

> 




3 


Z>>> V 




~j/g^ -■> > 


> i 


€^ 


3> > 


3f^ 


'> ? 


^^"^ 


"T^^Sj^ "■ 


3»»->_3 



» > ^ > ^ 



» > ^ -> » 



:»3)i> 



^3. ^ 









i)v- 



^ in^H^ 




JUP/TTOSr SJfl Tm?LAV^£NCE 



-NGRAVEOBrA^. WALTER . 



^ 



9VC^' 




THE 



MISCELLANEOUS WORKS 



OF 



THE EIGHT HONOURABLE 



SIE J-AMES MACKINTOSH 



THREE VOLUMES, 



COMPLETE IN ONE. 



BOSTON; 
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON AND COMPANY, 

NEW YORK: J. C. D E R li Y . 

1854. . 






^'^\'-\^^ 



\ 



dU»* 



"By TransfWf 



ADYEETISEMENT TO THE LOjN^DON EDITION, 

BY THE EDITOR. 



These Volumes* contain whatever (with the exception of his History of England) is 
DeHeved to be of the most vakie in the writings of Sir James Mackintosh. Something of 
method, it will be observed, has been attempted in their arrangement by commencing 
with what is more purely Philosophical, and proceeding through Literature to Politics; 
each of those heads being generally, though not quite precisely, referable to each volume 
respectively. With such selection would naturally have terminated his responsibility j 
but in committing again to the press matter originally for the most part hastily printed, 
the Editor has assumed — as the lesser of two evils — a larger exercise of discretion in the 
revision of the text than he could have wished to have felt had been imposed upon him. 
Instead, therefore, of continually arresting the eye of the reader by a notification of almost, 
mechanical alterations, he has to premise .here that where inaccuracies and redundancies 
of expression were obvious, these have been tliroughout corrected and retrenched. A few 
tmnspositions of the text have also been made ; — as where, by the detachment of the 
eleventh chapter of what the present Editor, on its original publication allowed to be called, 
perhaps too largely, the " History of the Revolution of 1688," a stricter chronological order 
has been observed, at the same time that the residue — losing thereby much of its frag- 
mentary character— may now, it is hoped, fairly claim to be all that is assumed in its new 
designation. Of the contributions to periodical publications, such portions only find place 
here as partake most largely of the character of completeness. Some extended quota- 
tions, appearing for the most part as notes on former occasions, have been omitted, with a 
view to brevity, on the present; while, in addition to a general verification of the Author's 
references, a few explanatory notes have been appended, wherever apparently needful, 
by the Editor. 

R. J. MACKINTOSH. 



* The Miscellaneous Works of the Right Honourable Sir James Mackintosh, 3 vols. 8vo., Lon- 
don: Longman, Brown, Green, and Longman, 1846. 



CONTENTS. 



FAGB 

On the Philosophical Genius of Lord Bacon and Mr. Locke 17 

A. Discourse on the Law of Nature and Nations 27 

Life of Sir Thomas More 43 

Appendix ^ ^ 

A Refutation of the Claim on behalf of King Charles L to the Authorship of the EIKQN 



BA2IAIKH 



82 



Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical Philo.sophy, chiefly during the Seventeenth and 

Eighteenth Centuries ^^ 

Introduction ^^" 

Section L Preliminary Observations ^^ 

IL Retrospect of Ancient Ethics ... 99 

in. Retrospect of Scholastic Ethics 104 

IV. Modern Ethics _ 1 11 

V. Controversies concerning the Moral Faculties and the Social Affections 117 

VI. Foundations of a more just Theory of Ethics 131 

VII. General Remarks ^^^ 

Notes and Illustrations ^^^ 

An account of the Partition of Poland ^^8 

Sketph of the Administration and Fall of Struensee 217 

Statement of the Case of Donna Maria da Gloria, as a Claimant to the Crown of Por- 
tugal 225 

Character of Charles, First Marquis Cornwallis 235 

Character of the Right Honourable George Canning 238 

Preface to a Reprint of the Edinburgh Review of 1755 242 

On the Writings of Machiavcl 245 

Review of Mr. Godwin's Lives of Edward and John Philips, &c. &c 249 

Review of Rogers' Poems 254 

Review of Madame de Stael's " De L'Allemagne" 260 

Review of the Causes of the Revolution of 1688 271 

CHAPTER I.— General state of affairs at home.— Abroad.— Characters of the 
Ministry.— Sunderland.— Rochester.— Halifax.— Godolphin.— Jeffreys.— Fever- 
sham.— His conduct after the victory of Sedgomoor.—Kirke.— Judicial pro- 
ceedings in the West.— Trials of Mrs. Lisle.— Behaviour of the King.— Trial 
of Mrs. Gaunt and others.— Case of Hampden.— Prideaux.— Lord Brandon.— 



Delamere. 



lb 



CHAPTER II.— Dismissal of Halifax.- Meeting of Parliament.— Debates on the 
Address.— Prorogation of Parliament.- Habeas Corpus Act.— State of the Ca- 
tholic Party.— Character of the Queen.— Of Catherine Sedley.— Attempt lo _ 
support the Dispensing Power by a Judgment of a Court of Law.— Godden V. 
Hales.— Consideration of the Arguments.— Attack on the Church.— Establish- 
ment of the Court of Commissioners for ecclesiastical causes.- Advancement 
of Catholics to offices. — Intercourse with Rome - 284 



Xii CONTENTS. 

TAGS 

CHAPTER III. — State of the Army. — Attempts of the King to convert it. — The 
rrjicess Anne. — Dryden. — Lord ^liddleton and others. — Revocation of the 
Edict of Nuntes. — Attempt to convert Rochester. — Conduct of the Queen. — 

Religious conference. — Failure of the attempt. — His dismissal 299 

CHAPTER IV. — Scotland. — Administration of Queensberry.— Conversion of Penh. 
—Measures contemplated by the King.— Debates in Parliament on the King's 
letter.— Proposed bill of tolei-ation— unsatisfactory to James.— Adjournment of 

Parliament.— Exercise of prerogative. Ireland.— Character of Tyrconnel.— 

Review of the state of Ireland.— Arrival of Tyrconnel.— His ai->pointment as 
Lord Deputy.— Advancement of Catholics to otiices. — Tyrconnel aims at the 

sovereign power in Ireland. — Intrigues with Fiunce 307 

CHAPTER V. — Rupture with the Protestant Tories.— Increased decision of the 
King's designs.-Encroachments on the Church establishment.— Charter-House. 
— O.vford, University College.— Christ Church.— Exeter College, Cambridge.— 
Oxford, Magdalen College. — Declaration of liberty of conscience. — Similar at- 
tempts of Charles.— Proclamation at Edinburgh.— Resistance of the Church.— 
Attempt to conciliate the Nonconformists. — Review of their suflerings. — Bax- 
ter. — Bunyan. — Presbyterians. —Independents. — Baptists. — Quakers. — Ad- 
dresses of thanks for the declaration 319 

CHAPTER VI. — D'Adda publicly received as the Nuncio. — Dissolution of Parlia- 
ment. — Final breach. — Preparations for a new Parliament. — New charters. — . 
Removal of Lord Lieutenants. — Patronage of the Crown. — Moderate views of 
Sunderland. — House of Lords. — Royal progress. — Pregnancy of the Queen. — 

. London has the appearance of a Catholic city 337 

CHAPTER VH. — Remarkable quiet. — Its peculiar causes. — Coalition of Notting- 
ham and Halitax. — Fluctuating counsels of the Court. — "Parliamentum Pacili- 

cum."— :i-Bill for liberty of conscience. — Conduct of Sunderland. — Jesuits 350 

CHAPTER VIII. — Declaration of Indulgence renewed. — Order that it should be 
'read in Churches. — Deliberations of the clergy. — Petition of the Bishops to the 
King. — Their examination before the Privy Council, committal, trial, and ac- 
quittal. — Reflections. — Conversion of Sunderland. — Birth of the Prince of Wales. 

—State of AtFairs 359 

\CHAPTER IX. — Doctrine of obedience. — Right of resistance. — Comparison of 
■ foreign and civil war. — Right of calling auxiliaries. — Relations of the people of 

England and of Holland 380 

riemoir of the AfTairs of Holland, 1667—1686 384 

)iscourse read at the openhig of the Literary Society of Bombay 398 

'indicjE Gallica; : — A Defence of the French Revolution and its English Admirers, 
against the accusations of the Right Hon. Edmund Burke, including some 

Strictures on the late Production of Mons. de Calonne 404 

Introduction ib. 

Section I. The General Expediency and Necessity of a Revolution in France 406 

II. Of the composition and character of the National Assembly 424 

III. Popular excesses which attended the Revolution 430 

IV. New Constitution of France 436 

V. English admirers vindicated 448 

VI. Speculations on the probable consequences of the French Revolution 

in Europe 457 

[easons against the French War of 1793 461 

>n the State of France in 18 15 466 

>n the Right of Parliamentary Suffrage 472 

L Speech in Defence of John Peltier, accused of a Libel on the First Consul of France 484 

L Charge, delivered to the Grand Jury of the Island of Bombay, on the 20th July, 1811 504 
peech on the Annexation of Genoa to the Kingdom of Sardinia, delivered in the 

House of Commons, April 27, 1815 508 



CONTENTS. xiU 

PAGE 

Speech on moving for a Committee to inquire into the State of the Criminal Law; 

delivered in the House of Commons, March 2, 1819 524 

Speech on Mr. Brougham's Motion for an Address to the Crown, with Reference to the 
Tria' and Condemnation of the Rev. John Smith, ofDemeraraj delivered in 
the House of Commons, June 1, 1824 534 

Speech on presenting a Petition from the Mercliants of London for the Recognition of 
the Independent States, established in the Countries of America, formerly sub- 
ject to Spain ; delivered in the House of Commons, Juno 15, 1824 549 

Speech ou the Civil Government of Canada; delivered in the House of Commons, 

May 2, 1828 '. 564 

Speech on moving for Papers relative to the Affairs of Portugal; delivered in the 

House of Commons, June 1, 1829 569 

Speech on the second Reading of the Bill to amend the Representation of the People 

of England and Wales; deUvered in the House of Commons, July 4, 1831 580 

Appendix 591 



ON THE 



PHILOSOPHICAL GENIUS 



LORD BACON AND MR, LOCIE; 



"History," says Lord Bacon, "is Natural, 
Civil or Ecclesiastical, or Literary; whereof 
of the three first I allow as extant, the fourth 
I note as deficient. For no man hath pro- 
pounded to himself the general state of learn- 
ing^ to be described and represented from 
age to age, as many have done the woiks of 
Nature, and the Stale civil and ecclesias- 
tical; without which the history of the world 
seemelh to me to be as the statue of Poly- 
phemus with his eye out; that part being 
wanting which doth most . show ihe spirit 
and life of the person. And yet I am not 
ignorant; that in divers particular sciences, as 
of the jurisconsults, the mathematicians, the 
rhetoricians, the philosopheis, there are set 
down some small memorials of the schools, 
— of authors of books ; so likewise some bar- 
ren relations touching the invention of arts 
or usages. But a just story of learninir, con- 
tainiiig the antiquities and originals of know- 
ledges, and their sects, their inventions, their 
traditions, their divers administrations and 
managings, their oppositions, decays, depres- 
sions, oblivions, removes, with the causes 
and occasions of them, and all other events 
concerning learning throughout the ages of 
the world, I may truly affirm to bo wanting. 
The use and end of which work I do not so 
much design for curiosity, or satisfaction of 
those who are lovers of learning, but chiefly 
for a more serious and grave purpose, which 
is this, in few words, '-that it will make learned 
men wise in the use and administration of 
learning.' "t 

ThMigh there are passages in the writings 
of Lord Bacon more splendid than the above, 
few, probably, better display ihe union of all 
the quiilities which characterized his philo- 
sophical genius. He has in general inspired 
a fervour of admiration which vents itself in 
indiscriminate praise, and is very adverse 
to a calm examination of the character of 
his understanding, which was very peculiar, 
and on that account described with more than 
ordinary imperfection, by that unfortunately 

* These remarks are extracted from the Edin- 
burgh Review, vol. xxvii. p, 180 ; vol. xxxvi. p. 
829.— Ed. 

t Advancement of Learning, book ii. 



vague and weak part of language which at- 
tempts to distinguish the varieties of mental 
superiority. To this cause it may be as- 
cribed, that perhaps no great man has been 
either more ignorantly censured, or more un- 
instructively commended. It is easy to de- 
scribe his transcendent merit in general terms 
of commendation ; for some of his great 
qualities lie on the surface of his writings. 
But that in which he most excelled all other 
men, was the range and compass of his in- 
telleclual view and the power of contemplat- 
ing many and distant objects together without 
indistinctness or confusion, which he himself 
has called the "discursive" or "comprehen- 
sive" understanding. This wide ranging in- 
tellect was illuminated by the brightest 
Fancy that ever contented itself with the 
office of only ministering to Reason : and 
from this singular relation of the two grand 
faculties of man, it has resulted, that his phi- 
losophy, though illustrated still more than 
adorned by the utmost splendour of imagery, 
continues still subject to the undivided su- 
premacy of Intellect. In the midst of all 
the prodigality of an imagination which, 
had it been independent, would have been 
poetical, his opinions remained severely ra- 
tional. 

It is not so easy to conceive, or at least to 
describe, other equally essential elements of 
his greatness, and conditions of his success. 
His is probably a single instance of a mind 
which, in philosophizing, always reaches the 
point of elevation whence the whole prospect 
is commanded, without ever rising to such a 
distance as to lose a distinct perception of 
every part of it.* It is perhaps not less singu- 



* He himself who alone was qualified, has de- 
scribed the genius of his philosophy both in respect 
to the degree and manner in wliich he rose from 
particulars to generals: " Axiomata infima non 
multum abexperieniia nuda discrepant. Suprerna 
vero ilia et geiieralissima (quae habentur) noiionalia 
sunt et abstracta, et nil habent solidi. At media 
sunt axiomata ilia vera, et soiida, et viva, in quibus 
humana; res et fortune sitae sunt, et supra h«c 
quoque, tandem ipsa ilia generalissima, talia scili- 
cet qua; non abstracta smt, sed per liasc media 
vcre limitantur." — Novum Organum, lib. i. apho- 
ris. 104. 

b2 n 



18 



.MACKINTOSH'S MSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



lar, that his philosophy should be founded at 
once on disregard for the authority of men, 
and on reverence for the boundaries pre- 
scribed by Nature to human inquiry; that he 
who thoujiht so little of what man had done, 
hoped so highly of what he could do ; that so 
daring an innovator in science should be so 
wholly exempt from the love of singularity 
or paradox ; and that the same man who re- 
nounced imaginary provinces in the empire 
of science, antl withdrew its landmarks with- 
in the limits of experience, should also exhort 
posterity to push their conquests to its utmost 
verge, with a boldness which will be fully 
justified only by the discoveries of ages from 
which we are yet far distant. 

No man ever united a more poetical style 
to a less poetical philosophy. One great end 
ol his discipline is to prevent mysticism and 
fanaticism from obstructing the pursuit of 
truth. With a less brilliant fancy, he would 
have had a mind less qualilred for philoso- 
phical inquiry. His fancy g-ave him that 
power of illustrative metaphor, by which he 
seemed to have invented again the part of 
language which respects philosophy; and it 
rendered new truths more distinctly visible 
even to his own eye, in their bright clothing 
of imagery. Without it, he must, like others, 
have been driven to the fabrication of uncouth 
technical terms, which repel the mind, either 
by vulgarity or pedantry, instead of gently 
leading it to novelties in science, through 
agreeable analogies with objects already fa- 
miliar. A considerable portion doubtless of 
the courage with which he undertook the re- 
formation of philosophy, was caught from the 
general spirit of his extraordinary age, when 
the mind of Europe was yet agitated by the 
joy and pride of emancipation from long 
bondage. The beautiful mythology, and the 
poetical history of the ancient world, — not 
yet become trivial or pedantic, — appeared 
before his eyes in all their freshness and lus- 
tre. To the general reader they were then a 
discovery as recent as the world disclosed by 
Columbus. The ancient literature, on which 
his imagination looked back for illustration, 
had then as much the c.harm of novelty as 
that rising philosophy through which hisrea- 
son dared to look onward to some of the last 
periods in its unceasing and resistless course. 
In order to form a just estimate of this 
wonderful person, it is essential to fix stead- 
ily in our minds, what he was not, — what he 
did not do, — and what he professed neither 
to be, nor to do. He was not what is called 
a metaphysician : his plans for the improve- 
ment of science were not inferred by ab- 
stract reasoning from any of those primary 
principtes to which the philosophers of 
Greece struggled to fasten their systems. 
Hence he has been treated as empirical and 
Buperficial by those who take to themselves 
the exclusive name of profound speculators. 
He was not, on the other hand, a mathema- 
tician, an astronomer, a physiologist, a chem- 
ist. He was not eminently conversant with 
the particular truths of any of those sciences 



which existed in his time. For this reason, 
he was underrated even by men themselves 
of the highest merit, and by some who had 
acquired the most just reputation, by adding 
new facts to the stock of certain knowledge. 
It is not therefore very surprising to find, 
that Harvey, " though the friend as well as 
physician of Bacon, though he esteen:ed him 
much for his wit and style, would not allow 
him to be a great philosopher;" but said to 
Aubrey, "He writes philosophy like a Lord 
Chancellor," — " in derision," — as the honest 
biographer thinks fit expressly to add. On 
the same ground, though in a manner not so 
agreeable to the nature of his own claims on 
reputation, Mr. Hume has decided, that Ba- 
con was not so great a man as Galileo, be- 
cause he was not so great an astronomer. 
The same sort of injustice to his memory has 
been more often committed than avowed, by 
professors of the exact and the experimental 
sciences, who are accustomed to regaid, as 
the sole test of service to Knowledge, a pal- 
pable addition to her store. It is very true 
that he made no discoveries: but his life 
was employed in teaching the method by 
which discoveries are made. This distinc- 
tion was early observed by that ingenious 
poet and amiable man, on whom we, by our 
unmerited neglect, have taken too severe a 
revenge, for the exaggerated praises be- 
stowed on him by our ancestors : — 

" Bacon, like Moses, led us forih at last, 
The barren wilderness he past, 
Did on ihe very border stand 
Of the blest promised land ; 
And from the mountain top of his exalted wit, 
Saw it himself, and showed us it."* 

The writings of Bacon do not even abound 
with remarks so capable of being separated 
from the mass of previous knowledge and 
reflection, that they can be called new. This 
at least is very far from their greatest dis- 
tinction : and where such remarks occur, 
they are presented more often as examples 
of his general method, than as important 
on their own separate account. In physics, 
which presented the principal field for dis- 
covery, and which owe all that they are. or 
can be, to his method and spirit, the experi- 
ments and observations which he either made 
or registered, form the least valuable part of 
his writings, and have furnished some cul- 
tivators of that science with an opportunity 
for an ungrateful triumph over his nfistakes. 
The scattered remarks, on the other hand, of 
a moral nature, where absolute novelty is 
precluded by the nature of the subject, mani- 
fest most strongly both the superior force 
and the original bent of his understanding. 
We more properly contrast than compare 
the experiments in the Natural History, with 
the moral and political obser\'ations which 
enrich the Advancement of Learning, the 
speeches, the letters, the History of Henry 
VII., and, above all, the Essays, a book 
which, though it has been praised with equal 



♦ Cowley, Ode to the Royal Society. 



ON THE PHILOSOPHICAL GENIUS OF BACON AND LOCKE. 



19 



fervour by Voltaire, Johnson and Burke, has 
never been characterized with such exact 
justice and such exquisite felicity of expres- 
sion, as in the discourse of Mr. Stewart.* It 
Will serve still more distinctly to mark the 
natural tendency of his mind, to observe that 
his moral and political reflections relate to 
these practical subjects, considered in their 
most practical point of view ; and that he 
has seldom or never attempted to reduce to 
theory the infinite particulars of that '-civil 
knowledge," which, as he himself tells us, 
is, "of ail others, most immersed in matter, 
and hardliest reduced to axiom." 

His mind, indeed, was formed and exer- 
cised in the affairs of the world : his genius 
was eminently civil. His understanding was 
peculiarly lilted for questions of legislation 
and of policy ; though his character was not 
an instrument well qualified to execute the 
dictates of his reason. The same civil wis- 
dom which distinguishes his judgments on 
human affairs, may also be traced through 
his reformation of philosophy. It is a prac- 
tical judgment applied to science. What he 
effected was reform in the maxims of state, 
— a reform which had always before been 
unsuccessfully pursued in the republic of 
letters. It is not derived from metaphysical 
reasoning, nor from scientific detail, but from 
a species of intellectual prudence, which, 
on the practical ground of failure and dis- 
appointment in the prevalent modes of pur- 
suing knowledge, builds the necessity of 
alteration, and inculcates the advantage of 
administering the sciences on other princi- 
ples. It is an error to represent him either 
as imputing fallacy to the syllogistic method, 
or as professing his principle of induction to 
be a discovery. The rules and forms of ar- 
gument will always form an important part 
of the art of logic ; and the method of induc- 
tion, which is the art of discovery, was so 
far from being unknown to Aristotle, that it 
was often faithfully pursued by that great 
observer. What Bacon aimed at, he accom- 
plished ; which was, not to discover new 
principles, but to e.vcite a new .spirit, and to 
render observation and experiment the pre- 
dominant characteristics of philosophy. It 
is for this reason that Bacon could not have 
been the author of a system or the founder 
of a sect. He did not deliver opinions; he 
taught modes of philosophizing. His early 



* " Under the snme head of Eihics, may be 
mentioned ihe small volanrie to which he has given 
the tide of 'Essays,' — the best known and- most 
popular of all his works. It is also one of those 
where the superiority of Jiis genius appears to the 
greatest advantage ; the novelly and depth of his 
rejlectioiis often receiving a strong relief from the 
triteness of the subjef . It may be read from be- 
ginning to end in a low hours ; and yet, after the 
twentieth perusal, one seldom fails to remark in 
it something unobserved before. This, indeed, is 
a characteristic of all Bacon's writings, and is only 
to be accounted for hy the inexhaustible alimenl 
they furnish to our own thoughts, and the sympa- 
thetic activity they impart to our torpid fa£uliiet,^' 
Encyclopsua Bj>*aniuca, vol. L p. 36. 



immersion in civil affairs fitted him for this 
species of scientific reformation. His politi- 
cal course, though in itself unhappy, proba- 
bly conduced to the success, and certainly 
influenced the character, of the contemplative 
part of his life. Had it not been for his ac- 
tive habits, it is likely that the pedantry and 
quaintness of his age would have still more 
deeply corrupted his significant and majestic 
style. The force of the illustrations which 
he takes from his experience of ordinary life, 
is often as remarkable as the beauty of those 
which he so Jjappily borrows from his study 
of antiquity. But if we have caught the 
leading priirciple of his intellectual character, 
we must attribute effects still deeper and 
more extensive, to his familiarity with the 
active world. It guarded him against vain 
subtlety, and against all speculation tliat was 
either visionary or fruitless. It preserved 
hiin from the reigning prejudices of contem- 
plative men, and from undue preference to 
particular parts of knowledge. If he had been 
exclusively bred in the cloisterer the schools, 
he might not have had courage enough to 
reform their abuses. It seems necessary that 
he should have been so placed as to look on 
science iir the free spirit of an intelligent 
spectator. Without the pride of professors, 
or the bigotry of their followers,, he surveyed 
from the world the studies which reigned in 
ihe schools ; and, trying them by their fruits, 
he saw that they were barren, and therefore 

E renounced that they were unsound. He 
imself seems, indeed, to have indicated as 
clearly as modesty would allow, in a case 
that concerned himself, and where he de- 
parted from an universal and almost na- 
tural sentiment, that he regarded scholastic 
seclusion, then more unsocial and rigorous 
than it now can be, as a hindrance in the 
pursuit of knowledge. In one of the noblest 
passages of his writings, the conclusion " of 
the Interpretation of Nature," he tells us, 
"That there is no composition of estate or 
society, nor order or quality of persons, which 
have not some point of contrariety towards 
true knowledge ; that monarchies incline 
wits to profit and pleasure; commonwealths 
to glory and vanity ; universities to sophistry 
and affectation ; cloisters to fables and unpro- 
fitable subtlety; study at large to variety; 
and that it is hard to say whether mixture of 
contemplations with an active life, or retiring 
wholly to contemplations, do disable or hin- 
der the mind more." 

But, though he was thus free from the 
prejudices of a science, a school or a sect, 
other prejudices of a lower nature, ai^d be- 
longing only t<rthe inferior class of those who 
conduct civil affairs, have been ascribed to 
him by encomiasts as well as by opponents. 
He has been said to consider the gieat end 
of science to be the increase of the outward 
accommodations and enjoyments of human 
life : we cannot see any foundation for this 
charge. In labouring, indeed, to correct the 
direction of study, and to withdraw it from 
these unprofitable subtleties, it was neces 



20 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



sary to attract it powerfully towards outward 
acts and works. He no doubt duly valued 
■' the dignity of this end, the endowment of 
man's life with new commodities;" and he 
strikingly observes, that the most poetical 
people of the world had admitted the inven- 
tors of the useful and manual arts among 
the highest beings in their beautiful mytho- 
logy. Had he lived to the age of Walt and 
Davj^, he would not have been of the vulgar 
and contracted mind of those who cease to 
admire grand exertions of intellect, because 
they are useful to mankind ^ but he would 
certainly have considered their great works 
rather as tests of the progress of knowledge 
than as parts of its highest end. His im- 
portant questions to the doctors of his time 
were : — " Is truth ever barren 1 Are we the 
richer by one poor invention, by reason of all 
the learning that hath been these many 
hundred years'?" His judgment, we may 
also hear from himself: — "Francis Bacon 
thought in this manner. The knowledge 
whereof the world is now possessed, espe- 
cially that of nature, extendeth not to magiri- 
tilde and certainty of irorks.^' He found 
knowledge barren ; he left it fertile. He did 
not underrate the utility of particular inven- 
tions; but it is evident that he valued them 
most, as being themselves among the high- 
est exertions of superior intellect, — as being 
monuments of the progress of knowledge, — 
as being the bands of that alliance between 
action and speculation, wherefrom spring an 
appeal to experience and utility, checking 
the proneness of the philosopher to extreme 
refinements ; while teaching men to revere, 
and exciting them to pursue science by these 
splendid proofs of its beneficial power. Had 
he seen the change in this respect, which, 
produced chiefly in his own country by the 
spirit of his philosophy, has made some de- 
gree of science almost necessary to the sub- 
sistence and fortune of large bodies of men, 
he would assuredly have regarded it as an 
additional security for the future growth of 
the human understanding. He taught, as he 
tells us, the means, not of the '-amplification 
of the power of one man over his country, nor 
of the amplification of the power of that coun- 
try over other nations ; but the amplification 
of the power and kingdom of mankind over 
the world," — "a restitution of man to the 
sovereignty of nature,"* — ''and the enlarg- 
ing the bounds of human empire to the ef- 
fecting all things poss'.ble.""!" — From the 
enlargement of reason, he did not separate 
the growth of virtue, for he thought that 
" truth and goodness were one, difl'ering but 
as the seal and the print ; for truth prints 
goodness. "t 

As civil history teaches statesmen to profit 
by the faults of their predecessors, he pro- 
poses that the history of philosophy should 
teach, by example, "learned men to become 



* Of the Interpretation of Nature. 

t New Atlaniis. 

? Advancement of Learning, book i. 



wise in the administration of learning." Earlj 
immersed in civil afl"airs, and deeply imbued 
with their spirit, his mind in this place con- 
templates science only through the analogy 
of government, and considers princip.ies ol 
philosophizing as the easiest maxims of po 
licy for the guidance of reason. It seema 
also, that in describing the objects of a his- 
tory of philosophy, and the utility to be de- 
rived from it, he discdoses the principle of 
his own exertions in behalf of knowledge ; — 
whereby a reform in its method and maxims, 
justified by the experience of their injurious 
effects, is conducted with a judgment analo- 
gous to that civil prudence which guides a 
wise lawgiver. If (as may not improperly 
be concluded from this passage) the reforma- 
tion of science was suggested to Lord Bacon, 
by a review of the history of philosophy, it 
must be owned, that his outline of that history 
has a very important lelation to the general 
character of his philosophical genius. The 
smallest circumstances attendant on that out- 
line serve to illustrate the powers and habits 
of thought which distinguished its author. It 
is an example of his faculty of anticipating, 
— not insulated facts or single discoveries, — 
but (what from its complexity and refinement 
seem much more to defy the power of pro- 
phecy) the tendencies of stud)', and the 
modes of thinking, \\ hich were to prevail ia 
distant generations, that the parts which he 
had chosen to unfold or enforce in the Latin 
versions, are those which a thinker of the pre- 
sent age would deem both most excellent 
and most arduous in a history of philosophy; 
— "the causes of literary revolutions; the 
study of contemporary writers, not merely as 
the most authentic sources of information, 
but as enabling the historian to preserve in 
his own description the peculiar colour of 
every age, and to recall its literary genius 
from the dead." This outline has the un- 
common distinction of being at once original 
and complete. In this province. Bacon had 
no forerunner; and the most successful fol- 
lower will be he, who most faithfully ob- 
serves his precepts. 

Here, as in every province of knowledge, 
he concludes his review of the performances 
and prospects of the human understanding, 
by considering their subservience to the 
grand purpose of improving the condition, the 
faculties, and the nature of man, without 
which indeed science would be no more than 
a beautiful ornament, and literature would 
rank no higher than a liberal amusement. 
Yet it must be acknowledged, that he rather 
perceived than felt the connexion of Truth 
and Good. Whether he lived too early to have 
sufficient experience of the moral benefit of 
civilization, or his mind had early acquired too 
exclusive an interest in science, to look fre- 
quently beyond its advancement; or whether 
the infirmities and calamities of his life 
had blighted his feelings, and turned away 
his eyes from the active world ; — to what- 
ever cause we may ascribe the defect, cer- 
tain it is, that his works want one oxcellenco 



ON THE PHILOSOPHrCAL GENIUS OF BACON AND LOCKE. 



21 



of the highest kind, \vhich they would have 
possessed if he had liabitually represented 
the advancement of knowledge as the most 
efTectual means of realizing the hopes of 
Benevolence for the human race. 



The character of Mr. Locke's writings can- 
not be well understood, without considering 
the circumstances of the writer. Educated 
among the English Dissenters, during the 
shoit period of their political ascendency, be 
early imbibed ihedeeji piety and ardent spirit 
of liberty which actuated that body of men ; 
and he probably imbibed also, in their schools, 
the disposition to metaphysical inquiries 
■which has every where accompanied the 
Calviriistic theology. Sects, founded on the 
right of private judgment, naturally tend to 
purify themselves from intolerance, and in 
time learn to respect, in others, the freedom 
of thought, to the exercise of which they owe 
their own existence. By the Independent 
divines who were his instructors, our philoso- 
pher was taught those principles of religious 
liberty which they were the first to disclose 
to the world.* When free inquiry led him 
to milder dogmas, he retained the severe mo- 
rality which was their honourable singulari- 
ty, and which continues to distinguish their 
successors in those communities which have 
abandoned their rigorous opinions. His pro- 
fessional pursuits afterwards engaged him in 
the study of the physical sciences, at the mo- 
ment when the spirit of experiment and ob- 
servation was in its youthful fervour, and 
when a repugnance to scholastic subtleties 
was the ruling pasision of the scientific world. 
At a more mature age, he was admitted into 
the society of great wits and ambitious poli- 
ticians. During the remainder of his life, he 
was often a man of business, and always a 
man of the world, without much undisturbed 
leisure, and probably with that abated relish 
for merely abstract speculation, which is the 
inevitable result of converse with society 
and experience in affairs. But his political 
connexions agreeing with his early bias, made 
him a zealous advocate of liberty in opinion 
and in government; and he gradually Imited 
his zeal and activity to the illustration of such 
general principles as are the guardians of 
the.se great interests of human society. 

Almcst all his writings (even his Essay it- 
self) were occasional, and intended directly 
to counteract the enemies of reason and free- 
dom in his own age. The first Letter on 
Toleration, the most original perhaps of his 

* Orme'e Memoirs of Dr. Owen, pp. 99 — 110. 
In tills very ahje volume, it is clearly proved that 
the InHependenis were ihe first teachers of reli- 
gious libeny. The industrioiis, inszenioiis, and 
tolfrant writer, is unjust to Jeremy Taylor, wlio 
had no share (a« IMr. Orine piipposes) in the per- 
secuung counrils of Charles IL Ii is an impori- 
ant fact in ihe history of Tolrraiion, that Dr. 
Owen, the Independent, was Dean of Christ- 
church in 1051, when Locke was adiniiied a mem- 
ber of that College, " U7ider afaiialical tutor,'" as 
Antony Wood says- 



works, was composed in Holland, in a retire- 
ment where he was forced to conceal him- 
self from the tyranny which pursued him 
into a foreign land; and it was publithed in 
England, in the year of the Revolution, to 
vindicate the Toleration Act, of which he 
lamented the imperfection,* 

His Treatise on Government is composed 
of three parts, of different character, and 
very unequal merit. The confutation of Sir 
Robert Kilmer, with which it opens, has long 
lost all interest, and is now to be considered 
as an instance of the hard fate of a philoso- 
pher w ho is compelled to engage in a conflict 
with those ignoble antagonists w ho acquire a 
momentary importance by the defejice of 
j^ernicious falsehoods. The same slavish ab- 
surdities have indeed been at various times 
revived : but they never have assumed, and 
probably never will again assume, the foim 
in which they were exhibited by Filmer. 
Mr. Locke's general principles of government 
were adopted by him, probably without much 
examination, as the doctrine which had for 
ages prevailed in the schools of Europe, and 
which afforded an obvious and adequate jus- 
tification of a resistance to oppression. He 
delivers them as he found them, without 
even appearing to have made them his own 
by new modifications. The opinion, that 
the right of the magistrate to obedience is 
founded in the original delegation of power 
by the people to Ihe government, is at least 
as old as the writings of Thomas Aquinas. t 
and in the beginning of the seventeenth 
century, it was regarded as the common 
doctrine of all the divines, jurists and philo- 
sophers, who had at that time examined 
the moral foundation of political authority.! 
It then prevailed iiuleed so universally, 



* " We have need," says he, "of more gene- 
r/)U8 remedies than have yei been used in our 
disiempers. It is neither declarations of indul- 
gence, nor acts of comprehensi/jn such as have yet 
been practised or projected amongst lis, that can 
do the work among us. A bsoluie liiieny, just and 
true liberty, equal and impartial liberty, is the 
thing that we siand in need of. Now, though 
this has indeed been much talked of, I doubt it haa 
not been much understood, — I am sure not at all 
practised, either by our governors towards the 
people in general, or by any dissenting parlies of 
the people towards one another." How far are we, 
at this moment [1821] , from adopting these admir- 
able principles! and widi what absurd confidence 
do the enemies of religious liberty appeal to the 
authority of Mr, Locke for continuing iho.=e re- 
strictions on conscience which he so deeply 
lamented ! 

t " Non cujuslibet ratio facit legem, sed miihi- 
tudinis. aufprhicipis. vknn mnllitudhiis gerentis." 
— Summa Theolcjgiae, pars i. quaest 90. 

t " Opinionem jam fac'am communem omnium 
Scliolasiiciirum." Antonio de Dominis, De Re- 
piiblica Ecrlcsiastica. lib. vi. cap. 2. Antonio de 
Dominis, Archbishop of Spalato^ in Daimaiia, 
having imbibed the free spirit of Father Paul, 
inclined towards Protestantism, or at least towards 
."uch reciprocal concessions as mighl reunite the 
churches of the West. During Sir Henry VVot- 
ton's remarkable embassy at Venice, he was pur- 
suaded to go to England, where he was made 
Dean of Windsor. Finding, perhaps, the Protest 



22 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



that it was assumed by Hobbes as the basis 
of his system ot" universal servitude. The di- 
vine right ot" kingly government was a princi- 
ple very little known, till it was inculcated 
in the writings of English court tlivines after 
the accession of the Stuarts. The purpose of 
Mr. Locke's work did not lead him to inquire 
more anxiously into the solidity of these uni- 
versally received principles; nor were there 
at the time any circumstances, in the condi- 
tion of the country, w'hich could suggest to 
his mind the necessity of qualifying their 
application. His object, as he says himself, 
was " to establish the throne of our great 
Restorer, our present King William ; to make 
good his title in the consent of the people, 
which, being the only one of all lawful go- 
vernments, he has more fully and clearly 
than any prince in Christendom ; and to jus- 
tify to the world the people of England, 
whose love of their just and natural rights, 
whh their resolution to preserve them, saved 
the nation when it was on the very brink of 
slavery and ruin." It was essential to his 
purpose to be exact in his more particular 
observations : that part of his M'ork is, ac- 
cordingly, remarkable for general caution, 
and every where bears marks of his own 
considerate mind. By calling William "a 
Restorer," he clearly points out the charac- 
teristic principle of the Revolution ; and suf- 
ficiently shows that he did not consider it 
as intended to introduce novelties, but to 
defend or recover the ancient laws and lib- 
erties of the kingdom. In enumerating cases 
which justify resistance, he coulines himself, 
almost as cautiously as the Bill of Rights, to 
the grievances actually sufl'ered under the 
late reign; and where he distinguishes be- 
tween a dissolution of government and a dis- 
solution of society, it is manifestly his object 
to guard against those inferences which would 
have rendered the Revolution a source of an- 
archyj instead of being the parent of order 
and security. In one instance only, that of 
taxation, where he may be thought to have 
introduced subtle and doubtful speculations 
into a matter altogether practical, his purpose 
was to discover an immovable foundation 
for that ancient principle of rendering the 
government dependent on the representatives 
of the people for pecuniary supply, which 
first established the English Constitution ; 
which improved and strengthened it in a 
course of ages; and which, at the Revolution, 
finally triumphed over the conspiracy of the 
Stuart princes. If he be ever mistaken in his 
premises, his conclusions at least are, in this 
part of his work, equally just, generous, and 
prudent. Whatever charge of haste or inac- 

ants more inflexible than he expected, he returned 
to Rome, possibly with the hope (if more siircess 
in that quarter. 13ut, tliouijh he publicly abjured 
his errors, he was soon, in consequenre of some 
free language in conversaiion, tlirown into a dun- 
geon, where lie died. His own writings are fur- 
yotien; hut mankind are indebted to him for ihe 
admirable history of tiie Council of Trent by Fa- 
ther Paul, of whicii he brought the MSS. whh him 
;o LondoQ. 



curacy may be brought against his ab.«itrac* 
principles, he thoroughly weighs, and mature- 
ly considers the practical results. Those whn 
consider his moderate plan of Parliamentary 
Reform as at variance with his theory of 
government, may perceive, even in this re- 
pugnance, whether real or apparent, a new 
indication of those dispositions which ex- 
posed him rather to the reproach of being an 
inconsistent reasoner, than to that of being 
a dangerous politician. In such works, how- 
ever, the nature of the subject has, in some 
degree, obliged most men of sense to treat it 
with considerable regard to consequences; 
though there are memorable and unfortunaio 
examples of an opposite tendency. 

The metaphysical object of the Essay on 
Human Understanding, therefore, illustrates 
the natural bent of the author's genius more 
forcibly than those writings which are con- 
nected with the business and interests of men. 
The reasonable admirers of Mr. Locke Avould 
have pardoned Mr. Steuart, if he bad pro- 
nounced more decisively, that the first book 
of that work is inferior to the others; and 
we have satisfactory proof that it was so 
considered by the author himself, who, in 
the abridgment of the Essay which he pub- 
lished in Leclerc's Review, omits it altoge- 
ther, as intended only to obviate the preju- 
dices of some philosophers against the more 
important contents of his work.* It must be 
owned, that the very terms '-'innate ideas" 
and "innate principles," together with the 
division of the latter into "speculative ai.d 
practical," are not only vague, but equivo- 
cal ; that they are capable ot different senses; 
and that they are not always employed in 
the same sense throughout this discussion. 
Nay, it will be found very difficult, after the 
most careful perusal of Mr. Locke's first 
book, to state the question in dispute clearly 
and shortly, in language so strictly philoso- 
phical as "to be free from any hypothesis. 
As the antagonists chiefly contemplated by 
Mr. Locke were the followers of Descartes, 
perhaps the only proposition for which he 
must necessarily be held to contend was, 
that the mind has no ideas which do not arise 
from impressions on the senses, or from re- . 
flections on our own thoughts and feelings. 
But it is certain, that he sometimes appears 
to contend for much more than this proposi- 
tion ; that he has generally been understood 
in a larger sense ; and that, thus interpreted, 
his doctrine is not irreconcilable to those 
philosophical systems with which it has been 
supposed to be most at variance. 

These general remarks may be illustrated 
by a reference to some of those ideas which 
are more general and important, and seem 



* " J'ai I ache d'abord de prouver que noire es- 
prit est au commencement ce qu'on appelle un 
lahnla rasa, c'esi-a-dire, sans idees et sans con- 
noissances. Mais conime ce n'a etc que pour de- 
trnire les prrjugcs de quelques phiiosophes, j'ai 
cru que dans ci' petit abrege de nies principes, jo 
devois passer loutes les dis^putes preliminaires qui 
coniposcnt le livre premier." Bibliothcque Uiii* 
verselle, Janv. 1688 



ON THE PHILOSOPHICAL GENIUS OF BACON AND LOCKE. 



23 



moro dark than any others ; — perhaps only 
because we seek in them for what is not to 
be found in any of the most simple elements 
of human knowledge. The nature of our 
notion of space, and more especially of that 
of time, seems to form one of the mysteries 
of our intellectual being. Neither of these 
notions can be conceived separately. Nothing 
outward can be conceived without space- 
for it is space which gives outness to objects, 
or renders them capable of being conceived 
as outward. Nothing can be conceived to 
exist, without conceiving some time in which 
it exists. Thought and feeling may be con- 
ceived, without at the same time conceiving 
space ; but no operation of mind can be re- 
called which does not suggest the conception 
of a portion of time, in which such mental 
operation is performed. Both these ideas 
are so clear that they cannot be illustrated, 
and so simple that they cannot be defined : 
nor indeed is it possible, by the use of any 
words, to advance a single step towards ren- 
dering them more, or otherwise intelligible 
than the lessons of Nature have already 
made them. The metaphysician knows no 
more of either than the rustic. If we confine 
ourselves merely to a statement of the facts 
which we discover by experience concerning 
these ideas, we shall find them reducible, as 
has just been intimated, to the following; — 
namely, that they are simple; that neither 
space nor time can be conceived without 
some other conception ; that the idea of space 
always attends that of ever)' outward object ; 
and that the idea of time enters into every 
idea which the mind of man is capable of 
forming. Time cannot be conceived sepa- 
rately from soraethmgelse ; nor can any thing 
else be conceived separately from time. If 
we are asked whether the idea of time be 
inna.te, the only proper answer consists in 
the statement of the fact, that it never arises 
in the human mind otherwise than as the 
concomitant of some other perception ; and 
that thus understood, it is not innate, since it 
is always directly or indirectly occasioned 
by some action on the senses. Various modes 
of expressing these facts have been adopted 
by dilTerent philosophers, according to the 
variety of their technical languajre. By 
Kant, space is said to be the form of our per- 
ceptive faculty, as applied to outward ob- 
jects ; and time is called the form of the 
same faculty, as it regards our mental ope- 
rations: by Mr. Stewart, these ideas are con- 
sidered '-as sns:gested to the imderslandins;^^* 
by sensation or reflection, though, according 
to him, -'the mind is not directly and imme- 
dlate]}' furnishecV^ with such ideas, either b)' 
sensation or reflection : and, by a late emi- 
nent metaphysician. t they were regarded as 
perceptions, in the nature of those arising 
from the senses, of which the one is attend- 
ant on the idea of every outward object, and 
the other concomitant with the con.sciousness 

* Philosophical Essays, essay i. chnp. 2. 
■f Mr. Thomas Wedgwood; see Life of Mack- 
intosh, vol. i. p. 289. 



of every mental operation. Each of these 
modes of expression has its ov.m advantages. 
The first mode brings forward the univer- 
sality and necessity of these two notions; the 
second most strongly marks the distinction 
between them and the fluctuating percep- 
tions naturally referred to the senses; while 
the last has the opposite merit of presenting 
to us that incapacity of being analyzed, in 
which they agree with all other simple ideas. 
On the other hami, each of ihem (perhaps 
from the inherent imperfection of language) 
seems to insinuate more than the mere re- 
sults of experience. The technical terms 
intioduced by Kant have the appearance of 
an attempt to explain what, by the writer's 
own principles, is incapable of explanation ; 
Mr. Wedgwood maybe charged with giving 
the same name to mental phenomena, which 
coincide in nothing but simplicity ; and Mr. 
Stewart seems to us to have opposed two 
modes of expression to each other, which, 
when they are thoroughly analyzed, repre- 
sent one and the same fact. 

Leibnitz thought that Locke's admis.sion 
of "ideas of reflection" furnished a ground 
for negotiating a reconciliation between his 
system and the opinions of those who, in 
the etymological sense of the word, are more 
metaphysical ; and it may very well be 
doubted, whether the ideas of Locke much 
diff"ered from the "innate ideas" of Des- 
cartes, especially as the latter philosopher 
explained the term, when he found himself 
pressed by acute objectors. "I never said 
or thought," says Descartes, " that the mind 
needs innate ideas, which are something dif- 
ferent from its own faculty of thinking ; but, 
as I observed certain thoughts to be in my 
mind, which neither proceeded from outward 
objects, nor were determined by my will, 
but merely from my own faculty of thinking. 
I called these 'innate ideas,' to distinguish 
them from such as are either adventitious 
(i. c. from without), or compounded by our 
imagination. I call them innate, in the same 
sense in which generosity is innate in some 
families, gout and stone in others; because 
the children of such families come into the 
world with a disposition to such virtue, or to 
such maladies."* In a letter to Mersenne,* 
he says, "by the word 'idea.' I understand 
all that can be in our thoughts, and I dis- 
tinguish three sorts of ideas; — adventitious, 
like the common idea of the sun ; framed 
by the mind, such as that which astronomical 
reasoning gives us of the sun ; and innate, 



* This remarkable passage of Descartes is lo be 
found in a French translaiion of the preface and 
notes to the Principia Phiiosophiac, prol)ably hy 
himself. — (Lettres de Descartes, vol. i. lett. 99.1 
It is justly observed by one of his most acute an- 
tagonists, that Descartes does not sieadil) adhoro 
to iliis sense of the word "innate," but varies it 
in the exigencies of controversy, so as to give it 
at each moment the import wliicli best suits the 
nature of the objeciiosi with which he lias then to 
contend. — Huet, Censura Fhiiosophiae Carteai 
ai.sB. p. 93. 

T Lettres, vol. ii. lett 54. 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



as the idea of God, mind, body, a triangle, 
and cencrally all those which represent true, 
imnnitable, and eternal essences." It must 
be owned, that, however nearly the first of 
these representations may approach to INIr. 
Locke's iileas of relleclion, the second devi- 
ates from them very wiilely, and is not easily 
reconcilable with the first. The comparison 
of these two sentences, strongly impeaches 
the steadiness and consistency of Descartes 
in the fundamental principles of his system. 
A principle in science is a proposition from 
which many other propositions may be in- 
ferred. That principles, taken in this sense 
of propositions, are part of the original struc- 
ture or furniture of the human mind, is an 
assertion so unreasonable, that perhaps no 
philosopher has avowedly, or at least perma- 
nently, adopted it. But it is not to be forgot- 
ten, that there must be certain general laws 
of perception, or ultimate facts respecting 
that province of mind, beyond which human 
knowledge cannot reach. Such facts bound 
our researches in every part of knowledge, 
and the ascertainment of them is ihe utmost 
possible attainment of Science. Bi'yond 
them there is nothing, or at least nothing dis- 
coverable by us. These observations, however 
universally acknowledged when they are 
slated, are often hid from the view of the 
system-builder when he is employed in rear- 
ing his airy editice. There is a common 
disposition to exempt the philosophy of the 
human understanding from the dominion of 
that irresistible necessity which confines all 
other knowledge within the limits of experi- 
ence ; — arising probably from a vague notion 
that the science, without which the princi- 
ples of no other are intelligible, ought to be 
able to discover the fountlation even of its 
own principles. Hence the question among 
the German metaphysicians, "What makes 
experience possible?" Hence the very gen- 
eral indisposition among metaphysicians to 
acquiesce in any mere fact as the result of 
their inquiries, and to make vain exertions 
in pursuit of an explanation of it, without 
recollecting that the explanation must always 
cx)nsist of another fact, which must either 
equally require another exjilanation, or be 
equally independent of it. There is a sort 
otf sullen relucianee to be satisfied with ul- 
tijnate facts, which has kept its ground in the 
theory of the human mind long after it has 
been banished from all other sciences. Phi- 
losophers are, in this province, often led to 
waste their strength in attempts to find out 
what supports the foundation; and, in these 
efforts to prove first principles, they inevita- 
bly find that their proof must contain an as- 
sumption of the thing to be proved, ami that 
their argument must return to the point from 
which it set out. 

Mental philosophy can consist oi nothing 
but facts; and it is at least as vain to inquire 
into the cause of thousht, as into the cause 
of attraction. What the number and nature 
of the ultimate facts respecting mind may 
be, is a (question which can only be deter- 



mined by experience : and it is of the ut- 
most importance not to allow their arbitrary 
multiplication, which enables some indivi- 
duals to imjiose on us their own erroneous 
or uncertain speculations as the fundamental 
princijiles of human knowledge. No gene- 
ral criterion has hitherto been oflered, by 
which these last principles may be distin- 
guished from all other propositions. Perhaps 
a practical standard of some convenience 
would be, that all rcasoncrs should be required 
to admit every princijde of uhich the denial 
renders reasoning impossible. This is only to 
require that a man should admit, in general 
terms, those princijiles which he must as- 
sume in every particularargument, and which 
he has assumed in every aigumeut which he 
has employed against their existence. It is, 
in other words, to require that a disputant 
shall not contradict himself; for every argu- 
ment against the fundamental laws of thought 
absolutely assumes their existence in the 
premises, while it totally denies it in the 
conclusion. 

Whether it be among the ultimate facts in 
human nature, that the mind is disposed or 
determined to assent to some propositions, 
and to reject others, when they are first sub- 
mitted to its judgment, without inferring 
their truth or falsehooil from any process of 
reasoning, is manifestly as much a question 
of mere experience as any other which re- 
lates to om- mental constitution. It is certain- 
that such inherent inclinations may be con- 
ceived, without supposing the ideas of which 
the propositions are composed to be, in any 
sense, 'innate'; if, indeed, that unfortunate 
word be capable of being reduced by defini- 
tion to any iixed meaning. " Innate," s;t)s 
Lord Shaftesbury, "is the word INlr. Locke 
poorly plays with: the right word, though 
less used, is connate. The question is not 
about the time when the ideas enter the 
mind, but, whether the constitution of vian be 
such, as at some time or other (no matter 
when), the ideas will not necessarily spring 
up in him." These are the words of Lord 
Shaftesbury in his Letters, which, not being 
printed in any edition of the Characteristics, 
are less known than they ought to be ; though, 
in them, the line genius and generous prin- 
ciples of the writer are less hid by occasional 
aflectation of style, than in any other of his 
writings.* 

The above observations apply with still 
greater force to what Mr. Locke calls '-prac- 
tical principles." Here, indeetl, he contra- 
dicts himself; for, having built one of his 
chief arguments against other speculative or 
practical principles, on what he thinks the 
incapacity of the majority of mankind to en- 
tertain those very abstract ideas, of which 
these principles, if innate, would imply the 
presence in every mind, he very ineonsistent- 

* Dr. Lee, nn antagonist of Mr. Locke, hns 
stated the qiicsiion of innnie ideas more fully than 
Shafiesbiiry, or even Leibnitz : he has also antici- 
pated some of ilie reasonings of Bufficr and Reid. 
— Lee's Notes on Locke, tolio, London, 1702. 



ON THE PHILOSOPHICAL GENIUS OF BACON AND LOCKE. 



25 



ly admits the existence of one innate practi- 
cal principle, — "a desire of happiness, and 
an aversion to misery,"* without considering 
that happiness and misery are also abstract 
terms, which excite very indistinct concep- 
tions in the minds of "a great part of man- 
kind." It would be easy also to show, if this 
were a proper place, that the desire of happi- 
ness, so far from being an innate, is not even 
an original princyile; that it presupposes the 
existence of all those particular appetites 
and desires ef which the gratification is plea- 
sure, and also the exercise of that deliberate 
reason which habitually examines how far 
each gratification, in all its consequences, in- 
creases or diminishes that sum of enjoyment 
which constitutes happiness. If that subject 
could be now fully treated, it would appear 
that this error of Mr. Locke, or another 
equally great, that we have only one practical 
principle, — the desire of pleasure, — is the 
root of most false theories of morals; and 
that it is also the source of many mistaken 
speculations on the important subjects of 
government and education, which at this 
moment mislead the friends of human im- 
provement, and strengthen the arms of its 
enemies. But morals fell only incidentally 
imder the consideration of Mr. Locke; and 
his errors on that greatest of all sciences were 
the jirevalent opinions of his age, which can- 
not be justly called the principles of Hobbes, 
though that extraordinary man had alone the 
bohlness to exhibit these principles in con- 
nexion with their odious but strictly logical 
consequences. 

The exaggerations of this first book, how- 
ever, aflbrd a new proof of the author'^s 
steady regard to the highest interests of man- 
kind. He justly considered the free exercise 
of reason as the highest of these, and that 
on the security of which all the others de- 
pend. The circumstances of his life rendered 
it a long warfare against the enemies of 
freedom in philosophising, freedom in wor- 
ship, and freedom from every political re- 
straint which necessity did not justify. In 
his noble zeal for liberty of thought, he 
dreaded the tendency of a doctrine which 
might "gradually prepare mankind to swal- 
low that for an innate principle which may 
serve his purpose who teacheth them.''t He 
may well be excused, if, in the ardour of his 
generous conflict, he sometimes carried be- 
yond the bounds of calm and neutral reason 
his repugnance to doctrines which, as they 
■were then generally ex])lained, he justly re- 
garded as capable of being employed to 
shelter absurdity from detection, to stop the 
progress of free inquiry, and to subject the 
general reason to the authority of a few in- 
dividuals. Every error of Mr. Locke in 
speculation may be traced to the influence 
of some virtue; — at least every error except 
some of the erroneous opinions generally re- 
ceived in his age, which, with a sort of pas- 

* Essav on Human Understanding, book i. 
chap. 3. ^ 3. 
t Chap. 4. $ 24. 



give acquiescence, he suffered to retain their 
place in his mind. 

It is with the second book that the Es.?ay 
on the Human Understanding properly be- 
gins; and this book is the first considerable 
contribution in modern times towards the 
e.vperimental* philosophy of the human 
mind. The road was pointed out by Bacon: 
and, by excluding the fallacious analogies ol 
thought to outward apjicarance, Descartes 
may be said to have marked out the limits 
of the proper field of inquiry. But, before 
Locke, there was no example in intellectual 
philosophy of an ample enumeialion of fact.s, 
collected and arranged for the express pur- 
pose of legitimate generalization. He him- 
self tells us, that his purpose was, '•' in a plain 
historical method, to give an account of the 
ways by which our understanding comes to 
attain ihosi; notions of things we have.'' In 
more modern jihiaseology, this would be 
called an attempt to ascertain, by observa- 
tion, the mo.st general facts relating to the 
origin of human knowledge. There is some- 
thing in the plainness, and even homeliness 
of Locke's language, which strongly indicates 
his very clear conception, that experience 
must be his sole guide, and his unwilling- 
ness, by the use of scholastic language, to 
imitate the example of those who make a 
show of explaining facts, while in reality they 
only "darken counsel by words without 
knowledge." He is content to collect the 
laws of thought, as he would have collected 
those of any other object of physical know- 
ledge, from observation alone. He seldom 
embarrasses himself with physiological hy- 
pothesis,! or wastes his strength on those 



* This word "experimental," has the defect of 
not appearint; to comprehend the knowledge which 
flows from oliscivalio7i, as well as tliat which is 
ol)tainc(i i)y experiment. The German word " em- 
pirical," is applied to all the information which ex- 
perience affords ; liul it is in our iancuago degraded 
by anoilier applicaiion. I therefore must use 
"experimental" in a larger sense than its ety- 
mology warrants. 

t A stronger proof can hardly be required than 
the following sentence, of his freedom Irom phy- 
siological prejudice. " This laying up nf our 
ideas in the repository of the memory, signifies no 
more but this, that the mind has the power in many 
cases to revive perceptions, with another percep- 
lion annexed to them, that it has had them be- 
fore " The same chapter is remarkable for the 
exquisite, and almost pnetical beauty, of some of 
its illusirations. "Ideas quickly fade, and oftep 
vanish quite out of the understanding, leaving no 
more footsteps or remaining characters of them- 
selves tlian shadows do flying over a field of corn." 
— " '1 he ideas, as well as children of our youth, 
often die before us, and our minds represent to 
us those tombs to which we are approaching; 
where, though the brass and marble remain, yet 
the inscriptions are effaced by lime, and the ima- 
gery moulders away. Pictures drawn in our 
rriinds are laid in fading colours, and. unless some- 
limes refreshed, vanish and disappear," — book ii. 
chap. 10. This pathetic language must have been 
inspired by experience ; and, though Locke couid 
not have been more than fifty-six when he wrote 
these sentences, it is too well known that the find 
decays of memory may be painfully felt long be- 
fore they can be detected by the keenest observer. 



i?r> 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



iiisoliiblcj problems! which \v(Mt» thon calloil 
ini>taphysii";il. TlioiiL;h, in llio ("xcriitiuii of 
his plan, lliiM'i? arc many ami j^ical ilclci-ts. 
lli(> coiici'inioii of it iscmiicly confurmablc to 
(he Vciiilamiaii mc(htnl of imhictioii, wliich, 
(>vcii alter the luUcsl <'iimiiciatitm of parti- 
culars, rcijnircs ji cautions examination of 
each siiboulinate class ol' phenomena, before 
we attempt, thronuh a very sslowly asccndin;;- 
(•cries of i^'enerali/atious, to soar to compre- 
hensivt" laws " Philosophy,''asJ\lr.l'layi"air 
o.\C(>Ili'ntly rcnih'rs Hacou, "hast^ilher taken 
much fiom a few thin;;s, or too liill(> from a 
great many ; ami in both cases h.is loo nar- 
row a basis to be of much ilnration or ulilily."" 
Or, to use the very words of the Master luni- 
self — " W'e shall then have reason to hope 
well of the sciences, when we rise by con- 
linueil steps from particulars to inferior 
axioms, ami then to the middle, anil only at 
last to the most yeneral.* It is not so much 
by an appeal to expiMience (for some dei>ree 
oT that appeal is universal), as by the mode 
of condnctinn it, that the followers of Haeon 
are distinuiiishcil from the framers of hy- 
potheses/' It is one tliinij to borrow from 
o.vpiMieuoe just enou.'h to make a supposition 
plHUsihIe; it is ipiite another to take from it 
all that is nocessary to be the fonndaliou of 
just theory. 

In this respect perhaps, more than in any 
other, the philosophical writings tif Locke are 
coutradislninuished fiom those of Ilobbes. 
The latter .s;iw, withastonishiniirapidily of in- 
tuition some of the skimpiest and most ii'eneral 
facts whiim may beobscrveil in the operations 
of the uiiderslandin;^; and perhaps no man 
ever piissessed thi» same faculty of conveyinu' 
his abstract speculations in lanyuaive of such 
clearness, precision, and force, as to en«iTavo 
ihem on the mind of the reader. Hut he 
did not wait to examine whether there might 
not be other facts equally general relating 
to the intellectual powers; and he therefore 
''took too little fron\ a great many things." 
lie fell into the ilouble error of hastily ap- 
plying his general laws to the most compli- 
cated processes of thought, without consider- 
ing whMher these general laws were not 
themselves limited by other not less conipn^- 
hensive laws, and without trying to iliscovor 
how tht\v were connected with particulars, 
by H scale of intermediate and secondary 
laws. This mode of philosophising was well 
suited to the dogmatic coiitidence and dicta- 
torial tone which belonged to the character 
of the philosopher of JNlalmsbury, and which 
enabled him to brave the obloquy attendant 
oil sinunlar and obnovious opinions. '-The 
plain historical method,"" o\\ the other hand, 
chosen by Mr. Locke, produced the natural 
fruits of caution and modt-stv : taught him to 
distrust hasty and sini^nlar c^nclus ons ; dis- 
posed him, on tit occasions, to entertain a 
mitigated scepticism: and taught him also 
the rare courage to make an ingenuous 
avowal of ignorance. This contrast is one 

* Novum Organum, lib. i. ^ civ. 



of our reasons for doubting wlielher Locke 
be much indebted to Hobbes for his specu- 
lations; and certainly the i\H'rt^ coiiiciuenco 
of the oj)inions of two metaphysicians is 
slender evidence, in any case, that either 
of them has borrowed his opinions from tho 
other. Where the premises are dillerent, 
.and they have reached the sime conclusioa 
by dillerent roads, .such a coincidence is 
scarcely any evidence at all. Locke ami 
Mobbes agree chiefly on those i)oints in 
which, t>xcept the Cartesians, all the specu- 
lators of their age were al.so agreed. I'hey 
dill"t>r on the most momentous ipiestions, — 
the .sources of knowledge, — the power of ab- 
straction, — the nature of the will ; on tlie two 
last of which subjects, Locke, by his very 
failures themselves, evinces a strong repug- 
nance to the iloctrines of llobbes. They dif- 
fer not only in all their premises, and many 
of their conclusions, but in l}\(>ir manner of 
philosophising itself. Locke had no prt^ju- 
dice which could lead him to imbibe doc- 
trines from the enemy of liberty and religion. 
His style, with all its faults, is that of a man 
who tlr.nks for himself ; and an original stylo 
is not usually the vehicle of borrowed opin- 
ions. 

Few books havo contributcil more than 
JNIr. Locke"s Essay to rectify prejudice; to 
undermine established errors j to dilluse a 
just moile of thinking; to excite a fearless 
spirit of inquiry, and yet to contain it within 
the boundaries which Nature has pn^scribcd 
to the human uuderstaiuling. An amend- 
ment of the g(Mieral habits of thought is, in 
most parts of knowledge, an object as impor- 
tant as even the iliscovery of new truths; 
though it is not so palpable, nor in its nature 
so capable of being estimalcil by supeilicial 
observers. In the mental and moral world, 
which scarcely ailmits of any thing which 
can be calh\l discovery, the correction of the 
intellectual habits is probably the greatest 
service which can be remlereil to Science. 
In this respect, the merit of Locke is unri- 
valled. His writings have ditlused through- 
out the civilized world, the love of civil lib- 
erty and the spirit of toleration and charity 
in religious diirerences, with the disposition 
to ri\iect whatever is obscure, tantastic, or 
hypothetical in speculation, — to reduce ver- 
bal ili.spules to their proper value, — to aban- 
ilon pioblems which ailmit of no solution, — 
to distrust whatever cannot clearly be e.\- 
pres.sed, — to render theory the simple ex- 
pression of facts, — ;iud to pref<>r those studies 
which most ilirectly contribute to human 
happiness. If Hacon lirst discovered tho 
rules by which knowledge is improved, 
Locke has most contributed to make man- 
kind at large observe them. lie has done 
most, though ol'ten by remedies of silent 
and almost insensible operation, to euro 
those mental distempers which obstructed 
the adoption of these rules; and has thus 
Icil to tnat gt<ueial ditfusion of a healthful 
and vigorous understanding, which is at onco 
the greatest of all improvemenls, and tlia 



ON tup: study of the law of naturk and nations. 



21 



infttrurrionl by whic}) ;ill otfinr pmii^ress must 
bo aocornplishcd. lb; h;is U:\\. to poHtority 
the inslrufjtive r;x:irri])l<i of ;i jjiiidciit n;- 
formi!r, and of a philosophy tctnpiualu as ux-ll 
.13 liberal, whJcli Kj)ari!S llio b;(rliti^s of thu 
{{ood, and avoids dinjct hostility wilh obsli- 
nato atid formidablo pifjjudicf,'. Th(;si; bono- 
fils aru vfjry Hlii;htly couritiirbalaiiced by 
«omo political doclriiioH liabh; to misapplica- 
tion, and by tho rfcopticism of sorno of his 
in;^i!niouH folhnvors ; — an iriconviniionco to 
which (!V(!ry philuHoj)hicai K(;h')oI i.s cxiMJSod, 
which does not steadily Jiiriil ilj< lh(;o)y to a 



mere oxpoHition of exijeiience. If Locke 
mafle f(!W discov(!ii(;s, Socrates ma(bi none: 
yet botli did more for the iniprovern<!nl of the 
understanding^, and not li;ss fur the j)ro;(rr;.s3 
of kno\vl<;djre, than the authors of tlje most 
brilliant discoveries. Mr. Locke will ever 
be r('i,'ard(;d as one of the f,'reat ornaments 
of the Kn;,dish nation; and the most distant 
posterity will s()eak of him in ilie language 
addressed to him by the poet — 
" O Dccus Angliacaj certe, Ltix altera gentia !"* 

* Gray, Uc Priiiciijiis Cojjitandi. 



A DISCOURSE 

ON THE 



LAW OP NATURE AND NATIONS/ 



Before I bogin a course of lectures on a 
science of great extent and importancQ, I 
think it my duty to lay before the public the 
rea.Hons which have induced me to undertake 
such a labour, as well as a short account of 
the nature and objects of the cours(; which I 
propose to deliver. I have always been un- 
willing to waste in unprofitable inactivity 
that leisure which the first years of my.pro- 
fe.ssioii usually allow, aii(f which diligent 
moil, even wilh moderate tali.-nts, rni^dit of- 
ten employ in a manner neither discr(!ditable 
to themselves, nor wholly usidess to oiIkms. 
Desirous that my own leisun; should not be 
consumed in sloth, I an.vious!y lookfvi about 
for some way of tilling it up, which might 
enabhj me according to the measure of my 
humhhj abiliti(!S, to contribute somewhat to 
the slock of general usefulness. I had long 
been convinced that public lectures, which 
have been used in most ages and countries to 
teach the elements of almost every part of 
learning, were the most convenient mode in 
which these elements could be tauiihl ; — 
that they were the best adapted for the im- 
portant purposes of awakening the atleiilion 
of th(! Btudent, of abridging his labours, of 
guiding his inquiries, of rerniving the tediou.s- 
ness of private study, and of impressing on 
his recollection the priiici[)les of a science. 
I saw no reason why the law of England 
should be less uda|)t(nl to this mod(! of in- 
6trn<!lion, or less likidy to bimcfit by it, than 



* 'riiJ!* ilisnoiirsf! was ilin [jrcliiriininy one of a 
COurBO of luolurfis diilivnrod in tlin liall of Ijiiioiilii's 
Inn durinii; tlio sprinjr of ilio yi;ar 171)1). From the 
Slate of ihi! oii(;iti:il VI.S.S. notion dI ilmsn lo(;turi'H, 
in the pos-:os«ion of ilio ciliior, il would KOi^rn iliat 
tho IccMirf'.r liar] tnisicd, with ihc cxcopiion of a 
■few paH.snjjns prepared in rxlcnua, to his powerliil 
memorv for all the aid that war riqnirnd beyond 
what mure culchv)ord» could eujiply. — Ed. 



any other part of knowledge. A learned gen- 
tleman, however, had already occupied that 
ground,* and will, I doubt not, persevere in 
the useful labour which he has undeitaken. 
On his province it was far froin my wi.sh to 
intrude. It appeared to me that a couise 
of lectures on another science closely con- 
nected wilh all liberal professional studies, 
and which had long b(!en the subject of my 
own reading and reflection, might not only 
prove a most useful introduction to the law 
of England, but mi^ht also become an inter- 
esting part of general sliidy, and an import- 
ant blanch of tlu; education of those who 
were not destined for the profcission of tho 
law. I was confirmed in my opinion by tho 
assent and ajjprobalion of men, who.se 
names, if il were becoming to mention them 
on so slight an occasion, would add aulhority 
to truth, and furnihh some excu.se even for 
error. Encouraged by their approbation, I 
resolved without delay to commence the nn- 
dertaking, of which I shall now proceed to 
give some account; without iiit(!iru])tiiig tho 
progress of my di.scourse by anticipating or 
answering the remarks of those who may, 
piirhaps, sneer at mcj for a departure from 
the usual course of my prof(;.ssion, bocauso 
I am desirous of employing in a rational and 
useful pursuit that leisure, of which the 
same m(;n would have requircui no account, 
if it had b(!en wasted on trifles, or sven 
abused in dissipation. 

The science which teaches the rights and 
duties of men and of states, has, in modern 
times, been calhsd "the law of nature and 
nations." Under this comprehensive title 



* .Snc " A Rylla'iiis of Jjccturps on the T-aw ol 
England, to he delivered in Liiicoln'B Inn Hall by 
M. Nolen, Esq." 



JNIACKINTOSII'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



mo ini-luclcd tlio rules of molality, ns they 
piosiTilif I 111' c'oiuliu-l of inivatc nuMi low aids 
each otliiM- in all llie various relations of lin- 
inan iif(>; as they rciiiiiate both the obinli- 
onee of eiti/iMis lu the laws, ami the authority 
of the magistrate in framiiii;' laws, and ad- 
ministering' government ; and as they modily 
the intercourse of indeiiendiMit coinmon- 
woalths ill peace, and prescribe limits to their 
hosldily in war. Tliis important science 
comprehends only that part of private ethics 
\vhieh is cajnible of being rediiceil to (ixcnl 
and general rules. It considers only those 
general iiriiicipli-a of jurisiiriulence ami poli- 
tics winch the wisdom of the lawgiver adapts 
ti>the peeidiar situation of his own country, 
aiul which the skill of the statesman applies 
totiu' more iluctiiatiiig and inlinilely varying 
circumstances which ad'ect its immediate 
welfare and safety. " For there are in nature 
certain fountains of justice whence all civil 
laws are deriveil. but as streams; ami like as 
waters ilo take tinctures and tastes from the 
soils through which they run, so cK) civil laws 
vary accosting to the ri'gions ami govern- 
ments wher.' they are planted, though they 
proeei'd irom th(> same fountains.''* 

Oil the great questions of morality, of poli- 
tics, and of municipal law, it is the object 
of this science to deliv(M- only those funda- 
mental truths of which the particular aj^pli- 
catiou is as extensive as the wiiole jirivate 
and public conduct of men; — to discover 
those "fountains of justice," without pursu- 
ing the "streams" tlirouuh the endless va- 
riety of their course, lint another part of 
the subjiH-t is to be treated with greater ful- 
ness and minuteness of a|>plicalion ; namely, 
that imuortant branch of it which jirofesses 
to regnlat(> the relations and intercourse of 
stales, and more especially, (both on account 
of their greater perfection ami their more 
imineiliaie reference to use), the regulalions 
of that intercourse as they are moililied by 
the usages of the civili/i'il nations of Chris- 
tendom. Here this science no longer rests 
on general principles. That province of it 
which we now call the " law of nations," has, 
in many of its parts, acquired among Euro- 
pean ones much of the precision and cer- 
tainly of positive law ; and the particulars 
of ihat law are chietly to be foniul in the 
works of those writers who have treated the 
science of w hich I now speak. It is because 
they have classed (in a manner which seems 
peculiar to modern times) the duties of indi- 
viduals with those of nations, and established 
their obligation on similar grounds, that the 
whole science has been called, " the law of 
nature and nations." 

Whether this appellation be the happiest 
tiiat could have been chosen for the science. 
and by what steps it came to bo adopted 



among our modern moralists and lawyers,* 
are iiKpiiries, perhaps, of more curiosity than 
us(>, and ones which, if they ilesi'ive any 
where to be ileeply pursued, will be juirsued 
w ith more iiropriely in a full exaniination of 
the subject than within the short limilsof ani 
introductory discourse. Names are, how- 
ever, in a great measure arbitrary; but the 
distribution of knowledge into its parts, 
though it may oflen jierhaps be varied with 
little disadvantage, yet certainly depiMuia 
upon some lixed jiriuciples. The modern 
method of considering individual and na- 
tional morality as the subjects of the same 
science, seems to me as convenient and rea- 
sonable an arrangement as can he adopted. 
The same rules of morality which hold toge- 
ther men in familie.-^, and w hich form tamilies 
into coriinionweallhs, also link together these 
commonwealths as members of the great siv 
ciely of mankind. Commonwealths, as well 
as private men, are liable to injury, and ca- 
pable of benefit, from each other; it is, 
therefore, their interest, as well as their 
duty, to reverence, to practise, and to en- 
force those rules of justice whic'h control 
and restrain injury, — whieh regulate and 
augment benefit, — which, even in their pre- 
sent imperfect observance, preserve civilized 
states in a tolerable condition of security 
from wrong, ami w hich, if thi>y could be gen- 
erally obeyed, would establish, and perma- 
nently maintain, the well-being of the uni- 
versal commonwealth of the human race. It 
is therefore with justice, that one part of th s 
science has been called "the natural law of 
iihliniduals,-'' and the other " the natural law 
of stolen;'' ami it is too obvious to require 
observation,! that the application of both' 
these laws, of ilie former as much as of the 
latter, is modilicd and varied by customs 



* Advnnroinont of Loiirniiiii. book ii. I have 
not l)iM<n (Irtorroii by some pony iiiconiiruity of 
nifliiplior iVom qnoiiitir ihis noble sonioncc. Mr. 
Ilumi' h,'\ii, porbiips. iliia soni(Mici> in bis rocolleo- 
lion, wbcM lio \vr(>io n n-marUiible passage of his 
works. See his Essays, vol. ii. p. 352. 



* Tiio learned render is nwnre ihnt tiio "jus 
natura)" and "jus aeiiiiiim" of the Roiiian law. 
vers are piuases ot very didereiit inipori I'liun die 
moileni piuases, "law of naiure" and " law of 
iiaiions." "Jus naturale," says Ulpian, "est 
quod nalura omnia aninialin docuil." " Quod 
iiaturalis ratio inier oniiics bomines eonsiiiuii. id 
apud onines pera'que cusioditur; vocaiurqne jus 
t!;entiuni." Bui ibey sonieiimes neglecl ibissubile 
distiiieiion — "Jure naturalt quod appellaiur jus 
s-eiuium." " Jus leciale" was the Roman lerin 
for our law of nations. " Belli qiiidein a\]iiiiaa 
saiieiis^ime popiili Horn, feeinii j\ire perseriptu 
est." He Oniiiis, lib. i. cn|i. ii. Our learned ci- 
vilian Zoiu'b luis aeeordinglv eniiiled bis work, 
" De Jure Feeiali, sivo de Jure inter Geiites.'' 
Tbe Cbaneelior D'.'\<iuesseau, probaldy wiiboul 
knowiiijT ilie work o( Zoucli, suggested tbat this 
law sbouKl be called, "Droit eiiire les Gens" 
(Cl'luvres. vol. ii. p. 337), in wliieb be has lieeu 
lollowed by a laie innenions writer. Mr. Benibani, 
(Intrndueiion to die Vrineiples of Morals and Le- 
gislation, p. 3-1.) Ferbnps tbese learned writers 
do employ a phrase wliieli e.xpresses tiie suliject 
of tbis law wiib nu)re aeeuraey tban our commoti 
language ; l>ut I (bnibt wbeiber innovations in tlie 
terms of seienee always repay us by their superior 
precision for tbe uneeriainty and confusion which 
tbe eliance oeeasions. 

t Tins remark is suggested by nn ot>jeetion of 
Vatiel, wbiib is more specious than solid. See 
his Preliuunaries, ^ (i. 



ON THE STUDY OF THE LAW OF NATUKE AND NATIONS. 



29 



conventions, character, and situation. Whh 
a view to these principles, the writens on 
general jurisprudence have; considered states 
as moral persons) a mode of expression 
which has been called a fiction of law, but 
whicli may be regarded with more projjriety 
as a belli metaphor, used to convey the im- 
portant truth, that nations, thouj^h they ac- 
Knowletige no common superior, and neither 
can, nor ought, to be subjected to human 
punishment, are yet under the same obliga- 
tions mutually to practise honesty and hu- 
manity, which would have bound individu- 
als, — if the latter could be conceived ever 
to have subsisted without the protecting re- 
straints of government, and if Ihey were not 
compelled to the discharge of their duty by 
thii just authority of magistratcjs, and by tlie 
wholesome terrors of the laws. Witii tlie 
same views this law has been styled, and 
(notwithstanding the objections of some writ- 
ers to the vagueness of the language) ap- 
pears to have been styled with great pro- 
priety, " the law of nature." It may with 
sutlicient correctness, or at least by an easy 
metaphor, be called a " law," inasmuch as 
it is a supreme, invariable, and uncontrolla- 
ble rule of conduct to all men, the violation 
of which is avenged by natural punishmesits, 
necessarily flowing fiorn the conslitution of 
things, and as fixed and inevitable as the; 
order of nature. It is " the law of nature," 
because its general precepts are essentially 
adapted to promote the happiness of man, 
as long as he remains a being of the same 
nature with which he is at present endowed, 
or, in other words, as long as he continues to 
bo man, in all the variety of times, places, 
and circumstances, in whicli he has been 
known, or can be imagined to exist ; because 
it is discoverable by natural reason, and suit- 
able to our natural constitution; and because 
its fitness and wisdom are founded on the 
general nature of human beings, and not on 
any of those temporary and accidental situ- 
ations in which they may be placed. It is 
with still more propriety, and indeed with 
the highest strictness, and the most perfect 
accuracy, considered as a law, when, accord- 
ing to those just and magnificent views 
which philosophy and religion open to us of 
the government of the world, it is received 
and reverenced as the sacred code, promul- 
gated by the great Legislator of the Universe 
for the guidance of His creatures to happi- 
ness; — guarded and enforced, as our own 
experience may inform us, by the penal 
sanctiins of shame, of remorse, of infamy, 
and o? misery ; and still farther enforced by 
the re^^sonable expectation of yet more awful 
penalties in a future and more permanent 
state of existence. It is the contemplation 
of the law of nature under this full, mature, 
and perfect idea of its high origin and tran- 
Bcendent dignity, that called forth the enthu- 
siasm of the greatest men, and the greatest 
writers of ancient and modern times, in 
those sublime descriptions, in which they 
have exhausted all the powers of language, 



and surpassed all the other exertions, even 
of their own eloquence, in the display of its 
beauty and majesty. It is of this law that 
Cicero has spoken in so many parts of his 
writings, not only with all the s])len(lour and 
copiousness of eloijuence, but with the sen- 
sibility of a man of virtue, and willi the gra- 
vity and compr(di(Mision of a philosopher.* 
It is of this law that Hooker speaks in so 
sublime a strain: — "Of Law, no less can be 
saiti, than that her seat is the bosom of God, 
her voice the harmony of the world ; all things 
in heaven and earth do her homage, the very 
least as feeling her care, the greatest as not 
exempted from her power; both angels and 
men, and cn;aluresol' what condition soever, 
though each in diflerent sort and manner, 
yet all with uniform consent admiring her 
as the niolh(M- of their peace and joy."t 

Let not those who, to use the language of 
the same Hook(;r, "talk of truth," without 
"ever sounding the depth from whence it 
springeth," hastily take it for granted, that 
these great masters of eloquence and reason 
were led astray by the specious delusions of 
mysticism, from the sober consideration of 
the true grounds of morality in the nature, 
necessities, and interests of man. They 
studi(!d and taught the principles of morals; 
but they thought it still more necessary, and 
more wise, — a much nobler task, and more 
becoming a true jjhilosopher, to inspire men 
with a love and reverence for virtue. j They 
were not contented with elementary specu- 
lations: they examined the foundations of 
our duty; but they felt and cherished a most 
natural, a most seemly, a most rational en- 
thusiasm, when they contemplated the ma- 
jestic edifice which is reared on these solid 
foundations. They devoted the highest ex- 
ertions of their minds to spread that benefi- 
cent enthusiasm among men. They conse- 
crated as a homage to Virtue the most perfect 



* " Est qiiidoni vera lex recta ratio, naturae 
congrucns, diffusa in omnes, constans, sempiter- 
na; quaj vocet ad officium jubendo, veiando a 
fraude detcrreat, qua; tamen neque probos irusira 
jubct aut vtilat, neque improbos jubendo aut ve- 
taiido niovet. Huic Icgi neque obrogari fas est, 
neque derogari ex hac aliquid licet, neque tota 
ahrogari potest. Nee vero aut per senaium aut 
per populum solvi hac lege possunius: neque est 
quocrcndus explanator aut interpres ejus alius. 
Nee erit alia lex Roma;, alia Aihenis, alia nunc, 
alia posthac ; sed et omnes gentes et omni tem- 
pore una lex et sernpilerna, et imninlabilis con- 
tinebit ; unusque erit communis quasi magisler et 
imperaior omnium Deus, ille legis hujus inyenlor, 
disceptator, lalor: cui qui non parebit ipse se 
fiigiel et naturam hominis asjycrnahilur, atque 
lioc ipso luet maximas pa3nas, eiianisi cajlera eup- 
piicia, quae putantur, cfTugcrit." — De Repub. lib. 
iii. cap. 22. 

t Ecclesiastical Polity, book i. in the conclusion. 

t "Age vero urbibus constitutis, ut fidcm co- 
lerc et justitiam retinere discerent, et aliis parere 
sua voluhtate consuesccrent, ac non modo laborcs 
cxcipiendos communis commodi causa, sed eliarr. 
vitam amittendam exislimarent ; qui tandem fier- 
potuit, nisi homines ea, qua; ratione invenisset-t, 
cloquentia pcrsuadere potuissent?*" — De invenL 
Rhet. lib. i. cap. 2. 

C 2 



so 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



fruits of lIuMi- goniiis. If tlioso fiiaiul sonti- 
nuMils of "llif i;ooil ami fail" have soino- 
tiiiios picviMitcJ tlinn fioiu dciivi-iiiii;' tlii' 
priiK'iplos of I'thii'S with tho iiaki'diu'ss ami 
orvni'ss of siMoiico, at loast wo must own 
that llu'V havo c-linsoii tlio lu'ttor part, — that 
tlit\v liavo nivfon Oil virtuous foolini;- to moral 
tlioory, and prartioal bouolil to spoculalive 
exactuoss. IVriiaps those wise mou may 
havo supposoil tliat the minute ilissootion 
niul anatomy of Virtue might, to the ili-jmlg- 
ing ey«>, weaken the ehariu of her beauty. 

It is not for me to attempt a tlieme whieh 
has perhaps b(H>n exhansteil by these great 
writers. 1 am iuileed mueli less ealleil upon 
to display the worth and ustMulness of the 
law of iialions. than to vindieate myself from 
presumption in attempting a subject whieh 
has bet>n already handled by so numy mas- 
ters. For the i)urpose of that vindleation it 
will be necessary to sketeh a very short and 
slight aoeount (for sueh in this plaee it must 
unavoidably be) of the progress anil present 
state of the science, and of that succession 
of abli' writers who have gradually brought 
it to its present perfection. 

We have no (Jreek or Komau treatise re- 
maining on the law of nations. From the 
title of one of the lost works of Aristotle, it 
appears that he composed a treatise on the 
laws of war,* which, if we had the good for- 
tune to possess it, would doubtless have am- 
ply satistied our curiosity, and would have 
taught us both the practice of the ancient 
nations ami the opinions of their moralists, 
with that ilepth and precision which distin- 
guish the other works of that great philoso- 
pher. We can now only imperfectly collect 
that practice ami those opinions from various 
p;issages which are scattered over the writ- 
ings of philosophers, historians, poets, and 
orators. When the time shall arrive for a 
more full consiileration of the state of the 
government and manners of the ancient 
world, I shall be able, nerhaps, to ofier satis- 
factory reasons why tnese eidightened na- 
tions did not separate from the general pro- 
vince of ethics that part of morality which 
regulates the intercourse of states, and erect 
it into an independent science. It would re- 
quire a long discussion to untold the various 
causes which united the modern nations of 
Europe into a closer society. — which linked 
ihem together by the tirmest bands of mutual 
dependence, and which thus, in process of 
titne, g-ave to the law that regulated their 
intercourse, greater importance, higher im- 
proveuuMit, and more binding force. Among 
these causes, we may enumerate a common 
e.xtniction, a common religion, similar man- 
ners, it\stitutions, and languages; in earlier 
ages the authority of the StH» of Rome, and 
the extravagant claims of the imperial crown ; 
in latter times the coniu^xions of trade, the 
jealousy of power, the retinement of civiliza- 
tion, the cultivation of science, and, above all, 
that general mildness of character and mau- 



* ^ei*4S.ft*TX TiC-r *^iftmr. 



ners which arose from the combined and 
piogressive inlluence of chivalry, of com- 
merce, of leainingand of religion. Nor must 
we omit the similarity of tln)se political in- 
stitutions which, in every country that had 
been overrun by the (Jotiuc conquerors, bore 
discernible marks (which the revolutions of 
succeeding ages had obscured, but not ob- 
liteiated) of the rnde but bold and noble out- 
line of liberty that was originally sketched 
by the hand of these generous barbarians. 
Tliese and many other causes conspired to 
unite the nations of Europe in a more inti- 
mate connexion and a nu>re constant inier- 
course, and, of conscipunice, made the regu- 
lation of tlieir intercourse more nt>cessary, 
and the law that was to govern it more im- 
portant. In proportion as they approached 
to tho condition of provinces of the same em- 
pire, it b(H"aiue almost as essential that 
Europe shonlil have a precise and compre- 
hensive code of the law of nations, as that 
each coup.try should have a system of mu- 
nicipal law. The labours of the learned, 
accordingly, began to be directed to this sub- 
ject in tlie sixteenth century, soon after the 
revival of learning, and after that regular 
distribution of jiower ami territory which has 
snbsisteil, with little variation, until our 
times. The critical examination of these 
early writers would, perhaps, not be very in- 
teresting in an extensive work, and it would 
be unpardonable in a short discourse. It 
is sutlicient to observe that they were all 
more or less shackled by the barbarous phi- 
losophy of the schools, ami that they were 
impeded in their progress by a timorous def- 
erence for the inferior and technical parts of 
the Roman law, without raising their views 
to the comprehensive principles wiiich will 
for ever inspire mankind with veneration for 
that grand monument of human wisdom. It 
was only, indeed, iu the sixteenth century 
that the Roman law was lirst studied ami 
understood as a science connected with Ro- 
man history and literature, and ilinstrated by 
men whom Ulpian and Rapinian would not 
have disdained to acknowledge as their suc- 
cessors.* Among the writers of that age wo 
may peiceive the inertectual attempts, the 
mitial advances, the occasional stieaks of 
light which always precede great discov- 
eries, and works that are to instruct pos- 
terity. 

The reduction of the law of nations to a 
system was reserved for tlrotius. It was by 
the advice of Lord Bacon and Reiresc that he 
undertook this arduous task. He produced a 
work which we now, indeed, justly deem im- 
perfect, but which is perhaps the most com- 
plete that the world has yet owed, at so early 
a stage in the progress of any science, to the 

• Cuj.'ii-ius, Brissonius. Hoitomannns, «fec., &.C. 
— Soo Gnwma Orisines Juris Civilis (Lips. 1737), 
pp. 130 — 13;^. Loibniiz, a great mathomaiician as 
well as piiilosopher. declares that he knows no- 
ihing wliiili approaches so near to tiie method 
and precision ot Geometry as the Roman law.— ^ 
Op. vol. iv. p. "254. 



ON THE STUDY OF THE LAW OF NATURE AND NATIONS. 



gf^nius ami learnitif^of one man. So great is 
the iinr.citaiiity of' posthumous roputatiori, 
and so liable is the famo r;vcn of thu greato.";! 
mori to he obscured by those new fashions 
of tliiiikiiig afid writing \vhich succeed each 
other so raj)i(ily among polished nations, that 
Grotius, who tilled so large a space in the 
eye of his contemporaries, is now perhaps 
known to some of my readers only l^y name. 
Yet if we faiily estimate both his endow- 
ments and his virtues, we may justly consider 
him as one of the most memorable men who 
have done honour to modern times. He 
combined the discharge of the most irn})or- 
tarit duties of active and jjublic lifi; with the 
altainmrnitof that exact and various learning 
which is generally the portion only of the 
recluse student. He was distinguished as 
an advocate and a magistrate, and he com- 
posed the most valuable works on the law 
of his own country; he was almost equally 
celebrated as an historian, a scholar, a poet, 
and a divine; — a disinterested statesman, a 
philosophical lawyer, a patriot who united 
moderation with firmness, and a theologian 
who was taught candour by his learning. 
Unmerited exile did not damp his patriot- 
ism; th(! bitterness of controversy diil not 
extinguish his charity. The sagacity of his 
numerous and fierce adversaries could not 
discover a blot on his character; and in the 
midst of all the hard trials and gallingprovo- 
cations of a turbulent political life, he never 
once deserted his friends when they were 
nnfortunate, nor insulted his enemies when 
they were weak. In times of the most fu- 
rious civil and religious faction he preserved 
his name unspotted, and he knew how to 
reconcile fidelity to his own party, Avith 
moderation towards his opponents. 

Such v/as the man who was destined to 
give a new form to the law of nations, or ra- 
ther to create a science, of which only rude 
sketches and undigested materials were 
scattered ovtsr the writings of those who had 
gone before him. By tracing the laws of his 
country to their principles, he was led to the 
contemplation of the law of nature, which 
he justly considered as the parent of all mu- 
nicipal law.* Few works were more cele- 
brated than that of Grotius in his own days, 
and in the age which succeeded. It has, 
however, been tho^ashion of the last half- 
century to depreciate his work as a shape- 
less compilation, in which reason lies buried 
under a mass of authorities and fpiotations. 
This fashion originated among French wits 
and declaimers, and it has been, I know not 
for what reason, adopted, though with far 
greater moderation and decency, by some 
respectable writers among ourselves. As to 
those who first used this language, the most 
candid supposition that we can make with 
respect to them is, that they never read the 
work; for, if they had not been deterred 
from the perusal of it by such a formidable 



• " Proavia juris civilis." De Jure Belli ac 
PacU, prolog. ^ xvi. 



display of Greek characters, they must soon 
have discovered that Grotius nevc^r quotes 
on any subject till he has first appealed to 
some principles, and often, in my humble 
opinion, though not always, to the soundest 
and most rational principles. 

lint another sort of answer is due to some 
of those* who have criticised Grotius, and 
that answer might be given in the words of 
Grotius himself.t He was not of such a stu- 
pid and .servile cast of mind, as to (luote the 
opinions of poets or orators, of historians 
and philosophers, as those of judges, from 
whose decision there was no appeal. He 
(paotes them, as he tells us himself, as wit- 
nesses whose conspiring testimony, mightily 
slrenglhened and confirmed by their discorcf- 
ancf! on almost every other subject, is a 
conclusive proof of the unanimity of the 
whole human race on the great rules of duty 
and the fundamental principles of morals. 
On such matlf^rs, poets and orators are the 
most unexceptionable of all witnesses; for 
they address themselves to the general feel- 
ings and sympathies of mankind; they are 
neithfM- warped by system, nor perverted by 
sophistry; they can attain none of their ob- 
jects, they can neither please nor persuade, 
if they dwell on moral sentiments not in uni- 
son with those of their readers. No system 
of moral philosophy can surely disregard the 
general feelings of human nature and the 
according judgment of all ages and nations. 
But where are these feelings and ihat judg- 
ment recorded and preserved ? In those 
very writings which Grotius is gravely 
blamed for having quoted. The usages and 
laws of nations, the events of history, the 
opinions of philosophers, the sentiments of 
orators and poets, as well as the observation of 
common life, are, in truth, the materials out 
of which the science of morality is formed ; 
and those who neglect them are justly charge- 
able with a vain attempt to philosophise 
without regard to fact and experience, — the 
sole foundation of all true philosophy. 

If this were merely an objection of taste, 
I should be willing to allow that Grotius has 
indeed poured forth his learning with a pro- 
fusion that sometimes rather encumbers than 
adorns his work, and which is not always 
necessary to the illustration of his subject. 
Yet, even in making that concession, I should 
rather yield to the taste of others than speak 
from my own feelings. I own that such rich- 
ness and splendour of literature have apower- 
ful charm for me. They fill my mind Avith 
an endless variety of delightful recollections 
and associations. They relieve the under- 
standing in its progress through a vast 
science, by calling up the memory of great 
men and of interesting events. By this 
means we see the truths of morality clothed 
with all the eloquence,— not that could be 
produced by the powers of one man, — but 
that could be bestowed on them by the col- 

* Dr. Paley, Principles of Moral and Polilical 
Philosophy, pref. pp. xiv. xv. 
t De Jure Belli, proleg. ^ 40. 



32 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



lective genius of tlie world. Even Virtue 
and Wisdom ihemselves acquire new majesty 
in my eyes, when I thus see all the great 
masters of thinking and writing called to- 
gether, as it were, from all times ami coun- 
tries, to do them homage, and to appear in 
their train. 

But this is no place for discussions of taste, 
and I am very ready to own that mine may 
be corrupted. The work of Grotius is liable 
to a more serious objection, though I do not 
recollect that it has ever been made. His 
method is inconvenient ami unscientific: he 
has inverted the natural order. That natural 
order undoubtedly dictates, that we should 
first search for the original principles of the 
science in human nature; then apply them 
to the regulation of the conduct of indivi- 
duals; andlastly, employ them for the decision 
of those dilHcuIt and complicated questions 
that arise with respect to the intercourse 
of nations. But Grotius has chosen the re- 
verse of this method. He begins with the 
consideration of the states of peace and war, 
and he examines original principles only oc- 
casionally and incidentally, as they grow out 
of the questions which he is called upon to 
decide. It is a necessary consequence of this 
disorderly method, — which e.xhibts the ele- 
ments of the science in the form of scattered 
digressions, that he seldom employs sufficient 
discussion on these fundamental truths, and 
never in the place where such a discussion 
would be most instructive to the reader. 

This defect in the plan of Grotius was per- 
ceived and supplied by Puffendorfl', who re- 
stored natural law to that superiority which 
belonged to it, and, with groat propriety, treat- 
ed the law of nations as only one main branch 
of the parent stock. Without the genius of 
his master, and with ver)' inferior learning, 
he has yet treated this subject with sound 
sense, with clear method, with extensive and 
accurate knowledge, and with a copious- 
ness of detail sometimes indeed tedious, 1 ut 
always instructive and satisfactory. His 
work will be always studied by those who 
spare no labour to acquire a deep knowledge 
of the subject; but it will, in our times, I 
fear, be oftener found on the shelf than on 
the desk of the general student. In the time 
of Mr. Locke it was considered as the manual 
of those who were intended for active life ; 
but in the present age, I believe it will be 
found that men of business are too much occu- 
pied, — men of letters are too fastidious, and 
men of the world too indolent, for the study 
or even the perusal of such works. Far be 
it from me to derogate from the real and 
great merit of so useful a writer as Pufl^en- 
dorff. His treatise is a mine in which all his 
successors must dig. I only presume to sug- 
gest, that a book so prolix, and so utterly void 
of all the attractions of composition, is likely 
to repel many readers who are interested in 
its subject, and who might perhaps be dis- 
posed to acquire some knowledge of the 
principles of public law. 

Many other circumstances might be men- 



tioned, which conspire to prove that neither 
of the great works of which I have spoken, 
has superseded the necessity of a r.ew at- 
tempt to lay before the public a system of 
the law of nations. The language of Science 
is so completely changed since both these 
woiks were written, that whoever was now 
to employ their terms in his moral reasonings 
would be almost unintelligible to some of 
his hearers or readers, — and to some among 
them, too, who are neither ill qualified, nor 
ill disposed, to study such subjects with con- 
siderable advantage to themselves. The 
learned, indeed, well know how little novelty 
or variety is to be found in scientific disputes. 
The same truths and the same errors have 
been repeated from age to age, with little va- 
riation but in the language; and novelty of 
expression is often mistaken by the ignorant 
for substantial discovery. Perhaps, too, very 
nearly the same portion of genius and judg- 
ment has been exerted in most of the various 
forms under which science has been culti- 
vated at difierent periods of history. The 
superiority of those writers who continue to 
be read, perhaps often consists chiefly m 
taste, in prudence, in a happy choice of sub- 
ject, in a favourable moment, in an agreeable 
styfe, in the good fortune of a preA'alent lan- 
guage, or in other advantages \\h!ch are 
either accidental, or are the resuU rather of 
the secondary, than of the highest, faculties 
of the mind. But these reflections, while 
they moderate the pride of invention, and 
dispel the extravagant conceit of superior 
illumination, j'et serve to prove the use, and 
indeed the necessity, of composing, from 
time to time, new systems of science adapt- 
ed to the opinions and language of each suc- 
ceeding period. Every age must be taught 
in its own language. If a man were now to 
begin a discourse on ethics with an account 
of the "moral entities"' of Puff'endorfi,* he 
would speak an unknown tongue. 

It is not, however, alone as a mere tian»- 
lation of former writers into modern language 
that a new system of public law seems likely 
to be useful. The age in which we live 
possesses many advantages which are pe- 
culiarly favourable to such an undertaking. 
Since the composition of the great works of 
Grotius and PufTendorfT, a nioie modest; 
simple, and intelligible philosophy has been 
introduced into the schools ; which has in- 
deed been grossly abused by sophists, but 
which, from the time of Locke, has been 
cultivated and improved by a succession of 
disciples worthy of their illustrious master. 
We are thus enabled to discuss with pre- 
cision, and to explain with clearness, the 
principles of the science of human nature, 



* J do not mean to impeach the soundness of 
any part of PufTendorfT's reasoning founded on 
moral entities : it may be e.vplained in a manner 
consistent wiih the most just philosophy. He used, 
as every writer must do, the scientific language of 
his own time. I only assert that, to those who 
are unacquainted with ancient systems, his philo- 
sophical vocabulary is obsolete and unintelligible. 



ON THE STUDY OF THE LAW OF NATURE AND NATIONS. 



33 



which are in themselves on a level with the 
capacity of every nriaii of good sense, and 
which oidy appeared to be abstruse from the 
unprofitable subtleties with which they were 
loaded; and the barbarous jargon in which 
they were expressed. The deepest doctrines 
of morality have since that time been treated 
in the perspicuous and popular style, and 
with some degree of the beauty and elo- 
quence of the ancient moralists. That phi- 
losophy on which are founded the principles 
f f our duly, if it has not become more cer- 
tain (for morality admits no discoveries), is 
at least less "harsh and crabbed," less ob- 
scure and haughty in its language, and less 
forbidding and disgusting in its appearance, 
than in the day.s of our ancestors. If this 
progress of leaning towards popularity has 
engendered (as it must be owned that it has) 
a multitude of superficial and most mis- 
chievous sciolists, the antidote must come 
from the same quarter with the disease : 
popular reason can alone correct popular 
sophistry. 

Nor is this the only advantage which a 
writer of the present age would possess over 
the celebrated jurists of the last century. 
Since that time vast additions have been 
made to the stock of our knowledge of hu- 
man nature. Many dark periods of history 
have since been explored: many hitherto 
unknown regions of the globe have been 
visited and described by travellers and navi- 
gators not less intelligent than intrepid. We 
may be said to stand at the confluence of 
the greatest number of streams of knowledge 
flowing from the most distant sources that 
ever met at one point. We are not confined, 
as the learned of the last age generally were, 
to the history of those renowned nations who 
are our masters in literature. We can bring 
before us man in a lower and more abject 
condition than any in which he was ever 
before seen. The records have been partl}^ 
opened to us of those mighty empires of 
Asia* where the beginnings of civilization 
are lost in the darkness of an unfathomable 
antiquity. We can make human society 
pass in review before our mind, from the 
brutal and helpless barbarism of Terra del 
Fuego, and the mild and voluptuous savages 
of Otaheite, to the tame, but ancient and 
immovable civilization of China, which be- 
stows its own arts on every successive race 

* I cannot prevail on myself to pass over this 
subject wiihou; paying my liunible tribuie lo the 
memory of Sir William Jones, who has lul.oiued 
80 successfully in Oriental liieraiure ; whose fine 
geni\ia, pure tasle, unwearied industry, unrivalled 
and almost prodigious variety of aequircinents, — 
not to speak of his amiable manners, and spotless 
integrity, — must fill every one who cultivates or 
admires letters with reverence, tinged with a me- 
lancholy which the recollection of his recent death 
i.s so well adapted to inspire. I hope I shall be 
pardoned if I add my applause to the genius and 
learning of Mr. Maurice, who treads in the steps 
of his illustrious friend, and who has bewailed his 
death in a strain of genuine and beautiful poetry, 
not unworthy of happier periods of our English 
iiteratut;. 



of conquerors, — to the meek and servile na- 
tives of Hiiulostan, who preserve their inge- 
nuity, their skill, and their science, through 
a long series of ages, under the yoke of 
foreign tyrants, — and to the gross and in- 
corrigible rudeness of the Ottomans, incapa- 
ble of improvement, and extinguishing the 
remains of civilization among their unhappy 
subjects, once the most ingenious nations of 
the earth. We can examine almost every 
imaginable variety in the character, man- 
ners, opinions, feelings, prejudices, and in- 
stitutions of mankind, into which they can 
be thrown, either by the rudeness of barba- 
rism, or by the capricious corruptions of re- 
finement, or by those innumerable combina- 
tions of circumstances, which, both in these 
opposite conditions; and in all the interme- 
diate stages between them, influence or 
direct the course of human affairs. History, 
if I may be allowed the expression, is now 
a vast museum, in which .specimens of every 
variety of human nature may be studied. 
From these great accessions to knowledge, 
lawgivers and statesmen, but. above all, 
moralists and political philosophers, may 
reap the most important instruction. They 
may plainly discover in all the useful and 
beautiful variety of governments and insti- 
tutions, and under all the fantastic multitude 
of usages and rites which have prevailed 
among men, the same fundamental, compre- 
hensive truths, the sacred master-principles 
which are the guardians of human society, 
recognised and revered (with few and slight 
exceptions) by every nation upon earth, and 
uniformly taught (with still fewer excep- 
tions) by a succession of wise men from the 
first dawn of speculation to the present mo- 
ment. The exceptions, few as they are, will, 
on more reflection, be found rather apparent 
than real. If we could raise ourselves to 
that height from which we ought to survey 
so vast a subject, these exceptions would 
altogether vanish ; the brutality of a handful 
of savages would disappear in the immense 
prospect of human nature, and the murmurs 
of a few licentious sophists would not ascend 
to break the general harmony. This consent 
of mankind in first principles, and this end- 
less variety in their application, which is one 
among many valuable truths which we may 
collect from our present extensive acquaint- 
ance with the history of man. is itself of vast 
importance. Much of the majest}- and au- 
thority of virtue is derived from their constant, 
and almost the whole of practical wisdom is 
founded on their variety. 

What former age could have supplied facts 
for such a work as that of Montoscjuieo 1 
He indeed has been, perhaps justlj-, charged 
with abusing this advantage, by the undi.s- 
tinguishing adoption of the narratives of 
travellers of very different degrees of accu- 
racy and veracity. But if we reluctantly 
confess the justness of this objection ; if we 
are compelled to own that he exaggerates 
the influence of climate, — that he ascribes 
too much to the foresight and forming «kili 



34 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



of legislators, and far too little to time and 
circumstances; in the growth of political con- 
stitutions, — that the substantial character 
and essential dillerences of governments are 
often lost and confounded in his technical 
language and arrangement, — that he often 
bends the free and irregular outline of nature 
to the imposing but ialiacious geometrical 
regularity of system, — that he has chosen a 
style of affected abruptness, sententious- 
ness, and vivacity, ill suited to the gravity 
of his subject ; — after all these concessions 
(for his fame is large enough to spare many 
concessions), the Spirit of Laws will still re- 
main not only one of the most solid and du- 
rable monuments of the powers of the hu- 
man mind, but a striking evidence of the 
inestimable advantages which political philo- 
sophy may receive from a wide survey of 
all the various conditions of human society. 

In the present century a slow and silent, 
but very substantial, mitigation has taken 
place in the practice of war ; and in propor- 
tion as that mitigated practice has received 
the sanction of time, it is raised from the rank 
of mere us;ige, and becomes part of the law 
of nations. Whoever will compare our pre- 
sent modes of warfare with the system of 
Grotius* will clearly discern ihe immense 
improvements which have taken place in 
that respect since the publication of his 
work, during a period, perhaps in every point 
of view the happiest to be found in the his- 
tory of the world. In the same period many 
important points of public law have been the 
subject of contest both by argument and by 
arms, of which we lind either no mention, or 
very obscure traces, in the history of prece- 
dii:ig times. 

There are other circumstances to which I 
allude with hesitation and reluctance, though 
it must be owned that they afford to a writer 
of this age some degree of unfortunate and 
deplorable advantage over his predecessors. 
Recent events have accumulated more terri- 
ble practical instruction on every subject of 
politics than could have been in other times 
acquired by the experience of ages. Men's 
wit sharpened by their passions has penetra- 
ted to the bottom of almost all political ques- 
tions. Even the fundamental rules of moral- 
ity themselves have, for the first time, unfor- 
tunately for mankind, become the subject of 
doubt and discussion. I ghall consider it as 
my duty to abstain from all mention of these 
awful events, and of these fatal controversies. 
But the mind of that man must indeed be in- 
curious and indocile, who has either over- 
looked all these things, or reaped no instruc- 
tion from the contemplation of them. 

From these reflections it appears, that, 
since the composition of those two great 
works on the law of nature and nations 
which continue to be the classical and stand- 
ard works on that subject, we have gained 
both more convenient instruments of reason- 

* Especially those chapters of the third book, 
Witiiled, " Temperamentum circa Captives," &c. 



ing and more extensive materials for scieuce. 
— that the code of war has been enlarged 
and improved, — that new questions have 
been practically decided, — and t.iat new con- 
troversies have arisen regarding the inter- 
course of independent states, and the first 
principles of morality and civd govenmient. 

Some readers may, however, think that in 
these observations which I ofler, to excuse 
the presumption of my own attempt. I have 
omitted the mention of later writers, to 
whom some part of the remarks is not justly 
applicable. But, perhaps, further considera- 
tion will acquit me in the judgment of such 
readers. Writers on particular questions of 
public law are not within the scope of my 
observations. They have furnished the most 
valuable materials; but I speak only of a 
system. To the large ^YOlk of Wolliius, the 
observations which 1 have made on Puffen- 
dorff as a book for general use, will surely 
apply with tenfold force. His abridger, Vat- 
tel, deserves, indeed, considerable praise : he 
is a very ingenious, clear, elegant, and useful 
writer. But he only considers one part of this 
extensive subject, — namely, the law of na- 
tions, strictly so called ; and I cannot help 
thinking, that, even in this depactmenl of the 
science, he has adopted some doubtful and 
dangerous principles, — not to mention his 
constant deficiency in that fulness of example 
and illustration, which so much enibellJshee 
and strengthens reason. It is hardly neces- 
sary to take any notice of the text-book of 
Heineccius, the best writer of elementary 
books with whom I am acquainted on any 
subject. Burlamaqui is an author of superior 
merit ; but he confines himself too much to 
the general principles of morality and politics, 
to require much observation from me in this 
place. The same reason will excuse me for 
passing over in silence the works of many 
philosophers and moralists, to whom, in the 
course of my proposed lectures, I shall owe 
and confess the greatest obligations; and it 
might perhaps deliver me from the neces- 
sity of speaking of the work of Dr. Palej% if 
I were not desirous of this public opportu- 
nity of professing my gratitude for the in- 
struction and pleasure which I have received 
from that excellent writer, who possesses, in 
so eminent a degree, those invaluable quali- 
ties of a moralist. — good se;ise, caution, 
sobriety, and perpetual reference to conve- 
nience and practice; and who certainly is 
thought less original than he really is, merely 
because his taste and modesty have led him 
to disdain the ostentation of novelty, and be- 
cause he generally employs more art to 
blend his own arguments with the body of 
received opinions (so as that they are scarce 
to be distinguished), than other men in the 
pursuit of a transient popularity, have exert- 
ed to disguise the most miserable common- 
places in the shape of paradox. 

No writer since the time of GrOtius, of 
Puffendorff, and of Wolf, has combined an 
investigation of the principles of natural and 
public law, with a full application of these 



ON THE STUDY OF THE LAW OF NATURE AND NATIONS. 



35 



principles to particular cases; and in these 
circumstances, I trust, it will not be deemed 
extravagant presumption in me to hope that I 
shall be able to exhibit a view of this science, 
•which shall, at least, be more intelligible and 
attractive to students, than the learned trea- 
tises of these celebrated men. I shall now 
proceed to state the general plan and sub- 
jects of the lectures in which t am to make 
this attempt. 

I. The being whose actions the law of 
nature professes to regulate, is man. It is 
on the knowledge of his nature that the 
science of his duty must be founded.* It is 
impossible to approach the threshold of moral 
philosophy without a previous examination 
of the faculties and habits of the human 
mind. Let no reader be repelled from this 
examination by the odious and terrible name 
of " metaphysics ;" for it is, in truth, nothing 
more than the employment of good sense, in 
observing our own thoughts, feelings, and 
actions; and when the facts which are thus 
observed are expressed, as they ought to he, 
in plain language, it is, perhaps, above all 
other sciences, most on a level with the 
capacity and information of the generality of 
thinking men. When it is thus expressed, 
it requires no previous qualification, but a 
sound judgment perfectly to comprehend it ; 
and those who wrap it up in a technical and 
mysterious jargon, always give us strong 
reason to suspect that they are not philoso- 
phers, but impostors. Whoever thoroughly 
understands such a science, must be able to 
teach it plainly to all men of common sense. 
The proposed course will therefore open 
with a very short, and, I hope, a very simple 
and intelligible account of the powers and 
operations of the human mind. By this 
plain statement of facts, it will not be diffi- 
cult to decide many celebrated, though frivo- 
lous and merely verbal, controversies, which 
have long amused the leisure of the schools, 
and which owe both their fame and their 
existence to the ambiguous obscurity of 
scholastic language. It will, for example, 
only require an appeal to every man's ex- 
perience, that we often act purely from a 
regard to the happiness of others, and are 
therefore social beings ; and it is not neces- 
sary to be a consummate judge of the de- 
ceptions of language, to despise the sophis- 
tical trifler, who tells us, that, because we 
experience a gratification in our benevolent 
actions, we ^.re therefore exclusively and 
uniformly selfish. A correct examination 
■of facts will lead us to discover that quality 
which is common to all virtuous actions, and 
which distinguishes them from those which 
are vicious and criminal. But we shall see 
that it is necessary for man to be governed, 
not by his own transient and hasty opinion 
upon the tendency of every particular action, 
but by those fi.xed and unalterable rules, 
which are the joint result of the impartial 

* " Natura eniin juris explicanda est nobis, 
eaque ab hominis repetenda natura." — De Leg. 
fib. i. ■». 5. 



judgment, the natural feelings, and the em- 
bodied experience of mankind. The autho- 
rity of these rules is, indeed, founded only 
on their tendency to promote private and 
public welfare ; but the morality of actions 
will appear solely to consist in their corres- 
pondence with the rule. By the help of this 
obvious distinction we shall vindicate a just 
theory, which, far from being modern, is, in 
fact, as ancient as philosophy, both from 
plausible objections, and from the odioils 
imputation of supporting those absurd and 
monstrous systems which have been built 
upon it. Beneficial tendency is the founda- 
tion of rules, and the criterion by which 
habits and sentiments are to be tried : but it 
is neither the immediate standard, nor can 
it ever be the principal motive of action. 
An action to be completely virtuous, must 
accord with moral rules, and must flow 
from our natural feelings and afTections, 
moderated, matured, and improved into 
steady habits of right conduct.* Without, 
however, dwelling longer on subjects which 
cannot be clearly stated, unless they are fully 
unfolded, I content myself with observhig, 
that it shall be my object, in this preliminary, 
but most important, part of the course, to lay 
the foundations of morality so deeply in hu- 
man nature, as to satisfy the coldest inquirer; 
and, at the same time, to vindicate the para- 
mount authority of the rules of our duty, at 
all times, and in all places, over all opinions 
of interest and speculations of benefit, so ex- 
tensively, so universally, and so inviolably, 
as may well justify the grandest and the 
most apparently extravagant effusions of mo- 
ral enthusiasm. If, notwithstanding all my 
endeavours to deliver these doctrines with 
the utmost simplicity, any of my auditors 
should still reproach me for introducing such 
abstruse matters, I must shelter myself be- 
hind the authority of the wisest of men. '' If 
they (the ancient moralists), before they had 
come to the popular and received notions of 
virtue and vice, had staid a little longer upoiv 
the inquiry concerning the roots of good and 
evil, they had given, in my opinion, a great 
light to that which followed ; and especially 
if they had consulted with nature, they had 
made their doctrines less prolix, and more 
profound. "t What Lord Bacon desired for 
the mere gratification of scientific curiosity, 
the welfare of mankind now imperiously de- 
mands. Shallow systems of metaphysics 
have given birth to a brood of abominable 
and pestilential paradoxes, which nothing but 
a more profound philosophy can destroy. 
However we may, perhaps, lament the neces- 
sity of discussions which may shake the ha- 
bitual reverence of some men for those rules 
v/hich it is the chief interest of all men to 
practise, we have now no choice left. We 
must either dispute, or abandon the ground. 
Undistinguishing and unmerited invectives 

* " Est autem virtus nihil aliud, q\iain in so 
perfecta atqiie ad sumnium perducia naiura." 
Ibid. lib. i. c. 8. 

t A(lvanc«tnent of Learning. l>ook ii 



36 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



ag-ainst philosophy will only harden sophists 
and their disciples in tho insolent conceit, 
that they are in possession of an undisputed 
snperiority of reason; and that their antago- 
nists have no arms to employ against them, 
but those of popular declamation. Let us 
not for a moment even appear to suppose, 
that philosophical truth antl iuiman happiness 
are so irreconcilably at variance. I cannot 
express my opinion on this subject so well as 
in the words of a most valuable, though ge- 
nerally neglected writer: '-'The science of 
abstruse learning, when completely attain- 
ed, is like Achilles' spear, that healed the 
wonuils it had made before ; so this know- 
ledge serves to repair the damage itself had 
occasioned, and this perhaps is all that it is 
good for; it casts no additional light upon the 
paths of life, but disperses the clouds with 
which it had overspread them before; it ad- 
vances not the traveller one step in his jour- 
ney, but conducts him back again to the spot 
from whence he wandered. Thus the land 
of philosophy consists partly of an open cliam- 
paign country, passable by every common 
luiderstanding, and partly of a range of woods, 
traversable only by the speculative, and where 
they too frequently delight to amuse them- 
selves. Since then we shall be obliged to 
make incursions into this latter track, and 
shall probably find it a region of obscurity, 
danger, and ditTicuIty, it behooves lis to use 
our utmost endeavours for enlightening and 
smoothing the way before us.''* We shall, 
however, remain in the forest only long 
enough to visit the fountains of those streams 
which llow from it, and which water and 
fertilise the cultivated region of morals, to 
become acquainted withthe modesof warfare 
practised by its savage inhabitants, and to 
learn the means of guarding our fair and 
fruitful land against their desolating incur- 
sions. I shall hasten from speculations, to 
which lam naturally, perhaps, but too prone, 
and proceed to the more profitable considera- 
tion of our practical dot}-. 

The first and most simple part of ethics is 
that which reg-ards the duties of private men 
towards eachother, when they are considered 
apart from the sanction of positive laws. I 
say apart from that sanction, not antecedent to 
it ; for though we separate private from politi- 
cal duties for the sake of greater clearness 
and order in reasoning, yet we are not to be 
so deluded by this mere arrangement of con- 
venience as to suppose that human society 
ever has subsisted, or ever could subsist, 
without being protected by government, and 
bound together by laws. All these relative 
duties of private life have been so copiously 
and beautifully treated by the moralists of 
antiquity, that few men will now choose to 
follow them, who are not actuated by the wild 
ambition of equalling Aristotle in precision, 
or rivalling Cicero in eloquence. They have 
been also admirably treated by modern mo- 
ralists, among whom it would be gross iu- 

• Light of Nature, vol.i. pref. p. x.\xiii. 



justice not to number many of the preachers 
of the Christian religion, whose peculiar char- 
acter is that spirit of universal charity, \\hich 
is the living principle of all our social duties. 
For it was long ago said, with great truth, by 
Lord Bacon, "that there never was any phi- 
losophy, religion, or other discipline, which 
diti so plainly and highly exalt that good 
which is communicative, and depress the 
good which is private and particular, as the 
Christian faith."* The appropriate praise of 
this religion is not so much that it has taught 
new duties, as that it breathes a milder and 
more benevolent spirit over the whole extent 
of morals. 

On a subject which has been so e.xhausted, 
I should naturally have contented mysell 
with the most slight and general survey, if 
some fundamental principles had not of late 
been biought into question, which, in all 
former times, have been deemed too evident 
to require the support of argument, and 
almost too sacred to admit the liberty of dis- 
cussion. I shall here endeavour to strengthen 
some parts of the fortitications of morality 
which have hitherto been neglected, because 
no man had ever been hanly enough to attack 
them. Almost all the relative duties of hu- 
man life will be found more immediately, or 
more remotely, to arise out of the two great 
institutions of property and marriage. They 
constitute, preserve, and improve society. 
Upon their gradual improvement depends the 
progressive civilization of mankind ; on them 
rests the whole order of civil life. We are 
told by Horace, that the first efl'orts of law- 
givers to civilize men consisted in strength- 
ening and regulating these institution.s, and 
fencing them round with rigorous penal laws. 

" Oppida Cffperunt iminire, et ponere leges, 
Ne quis fur esset, neu iatro, neu qui* adulter. "t 

A celebrated ancient orator.t of whose 
poems we have but a few fragments remain- 
ing, has well described the progressive order 
in w hich human society is gradually led to 
its highest improvements under the guardian- 
ship of those laws which secure property 
and regulate marriage. 

" El leges sancias docuit, et chara jusravit 
Corpora conjugiis; et magnas condidit urbes." 

These two great institutions convert the 
selfish as well as the social passions of our 
nature into the firmest bands of a peaceable 
and orderly intercourse; they change the 
sources of discord into principles of quiet • 
they discipline the most ungovernable, they 
refine the grossest, and they exalt the most 
sordid propensities; so that they become the 
perpetual fountain of all that strengthens, 
and preserves, and adorns society : they sus- 
tain the individual, and they perpetuate the 
race. Around these institutions all our social 
duties will be found at various distances to 
range themselves ; some more near, obviously 



* Advancement of Learning, book iu 
t Sermon, lib. i. Serm. iii. 105. 
} C. Licinius Calvus. 



ON THE STUDY OF THE LAW OF NATURE AND NATIONS. 



37 



essential to ihe good order of human life; 
others more remote, and of which the ne- 
cessity is not at first view so- apparent; and 
some so disUmt, that their importance has 
been sometimes doubted, though upon more 
mature consideration they will be found to 
be outposls and advanced fruards of these 
fundamental principles, — that man should 
securely enjoy the fruits of his labour, and 
that the society of the sexes should be so 
wisely ordered, as to make it a school of the 
kin<l afTections, and a fit nursery for the com- 
monwealth. 

The subject of property is of great extent. 
It will be necessary to establish the founda- 
tion of the rights of acquisition, alienation, 
and transmission, not in imaginary contracts 
or a pretended state of nature, but in their 
subserviency to the subsistence and well- 
being of mankind. It will not only be curious, 
but useful, to trace the history of property 
from the first loose and transient occupancy 
of the savage, through all the modifications 
which it has at dlfTerent times received, to 
that comprehensive, subtle, and anxiously 
minute code of property which is the last 
result of the most refined civilization. 

I shall observe the same order in consider- 
ing the society of the sexe?, as it is regulated 
by the institution of marriage.* I shall en- 
deavour to lay open tho.se unalterable princi- 
ples of general interest on which that itistitn- 
lion rests; and if I entertain a hope that on 
this subject I may be able to add something 
to what our masters in morality have taught 
us. I trust, that the reader will bear in mind, 
as an excuse for my presumption, that they 
were not likely to employ much argument 
where they did not foresee the possibility of 
doubt. I shall also consid(;r the historyt of 
marriage, and trace it through all the forms 
which it has assumed, to that descent and 
hnppy permanency of union, which has. per- 
haps above all other causes, contributed to 
the quiet of society, and the refinement of 
manners in modern tirne.Ti. Among many 
other inquiries which this subject will sug- 
gest, I shall be led more particularly to ex- 
amine the natural station and duties of the 
female se.v, their condition among different 



* Sea on this suMenr an incomparnble fragment 
of tlie first book (if Cicero's Economics, which is 
too long for insertion here, but which, if it be 
closily examined, may perhaps dispel the illusion 
ot'iiiose gemlemen, who have so sirangeiy taken 
it for granted that Cicero was incapable of exact 
reasoning. 

t This progress is traced vviih great accuracy in 
Borne beauiiful lines of Lucretius : — 

.Mulicr, conjuneia viri^, concessit in unum ; 

Castaquc privaiae Ve.ieris connubia lasta 

Cogniia sunt, prolcmqiie ex se videre crealani ; 

Tumi genus hiimannm prirnum mollescere ccBpii. 

puerique p;irentum 

Blanditiis facile iiigenium frcgere superbum. 

'I'unc et amiciiiani coeperunt jungere. habenies 

Finiiimi inier se, nee Icedere, nee violare ; 

El pneroscoinmeiidarunt, muliebreque saecluni, 
■ Vocibus el gesiu ; cum balbe sigiiificarent, 

Inibecillorum esse aequum miserier omni. 

De Rerum Nat. lib. v. 



nations, its improvement in Europe, and the 
bounds which nature iierself has prescribed 
to liie piogress of that improvement ; beyond 
which every pretended advance will be a 
real degradation. 

Having established the principlesof private 
duty. I shall proceed to consider man under 
the important relation of subject and sove- 
reign, or, in other words, of citizen and ma- 
gistrate. The duties which arise from this 
relation I shall endeavour to establish, not 
upon supposed compacts, which are alto- 
gether chimerical, which must be admitted 
to be false in fact, and which, if they nre to 
be considered as fictions, will be found to 
serve no purpose of just reasoning, and to be 
equally the foundation of a system of uni- 
versal despotism in Hobbes, and of universal 
anarchy in ifousseau ; but on the solid basis 
of general convenience. Men cannot subsist 
without society and mutual aid ; they can 
neither maintain social intercourse nor re- 
ceive aid from each other without the pro- 
tection of government; and they caimot en- 
joy that protection without submitting to 
the restraints which a just goverment im- 
po.ses. This plain argument establishes the 
duty of obedience on the part of the citizens, 
and the duty of protection on that of magis- 
trates, on the same foundation with that of 
every other moral duly; and it shov.-s, with 
sufiicient evidence, that these duties are re- 
ciprocal ; — the only rational end for which 
the fiction of a contract should have been 
invented. I shall not encumber my reason- 
ing by any speculations on the origin of 
government, — a question on which so much 
reason has been wasted in modern times; 
but which the ancients* in a higher spirit of 
philosophy have never once mooted. If our 
principles be just, our origin of government 
must have been coeval with that of man- 
kind ; and as no tribe has ever been dis- 
covered so brutish as to be without some 
government, and yet so enlightened as to 
establish a government by common consent, 
it is surely unnecessary to employ any seri- 
ous argument in the confutation of the doc- 
trine that is inconsistent with reason, and 
unsupported by experience. But though all 
inquiries into the origin of government be 
chimerical, yet the history of its progress is 
curious and useful. The various stages 
through which it passed from savage inde- 
pendence, which implies every man's power 
of injuring his neighbour, to legal liberty, 
which consists in every man's security against 
wrong; the manner in which a family e.x- 
pands into a tribe, and tribes coalesce into a 

* The introduction to (he first book of Aristotle's 
Poliiics is the best demonsiraiion of the necessiiy 
of political society to the well-being, aiid indeed 
to the very being, of man, wiih which I am ac- 
quainted. Having shown the circumstances which 
reti<ier man necessarily a social being, he justly 
concludes, '' Kii ot/ avQpairoc yt/ra 7rcA/-r/»iy ^um.'* 
'J'he same scheme of philosophy is admirably pur- 
sued in the short, but invalual)le frjigment of the 
sixth book of Pidybius, which describes the jin 
tory and revolutions of government. 



38 



MACKINTOSH'S LIISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



nafiori; — in which public justice is gradually 
engrafted on private revenge, and temporary 
submission ripened into habitual obedience: 
foria a most important and extensive subject 
of inquiry, which comprehends all the im- 
provements of mankind in police, in judica- 
ture, and in legislation. 

I have already given the reader to under- 
stand that the description of liberty which 
seems to me the most comprehensive, is that 
of security against ivrong. Liberty is there- 
fore the object of all government. Men are 
more free under every government, even the 
most imperfect, than they would be if it 
were possible for them to exist without 
any government at all : they are more secure 
from wrong, more undisturbed in the exer- 
cise of their natural powers, and therefore 
more free, even in the most obvious and 
grossest sense of the word, than if they were 
altogether unprotected against injury from 
each other. But as general security is en- 
joyed in very different degrees under dif- 
ferent governments, those which guard it 
most perfectly, are by the way of eminence 
called " free." Such governments attain most 
completely the end which is common to all 
government. A free constitution of govern- 
ment and a good constitution of government 
are therefore different expressions for the 
same idea. 

Another material distinction, however, soon 
presents itself. In most civilized states the 
subject is tolerably protected aguinst gross 
injustice from his fellows by impartial laws, 
which it is the manifest interest of the sove- 
reign to enforce : but some commonwealths 
are so happy as to be founded on a principle 
of much more refined and provident wi.sdom. 
The subjects of such commonwealths are 
guarded not only against the injustice of each 
other, but (as far as human prutlence can con- 
trive) against oppression from the magistrate. 
Such states, like all other extraordinary exam- 
ples of public or private excellence and hap- 
piiies.s, are thinly scattered over the different 
ag 's and countries of the world. In them the 
will of the sovereign is limited with so exact a 
m;;asure, that his protecting authority is not 
weakened. Such a combination of skill and 
fortune is not often to be expected, and indeed 
never can arise, but from the constant though 
gradual exertions of wisdom and virtue, to 
improve a long succession of most favourable 
circumstances. There i.*^, indeed, scarce any 
society so wretched as to be destitute of 
some sort of weak provision against the in- 
justice of their governors. Religious institu- 
tions, fiwourite prejudices, national manners, 
have in different countries, with unequal de- 
grees of force, checked or mitigated the ex- 
ercise of supreme power. The privileges of 
a powerful nobility, of opulent mercantile 
communitiefv, of great judicial corporations, 
iiave in some monarchies approached more 
near to a control on the sovereign. Means 
have been devised with more or less wisdom 
to teniper the despotism of an aristocracy 
over their subjects, and in democracies to 



protect the minority against the majority, 
and the whole people agxiinst the tyranny of 
demagogues. But in these unmi.ved forms 
of government, as the right of legislation in 
vested in one individual or in one order, it is 
obvious that the legislative power may shake 
off all the restraints which the laws have 
imposed on it. All such governments, there- 
fore, lend towards despotism, and the se- 
curities which they admit against misgovern- 
ment are extremely feeble and precarious. 
The best security which human wisdom can 
devise, seems to be the distribution of poli- 
tical authority among different individuals 
and • bodies, with separate hiterests, and 
separate characters, corresponding to the 
variety of clas.ses of which civil society is 
composed, — each interested to guard their 
own order from oppression by the rest, — 
each also interested to prevent any of the 
others from seizing on exclusive, and there- 
fore despotic power; and all having a com- 
mon interest to co-operate in carrying on the 
ordinary and necessary administration of 
government. If there were not an interest 
to resist each other in extraordinary cases, 
there would not be liberty: if there were 
not an interest to co-operate in the ordinary 
course of affairs, there could be no govern- 
ment. The object of such wise institutions, 
which make selfishness of governors a se- 
curity again.st their injustice, is to protect 
men against wrong both from their rulers and 
their fellows. Such governments are, with 
justice, peculiarly and emphatically called 
"free;" and in ascribing that liberty to the 
skilful combination of mutual dependance 
and mutual check, I feel my own conviction 
greatly strengthened by calling to mind, that 
in this opinion I agree with all the v.-ise men 
who have ever deeply considered the prin- 
ciples of politics ; — with Aristotle and Pol}'- 
bius, with Cicero and Tacitus, with Bacon and 
Machiavel, with Montesquieu and Hume.* 
It is impossible in such a cursory sketch as 
the present, even to allude to a very small 
part of those philosophical principles, poli- 

* To the weight of these great names let me 
add ilie opinion of two illiistrjotis men of the pre- 
sent nge, ng both their opinions are conit)incd by 
one Off them in the following passages: "He 
(Mr. Fo.x) always thought any of the simple un- 
l)a!anced governments l)ad ; siinple monarciiy, 
simple aristocracy, simple democracy ; he held 
them all iinpertect or vicious, all were bad by 
themselves; the composiiion alone was good. 
These had been always his principles, in \\hich 
he agreed with his friend. Mr. Burke.'' — Speech 
on the Army Estimate.s. 9tli Feb. 1790. In speak- 
ing of both these illiisirioiis men, whose names I 
here join, as they will be joined in fame by poste- 
rity, which will forget their temporary ditTereiices 
in the recollection of their genius and their friend- 
ship, I di) not entertain the vain imagination that 
I can add to their glory by any thing that I can 
say. Rut it is a cratificaiion to me to give utter- 
ance to my feelings; to express the profound ve- 
neration wiih which I am filled for the memory 
of the one, and the warm affection wliich I cherish 
for the other, whom no one ever heard in putilic 
without admiration, or knew in private life with- 
out loving. 



ON THE STUDY OF THE LAW OF NATURE AND NATIONS. 



39 



tical reasonings, and historical facts, which 
are necessary for the illustration of this mo- 
mentous subject. In a full discussion of it 
I shall be obliged to examine the general 
frame of the most celebrated governments 
of ancient and modern times, and especially 
of those which have been most renowned for 
their freedom. The result of such an exa- 
mination will be, that no institution so de- 
testable as an absolutely unbalanced govern- 
ment, perhaps ever existed ; that the simple 
governments are mere creatures of the ima- 
gination of theorists, who have transformed 
names used for convenience of arrangement 
into real politics ; that, as constitutions of 
government approach more nearly to that 
unmixed and uncontrolled simplicity they 
become despotic, and as they recede farther 
from that simplicity they become free. 

By the constitution of a slate, I mean "the 
body of those written and unwritten funda- 
mental laws which regulate the most import- 
ant rights of the higher magistrates, and the 
most essential privileges* of the subjects." 
Such a body of political laws must in all 
Countries arise out of the character and 
situation of a people; they must grow with 
its progress, be adapted to its peculiarities, 
change with its changes, and be incorporated 
with its habits. Human wisdom cannot form 
such a constitution by one act, for human 
wisdom cannot create the materials of which 
it is composed. The attempt, always inef- 
fectual, to change by violence the ancient 
habits of men, and the established order of 
society, so as to fit them for an absolutely 
new scheme of government, flows from the 
most presumptuous ignorance, requires the 
support of the most ferocious tyraimy, and 
leads to consequences which its authors can 
never foresee, — generally, indeed, to institu- 
tions the most opposite to those of which 
they profess to seek the establishment. t 
But human wisdom indefatigably employeti 
m remedying abuses, and in seizing favour- 
able opportunities of improving that order 
of society which arises from causes over 
which we have little control, after the re- 
forms and amendments of a series of ages, 
has sometimes, though very rarely, shown 
itself capable of bu.lding up a free constitu- 
tion, which is '-the growtii of time and na- 
ture, rather than the work of human inven- 



* Privilege, in Roman jurisprudence, means the 
exemption of one individual from the operaion of 
a law. Polinciil privileges, in the .sense in whicii 
I employ ihe terins, mean those righis of the 
subjects of a free state, which are deemed so es- 
sential to the well-lieing of the commonwealth, 
that they are excepted froin the ordinary discretion 
of the matristraie, and guarded by 'he same fun- 
damental laws which secure his authority. 

1' See an admirable passage on this subject in 
Dr. Smith's Theory of Moral Senlimenis (vol. ii. 
pp. 101 — 113), in which the true doctrine of re- 
formaiion is laid down wiih sina;ular ability l>y that 
eloquent and philosophical svriier. See also Mr. 
Burke's Speech on Economical Refortn ; and 
Sir M. Hale on the Amendment of Laws, in the 
Collection of my learned and most excellent 
friend, Mr. Hargrave, p. 248. 



tion."* Such a constitution can only be 
formed by the wise imitation of '• the great 
innovater Time, which, indeed, innovateth 
greatly, but quietly, and by degrees scarce to 
be perceived."! Without descending to the 
puerile ostentation of panegyric, on that of 
which all mankind confess the excellence, 
I may observe, with truth and soberness, 
that a free government not only establishes 
a universal security against wrong, but that 
it also cherishes all the noblest powers of 
the human mind; that it fends to banish 
both the mean and the ferocious vices; that 
it improves the national character to which 
it is adapted, and out of which it grows; 
that its whole administration is a practical 
school of honesty and humanity ; and that 
there the social affections, expanded into 
public spirit, guin a wider sphere, and a 
more active spring. 

I shall conclude what 1 have to offer on 
government, by an account of the constitu- 
tion of England. I shall endeavour to trace 
the progress of that constitution by the light 
of history, of laws, and of records, from the 
earliest times to the present age : and to 
show how the general principles of libertj^, 
originally common to it with the other Go- 
thic monarchies of Europe, but in other 
countries lost or obscured, were in this more 
fortunate island preserved, matured, and. 
adapte<l to the progress of civilization. I 
shall attempt to exhibit this most complicat- 
ed machine, as our history and our lav;s show 
it in action ; and not as some celebrated 
writers have most iir\ perfectly represented it, 
who have torn out a few of its more simple 
springs, and putting them together, niiscal 
them the British constitution. So prevalent, 
indeed, have these iimperfect representations 
hitherto been, that I will venture to affirm, 
there is scaicely any subject which has been 
less treated as it deserved than the Govern- 
ment of England. Philosophers of great and 
merited reputationt have told us that it con- 
sisted of certain portions of monarchy, aris- 
tocracy, and democracy, — names which are. 
in truth, very little applicable, and which, it 
they were, would as little give an idea of this 
Government, as an account of the weipht of 
bone, of flesh, and of blood in a human body, 
would be a picture of a living man. Nothing 
but a patient and minute investigation of the 



* Pour former vin trouverneinent modere, il 
faiit combiner Ics puissances, les regler, les lem- 
perer. les fiire agir ; donner pour ain^^i dire un lest 
a I'une, pour la metire en etat de resisier a une 
autre; c'est un chef-d'ceuvre de legislation que le 
hasard fait rarentent, et que rarement on laisse 
faire a la prudence. Un gouverncment despot- 
ique ail coniraire saute, pour ainsi dire, anx yeux ; 
il est uniforme partout: comma il ne faui quedea 
passions pour I'oiablir. tout le monde esi lion pour 
cela. — Montesquieu, De I'Esprit de Loix, liv. v. 
c. 14. 

+ Bacon, Essay xxiv. (Of Innovations) 
t The reader will perceive that I allude to Mon- 
tesquieu, whom 1 never name without reverence, 
thougli I shiill presume, with hnniility, locriiiciso 
his account of a government which he only saw at 
a distance. 



40 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



practice of the government in all its parts, 
and through its whole history, can give us 
just notions on this important subject. If a 
lawyer, without a philosophical spirit, be un- 
equal to the examination of this great work 
of liberty and wisdom, still more unequal is 
a philosopher without practical, legal, and 
historical knowledge ; for the first may want 
skill, but the second wants materials. The 
observations of Lord Bacon on political writ- 
ers in general, are most applicable to those 
who have given us systematic descriptions 
cf the English constitution. " All those who 
have written of governments have written as 
philosophers, or as lawyers, and none as states- 
men. As for the philosophers, they make ima- 
ginary laws for imaginary commonwealths, 
and their discourses are as the stars, which 
give little light because they are so high." — 
"Ha;c cognhio ad viros civiles proprie perti- 
net," as he tells us in another part of his 
writings; but unfortunately no experienced 
philosophical British statesman has yet de- 
voted his leisure to a delineation of the con- 
stitution, which such a statesman alone can 
practically and perfectly know. 

In the discussion of this great subject, and 
in all reasonings on the principles of politics, 
I shall labour, above all things, to avoid that 
which appears to me to have been the con- 
stant source of political error : — I mean the 
attempt to give an air of system, of simpli- 
city, and of rigorous demonstration, to sub- 
ects which do not admit it. The only means 
y which this could be done, was by refer- 
ring to a few simple causes, what, in truth, 
arose from immense and intricate combina- 
tions, and successions of causes. The con- 
sequence was very obvious. The system 
of the theorist, disencumbered from all re- 
gard to the real nature of things, easily as- 
sumed an air of speciousness : it required 
little dexterity, to make his arguments appear 
conclusive. But all men agreed that it was 
utterly inapplicable to human affairs. The 
theorist railed at the folly of the world, in- 
stead of confessing his own; and the man 
of practice unjustly blamed Philosophy, in- 
stead of condemning the sophist. The causes 
which the politician has to consider are, 
above all others, multiplied, mutable, minute, 
subtile, and, if I may so speak, evanescent, 
— perpetually changing their form, and vary- 
ing their combinations, — losing their nature, 
while they keep their name, — exhibiting the 
most different consequences in the endless 
variety of men and nations on whom they 
operate, — in one degree of strength produc- 
ing the most signal benefit, and, under a 
slight variation of circumstances, the most 
tremendous mischiefs. They admit indeed 
of being reduced to theory ; but to a theory 
formed on the most extensive views, of the 
most comprehensive and flexible principles, 
to embrace all their varieties, and to fit all 
their rapid transmigrations, — a theory, of 
which the most fundamental maxim is, dis- 
trust in itself, and deference for practical 
prudence. Only two writers of former times 



i 



have, as far as I know, observed this genera] 
defect of political reasonersj but these two 
are the greatest philosophers w ho have ever 
appeared in the world. The first of them i3 
Aristotle, who. in a passage of his politics,* 
to which I cannot at this moment turn, 
plainly condemns the pursuit of a delusive 
geometrical accuracy in moral reasonings as 
the constant source of the grossest error. The 
second is Lord Bacon, who tells us, with that 
authority of conscious wisdom which belongs 
to him, and with that power of richly adorn- 
ing Truth from the wardrobe of Genius 
which he po.ssessed above almost all men, 
'• Civil knowledge is conversant about a 
subject which, above all others, is most 
immersed in matter, and hardliest reduced 
to axiom. "t 

I shall next endeavour to lay open the 
general principles of civil and criminal laws. 
On this subject I may with some confidence 
hope that I shall be enabled to philosophise 
with better materials by my acquaintance 
with the laws of my own country, which it 
is the business of my life to practise, and of 
which the study has by habit become my 
favourite pursuit. 

The first principles of jurisprudence are 
simple ma.xims of Reason, of which the ob- 
servance is immediately discovered by expe- 
rience to be essential to the security of men's 
rights, and which pervade the laws of all 
countries. An account of the gradual appli- 
cation of these original principles, finst to 
more simple, and afterwards to more com- 
plicated cases, forms both the history and 
the theory of law. Such an historical ac- 
count of the progress of men, in reducing 
justice to an applicable and practical system, 
will enable us to tiace that chain, in which 
so many breaks and interruptions are per- 
ceived by superficial observers, but which 
in truth inseparably, though with many dark 
and hidden windings, links together the se- 
curity of life and property with the most 
minute and apparently frivolous formalities 
of legal proceeding. VVo shall perceive that 
no human foresight is sufficient to establish 
such a system at once, and that, if it were 
so established, the occurrence of unforeseen 
cases would shortly altogether change it ; 
that there is but one way of forming a civil 
code, either consistent with common sense, 
or that has ever been practised in any conn- 
try, — namely, that of gradually building up 
the law in proportion as the facts arise which 
it is to regulate. We shall learn to appre- 



* Probably book iii. cap. 11. — Ed. 

t This j)rinciple is expressed by a wrifer of a 
very different character from these two great phi- 
losophers, — a writer, " qu'on n'appeltera plug phi- 
losophe, niais qu'on appellera le plus eloquent dea 
sophisies," with great force, and, as his manner 
is. with some exaftseraiion. " II n'y a point de 
principes absiraits dans la politique. C'est une 
science des calculs, dcs combinaisons, 3t des ex. 
ceptions, selon les lieux, les terns, et les circonstan- 
ces." — Leitie de Rousseau au Marquis de Mira- 
beau. The second proposiiion is true ; but ths 
first is not a just inference from it. 



ON THE STUDY OF THE LAW OF NATURE AND NATIONS. 



41 



ciate the merit of vulgar objections against 
the subtihy and complexity of, laws. We 
shall estimate the good sense and the grati- 
iuae of those who reproach lawyers for em- 
ploying all the powers of their mind to dis- 
cover subtle distinctions for the prevention 
of justice ;* and we shall at once perceive 
that laws ought to be neither more simple 
nor more complex than the state of society 
which they are to govern, but that they ought 
e.xactly to correspond to it. Of the two faults, 
however, the excess of simplicity would 
certainly be the greatest ; for laws, more 
complex than are necessary, would only pro- 
duce embarrassment ; whereas laws more 
simple than the affairs which they regulate 
woulil occasion a defeat of Justice. More 
understanding has perhaps been in this man- 
ner exerted to fix the rules of life than in any 
other science ;t and it is certainly the most 
honourable occupation of the understanding, 
because it is the most immediately subservi- 
ent to general safety and comfort. There is 
not so noble a spectacle as that which is dis- 
played in the progress of jurisprudence; 
where we may contemplate the cautious and 
unwearied exertions of a succession of wise 
men, through a long course of ages, with- 
drawing every case as it arises from the 
dangerous power of discretion, and subject- 
ing it to inflexible rules, — extending the do- 
minion of justice and reason, and gradually 
contracting, within the narrowest possible 
limits, the domain of brutal force and of ar- 
bitrary will. This subject has been treated 
with such dignity by a writer who is ad- 
mired by all mankind for his eloquence, but 
who is, if possible, still more admired by all 
competent judges for his philosophy, — a writ- 
er, of whom I may justly say, that he was 
"gravissimus ^t diceiidi et intelligendi auc- 
tor et magister," — that I cannot refuse my- 
self the gratification of quoting his words : — 
"The science of jurisprudence, the pride of 
the human intellect, which, with all its de- 
fects, redundancies, and errors, is the collect- 
ed reason of ages combining the principles 
of original justice with the infinite variety 
of human concerns."}: 

I shall exemplify the progress of law, and 
illustrate those principles of Universal Jus- 
tice on which it is founded, by a compara- 
tive review of the two greatest civil codes 
that have been hitherto formed, — those of 
Rome and of England, § — of their agreements 

* "The casuisiical subtiiiies are not perhaps 
greater than the subtiiiies of lawyers ; lint the lat- 
ter are innocf-nt, and even necessary." — Hume, 
Essays, vol. ii. p, 558. 

t "Law," said Dr. Johnson, "is the science 
in which ihe greatest powers of the understanding 
are applied to the greatest number of facts." No- 
body, who is acquainted wiih the variety and mul- 
liplicity ot ihe sulijecis of jurisprudence, and with 
the prodiirious powers of discrimin.Ttion employed 
upon iheni, can doubt the truth of this observation. 

t Burke, Works, vol. iii. p. 134. 

^ On the intimaie connection of these two codes, 
let us hear the w'ords of Lord Holi, whose name 
never can he pronounced' without veneration, as 
6 



and disagreements, both in general provi- 
sions, and in some of the most important 
parts of their minute practice. In this part 
of the course, which I mean to pursue with 
such detail as to give a view of both codes^ 
that may perhaps be sufficient for the pur- 
pcses of the general student, I hope to con- 
vince him that the laws of civilized nations, 
particularly those of his own. are a subject 
most worthy of scientific curiosity; that prin- 
ciple and system run through them even to 
the minutest particular, as really, though not 
so apparent]}^, as in other sciences, and ap- 
plied to purposes more important than those 
of any other science. Will it be presump- 
tuous to express a hope, that such an in- 
quiry may not be altogether a useless intro- 
duction to that larger and more detailed 
study of the law of England, which is the 
duty of those who are to profess and prac- 
tise that law 1 

In considering the important subject of 
criminal law it will be my duty to found, on 
a regard to the general safety, the right of 
the magistrate to inflict punishments, even 
the most severe, if that safety cannot be 
effectually protected by the example of infe- 
rior punishments. It will be a more agreea- 
ble part of my office to explain the tempera- 
ments which Wisdom, as well as Humanity, 
prescribes in the exercise of that harsh right, 
unfortunately so essential to the preservation 
of human society. I shall collate the penal 
codes of different nations, and gather to- 
gether the most accurate statement of the 
result of experience v,-ith respect to the effi- 
cacy of lenient and severe punishments; 
and I shall endeavour to ascertain the princi- 
ples on which must be founded both the pio 
portipn and the appropriation of penalties t-J 
crimes. As to the law of criminal proceed- 
ing, my labour will be very easy; for on tha; 
subject an English lawyer, if he were to de 
lineate the model of perfection, would fit"' 
that, with few c.vceptions, he had trans- 
cribed the institutions of his own country. 

The next great division of the subject if> 
the "law of nations," strictly and properly 
so called. I have already hinted at the 
general principles on \Ahich this law is 
founded. They, like all the principles of 
natural jurisprudence, have been m.ore hap- 
pily cultivated, and more generally obeyed, 
in some ages and countries than in others; 
and, like them, are susceptible of great va- 
riety in their application, from the character 
and usage of nations. I shall consider these 
principles in the gradation of those which 
are necessary to any tolerable intercourse 
between nations, of those which are essen- 
tial to all well-regulated and mutually ad* 

long as wisdom and integriiy are revered among 
men : — " Inasmuch as the lav,'s of nil nations are 
doubtless raised out of the ruins of the civil law, 
as all governments are sprung out of the ruins of 
the Roman empire, it must be owned that the 
principles of our law are l>orrowed from the civil 
law, therefore groundi^d upon the same reason in 
many things." -12 Mod. Rep. 482. 
d2 



42 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



vantageous intercourse, and of those which 
are highly comkicive to the pp^^ervation of 
a miiif and friendly intprf^ourse between 
civilized states. Of the first class, every 
understanding acknoH-led,";es the necessity, 
and some traces of a faint reverence for 
them are discovered even among the most 
barbarous tribes; of the second; every well- 
informed man perceives the important use, 
and ihey have generally been respected 
by all polished nations; of the third, the 
great benefit may be read in the history of 
modern luuope, where alone they have been 
carried to their full perfection. In unfolding 
the first and second class of principles, I 
shall naturally be led to give an account of 
that law of nations, which, in greater or less 
perfection, regulated the intercourse of sa- 
vages, of the Asiatic empires, and of the an- 
cient republics. The third brings me to the 
consideration of the law of nations, as it is 
now acknowledged in Christendom. From 
the gn^it extent of the subject, ami the par- 
ticularity to which, for reasons ill ready given, 
I must here descend, it is impossible for me, 
within my moderate compass, to give even 
an outline of this part of the course. It com- 
prehends, as every reader will perceive, the 
principles of national independence, the in- 
tercourse of nations in peace, the privileges 
of ambassadors and inferior ministers, the 
commerce of private subjects, the grounds 
of just war, the mutual duties of belligerent 
and neutral powers, the limits of lawful hos- 
tility, the rights of conquest, the faith to be 
observed in warfare, the force of an armis- 
tice, — of safe conducts and passports, the 
nature and obligation of alliances, the means 
of negotiation, and the aulhoril)- anil inter- 
pretation of treaties of peace. All these, 
and many other most important and compli- 
cated subjects, with all the variety of moral 
reasoning, and historical e.\amples which is 
necessary to illustrate them, must be fully 
examined in that part of the lectures, in 
whch I shall endeavour to put togetlier a 
tolerably complete practical system of the 
law of nations, as it has for the last two 
centuries been recognised in Europe. 

"Le droit desgens est naturellement fonde 
sur ce principe, que les diverses nations tloi- 
vent se faire, dans la paix le plus de bien, et 
dans la guerre le moins de mal, qu'il est pos- 
sible, sans nuire a leurs veritables interets. 
L'objet de la guerre c'est la victoire, celui 
de la victoire laconquete; celui de la con- 
quete la conservation. De ce principe et du 
precedent, doivent deriver toutes les loixqui 
forment le droit des gens. Toutes les na- 
tions out un droit des gens; et les Iroquois 
meme, (jui mangent leurs prisomiiers, en out 
un. lis envoient et resolvent des embas- 
sades; ils connoissent les droits de la guerre 
et de la paix: le mal est que ce droit des 
gens n'est pas fonde sur les vrais principes."* 

As an important supplement to the practi- 
cal system of our modern law of nations, or 



* De I'Esprit des Loix, liv. i. c. 3. 



rather as a necessary part of it, I shall con- 
clude with a survey of the diplomatic and 
conventional law of Europe, and of ihi; trea- 
ties which have materially affected the dis- 
tribution of power and territory among the 
European states, — the circumstances which 
gave rise to tliem, the changes \\ hich they 
effected, and the principles which they in- 
troduced into the public code of the Christian 
commonwealth. In ancient times the know- 
ledge of this conventional law was thought 
one of the greatest prai.ses that could be be- 
stowed on a name loaded with all the houours 
that eminence in the arts of peace and war 
can confer: "Equidem exislimo judices, 
ciim in omni genere ac varietate artium, 
etiam illarum, quae sine summo otio nou 
facile discuntur, Cn. Pompeius excellat, sin- 
gnlarem quandam laudem ejus et pia;s:abi- 
lem esse scientiam, in fccderibus, pactioni- 
bus, conditionibus, populorum, regum, exte- 
rarum nationum : in universe denique belli 
jure ac pacis.'"* Information on this subject 
is scattered over an immense variety of 
voluminous compilations, not accessible to 
every one. and of which the perusal can be 
agreeable only to a very few. Yet so much 
of these treaties has been embodied into the 
general law of Europe, that no man can be 
master of it who is not acquainted with them. 
The knowledge of them is necessary to ne- 
gotiators and statesmen ; it may sometimes 
be important to private men in various situ- 
ations in which they may be placed; it is 
useful to all men who wish either to be ac- 
quainted with modern history, or to form a 
sound judgment on political measures. I 
shall endeavour to give such an abstract ol 
it as may be sufficient for some, and a con- 
venient guide for others in the farther pro- 
gress of their stutlies. The treaties which I 
shall more particularly consider, will be those 
of Westphalia, of Oliva, of the Pyrenees, ol 
Breda, of Nimeguen, of Ryswick, of Utrecht, 
of Aix-la-Chapelle, of Paris (1763). and of 
Ver.sailles (1783). I shall shortly explain 
the other treaties, of which the stipulations 
are either alluded to, confirmed, or abro- 
gated in those which I consider at length. 
I shall subjoin an account of the diplomatic 
intercourse of the Eniojiean powers with the 
Ottoman Porte, and with other piinces and 
states who are without the pale of our ordi- 
nary federal law; together with a view of 
the most important treaties of commerce, 
their principles, and their consefjuences. 

As an useful appendix to a practical trea- 
tise on the law of nations, some account will 
be given of those tribunals which in different 
countries of Europe decide controversies 
arising out of that law ; of their constitution, 
of the extent of their authority, and of their 
modes of proceeding; more especially of 
those courts which are peculiarly appointed 
for that purpose by the laws of Great Brilai.i. 

Though the course, of which I have sketch- 
ed the outline, may seem to comprehend so 

* Cic. Oral, pro L. Corn. Balbo, c. vi. 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



43 



great a variety of miscellaneous subjects, yet 
they are all in truth closely and inseparably 
interwoven. The duties of men, of subjects, 
of princes, of lawgivers, of magistrates, and 
of states, are all parts of one consistent sys- 
tem of universal morality. Between the most 
abstract and elementary maxim of moral 
philosophy, and the most complicated con- 
troversies of civil or public law, there sub- 
sists a connection ■which it will be the main 
object of these lectures to trace. The princi- 
ple of justice, deeply rooted in the nature and 
interest of man, pervades the whole system, 
anti is discoverable in every part of it, even to 
its minutest ramification in a legal formality, 
or in the construction of an article in a treaty. 
I knov,' not whether a philosopher ought 
to confess, that in his inquiries after truth he 
is biassed by any consideration, — even by 
the love of virtue. But 1, who conceive that 
a real philosopher ought to regard truth itself 
chiefly on account of its sub.serviency to 
the happiness of mankind, am not ashamed 
to confess, that I shall feel a great consola- 
tion at the conclusion of these lectures, if, 
by a wide survey and an exact examination 
of the conditions and relations of human na- 
ture, I shall have confirmed but one indivi- 



dual in the conviction, that justice is the 
permanent interest of all men, and of all 
commonwealths. To discover one new link 
of that eternal chain by which the Author 
of the universe has bound together the hap- 
piness and the duty of His creatures, and in- 
dissolubly fastened their interests to each 
other, would fill my heart with more plea- 
sure than ail the fame with which the most 
ingenious paradox ever crowned the most 
eloquent sophist. I shall conclude this Dis- 
course in the noble language of tv\o great 
orators and philosophers, who have, in a few- 
words, stated the substance, the object, and 
the result of all morality, and politics, and 
law. '-Nihil est quod adhuc de rcpublica 
putem dictum, et quo possim lon;[>ius pro- 
gredi; nisi sit confnmatum, non modo ialsum 
esse illud, sine injuria non posse, sed hoc 
verissimum, sine summa justitia rempubli- 
cam geri nullo modo posse."* '-Justice is 
itself the great standing policy of civil so- 
ciety, and any eminent departure from it, 
under any circumstances, lies under the sus- 
picion of being no policy at all.''"t 

* Cic De Repiib. lih. ii. 

t Burke, Works, vol. iii. p. 207. 



LIFE or SIR THOMAS MOEE. 



Aristotle and Bacon, the greatest philo- 
sophers of the ancient and the modern world, 
agree in representing poetry as being of a 
more excellent nature than histor)'. Agree- 
ably to the predominance of mere under- 
standing in Aristotle's mind, he alleges as 
his cause of preference that poetry regards 
general truth, or conformity to universal 
nature ; while history is conversant only with 
a confined and accidental truth, dependent on 
time, place, and circumstance. The ground 
assigned by Bacon is such as naturally issued 
from that fusion of imagination with reason, 
which constitutes his philosophical genius. 
Poetry is ranked more highly by him, be- 
cause the poet presents us with a pure ex- 
cellence and an unmingled grandeur, not to 
be found in the coarse realities of life or of 
history ; but which the mind of man, although 
not destined to reach, is framed to contem- 
plate with delight. 

The general difference between biography 
and history is obvious. There have been 
many men in every age whose lives are full 
of interest and instruction ; but who, having 
never taken a part in public afl"airs, are alto- 
gether excluded from the province of the 
historian : there have been also, probably, 
equal numbers who have infiuenced the for- 
tune of nations in peace or in war, of the 
peculiarities of whose character we have no 
information ; and who, for the purposes of 
the biographer, may be said to have had no 



private life. These are extreme cases : but 
there are other men, whose manners and 
acts are equally well known, whose indi- 
vidual lives are deeply interesting, whose 
characteristic qualities are peculiarly striking, 
who have taken an important share in events 
connected with the most extraordinary revo- 
lutions of human affairs, and whose biogra- 
phy becomes more difficult from that com- 
bination and intermixture of private with 
public occurrences, which render it instruc- 
tive and interesting. The variety and splen- 
dour of the lives of such men render it often 
difficult to distinguish the portion of them 
which ought to be admitted into history, from 
that which should be reserved for biography. 
Generally speaking, these two parts are so 
distinct and unlike, that they cannot be con- 
founded without much injury to both: — as 
when the biographer hides the portrait of 
the individual by a crowded and confined 
picture of events, or when the historian al- 
lows unconnected narratives of the lives of 
men to break the thread of history. The 
historian contemplates only the surface of 
human nature, adorned and disguised (as 
when actors perform brilliant parts before a 
great audience), in the midst of so many 
dazzling circumstances, that it is hard to 
estimate the intrinsic worth of individual,"*, 
— and impossible, in an historical relation, 
to e.xhibit the secret springs of theii con- 
duct. 



44 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Tlie biographer endeavours to follow the 
hero and the statesman, from the field, the 
council, or the senate, to his private dwell- 
ins:, wULMe, in the midst of domestic ease, 
or of social pleasure, he tluows aside the 
robe and the mask, becomes ai^-ain a man 
instead of an actor, and. in spite of himself, 
often betrays those frailties and singularities 
which are visible in the countenance and 
voice, the gesture and manner, of every one 
when he is not playing a part. It is par- 
ticularly ditficult to observe the distinction 
in the. case of Sir Thomas More, because he 
was so perfectly natural a man that he car- 
ried his amiable pccidiaritics into the gravest 
deliberations of state, and the most solemn 
acts of I'xw. Perhaps nothing more can be 
universally laid down, than that the biogra- 
pher never ought to introduce public events, 
e.vcepl in as far as they are absolutely neces- 
sary to the illustration of character, and that 
the historian should rarely digress into bio- 
graphical particulars, except in as far as they 
contribute to the clearness of his narrative 
of political occurrences. 

Sir Thomas ^lore was born in Milk Street, 
in the c;ty of London, in the year 14.S0, three 
years before the death of Eihvard IV. His 
family was respectable, — no mean advantage 
at that time. His father. Sir John More, who 
was born about 1440, was entitled by his 
descent to use an armorial bearing, — a privi- 
lege gnanled strictly and jealously as the 
badge of those who ihen began to be called 
gentry, and who, though separated from the 
lords of parliament by political rights, yet 
formed with them in the order of society 
one body, corresponding to those called noble 
in th(^ other countries of Europe. Though 
tlie political power of the barons was on the 
wane, the social position of the united body 
of nobility and gentry retained its dignity.* 
Sir John ^lore was one of the justices of the 
court of King's Bench to the end of his long 
life ; and, according to his son's account, well 
performetl the peaceable duties of civd life, 
being gentle in his deportment, blameless, 
meek and merciful, an equitable judge, and 
m upri-iht man.t 

Sir Thomas ^fore received the first rudi- 
ments of his education at St. Anthony's 
school, in Thread-neetUe Street, under Nicho- 
las Hart : for the daybreak of letters was now 

* " fn Sir Thomas More's ppiiaph, he desscribes 
himself as ' born of no noble family, but of an 
honest stock,' (or in the worde of the original, 
familia non crlebri, sed honcsui natiis.) a true 
transla;ion, as we here take tiohilifi/ and noble; 
for none nnder a baron, except he be of ilic privy 
council, doth challenge it; and in this sense he 
meant it ; hut as ihe Latin word nohilis is taken in 
oilier couniries for gemrie. it wns otherwise. Sir 
Joint More bare arms from his birth ; and thougii 
we cannot certainly tell who were his ancestors, 
thev must needs bo gentlemen." — Life of More 
(comnioiiiy reputed to be) by 'riiomas More, his 
preai crandson. pp. 3. 4. This book will be ciied 
ueiicef irward as " More." 

t " Homo civilis, innocens, mitis, integer." — 
Epitaph 



so bright, that the reputation of schools was 
ciirefully noted, and schoolmasters begiin tiO 
be held in some part of the estimation which 
they merit. Here, however, his studit^s wewj 
confined to Latin ; the cultivation of Greek, 
which contains the sources and moilels of 
Roman literature, being yet far from having 
descended to the level of the best among the 
schools. It was the custom of that age that 
young gentlemen should pass part of their 
boyhood in the house and service of their 
superiors, where they might profit by listen- 
ing to the conversation of men of experience, 
and gradually acquire the maimers of the 
world. It was not deemed derogatory from 
youths of rank, — it was rather thought a 
beneficial expedient for iiuiring them to stern 
discipline and implicit obedience, that they 
should be tiainetl, during this noviciate, iu 
humble and even menial offices. A young 
gentleman thought himself no more lowered 
by serving as a page in the family of a great 
peer or pielate, than a Courtenay or a How- 
ard considered it as a degradation to be the 
huntsman or the cupbearer of a Tudor. 

More was fortunate in the character of his 
master: when his school stutlies were thought 
to be finished, about his fifteenth year, he 
was placed in the house of Cardinal Morton, 
archbishop of Canterbury. This prelate, 
who was born in 1410, was originally an emi- 
nent civilian, canonist, and a practiser of 
note in the ecclesiastical courts. He had 
been a Lancastrian, and the fidelity with 
which he adhered to Henry VI., till that un- 
fortunate prince's death, recommended him 
to the confidence and patronage of Edward 
IV. He negotiated the marriage with the 
princess Elizabeth, which reconciled (with 
whatever confusion of titles) the conflicting 
pretensions of York and Lancaster, and 
raised Henry Tudor to the throne. By these 
services, and by his long e.xpericnce in af- 
fairs, he continued to be prime minister till 
his death, which happened in 1500, at the 
advanced age of ninety.* Even at the time 
of ^lore's entry into his household, the old 
cardinal, though then fourscore and five 
years, was pleased with the e.xtraordinary 
promise of the sharp and lively boy ; as aged 
peii^ons sometimes, as it were, catch a 
glimpse of the pleasure of youth, by enter- 
ing for a moment into its feelings. More 
broke into the rude dramas performed at the 
cardinal's Christmas festivities, to which he 
was too young to be invited, and often in- 
vented at the moment speeches for himself, 
•'' which made the lookers-on more sport than 
all the players beside." The caidinal, much 
delighting in his wit and towardness, would 
often .«^ay of him unto the nobles that dined 
with him, — '-'This child here waiting at the 
table, whosoever shall live to see it, will 



* Dodd's Church History, vol. i. p. 141. The 
Roman Catholics, now restored to iheii just rank 
in society, have no longer an e.xcuse for not con- 
tinuing this useful work. [This has been accord- 
ingly done since this note was written, by the Rev. 
]vr. A. Tierney.— Ed.] 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



45 



prove a marvellous man."* More, in his 
historical work, ihu.s commemoratea this 
early friend, not without a fiidelong glance 
at the acts of a courtier: — "He was a man 
of great natural wit, very well learned, hon- 
ourable in behaviour, lacking in no wise to 
win favour. "'t In Utopia he praises the car- 
dinal more lavishly, and with no restraint 
from the severe justice of history. It was 
in Morton's house that he was probably first 
known to Colet, dean of St. Paul's, the foun- 
der of St. Paul's school, and one of the most 
eminent restorers of ancient literature in 
England ; who was wont to say, that '• there 
was but one wit in England, and that was 
young Thomas More. "J 

More went to Oxford in 1497, where he 
appears to have had apartments in St. Mary's 
Hull, but to have carried on his studies at 
Canterbury College,^ on the spot where 
Wolsey afterwards reared the magnificent 
edifice of Christchurch. At that university 
he found a sort of civil war waged between 
the partisans of Greek literature, who were 
then innovators in education and 5u.spected 
of heresy, if not of infidelity, on the one 
hand ; and on the other side the larger body, 
comprehending the aged, the powerful, and 
the celebrated, who were content to be no 
wiser than their forefathers. The younger 
followers of the latter faction alTected the 
ridiculous denomination of Trojans, and as- 
sumed the names of Priam, Hector, Paris, 
and ^neas, to denote their hostility to the 
Greeks. The puerile pedantry of these cox- 
combs had the good effect of awakening the 
zeal of More for his Grecian masters, and of 
inducing him to withstand the barbarism 
which would exclude the noblest produc- 
tions of the human mind from the education 
of English youth. He expostulated with the 
university in a letter addressed to the whole 
body, reproaching them with the better ex- 
ample of Cambridge, where the gates were 
thrown open to the higher classics of Greece, 
as freely as to their Roman imitators. tl The 
established clergy even then, though Luther 
had not yet alarmed them, strangers as they 
were to the new learning, affected to con- 
temn that of which they were ignorant, and 
could not endure the prospect of a rising 
peneration more learned than themselves. 
Their whole education was Latin, and their 
instruction was limited to Roman and canon 
law, to theology, and school philosophy. 
They dreaded the downfal of the authority 
of the Vulgate from the study of Greek and 
Hebrew. But the course of tnings was irrre- 
sistible. The scholastic system was now on 
the verge of general disregard, and the pe- 
msal of the greatest Roman writers turned 
all eyes towards the Grecian masters. What 

* Roper's Life of Sir T. More, edited by Singer. 
This book will be cited henceforward as " Roper.'' 

t Ilisiory of Richard III. 

t More, p, 25. 

^ AthenoB Oxonienses, vol. i. p. 79. 

II See this Letter in the Appendix to the second 
Volume of Joriin's Life of Erasmus. 



man of high capacity, and of ambition be- 
coming his faculties, could read C.cero with- 
out a desire to comprehend Demosthenes and 
Plato ? What youth desirous of excellence 
but would rise from the r-tuily of the Georgics 
and the JEneid, with a wish to be acquainted 
with Hes!od and Apolloniu.s, wilh Pindar, 
and above all with Horner? Tliese studiea 
were then pursued, not with the dull languor 
and cold formality with which the indolent, in- 
capable, incurious majority of boys obey the 
prescribed rules of an old establishment, but 
with the enthusiastic admiration w ith which 
the superior few feel an earnest of their own 
higher powers, in the delight which arises 
in their minds at the contemplation of new 
beauty, and of excellence unirnagined before. 

More found several of the restorers of 
Grecian literature at Oxford, who had been 
the scholars of the exiled Greeks in Italy ; — 
Grocyn, the first professor of Greek in the 
university ; Linacre, the accomplished foun- 
der of the college of physicians; and Wil- 
liam Latimer, of whom we know little more 
than what we collect from the general tes- 
timony borne by his most eminent contem- 
poraries to his learning and virtue. Grocyn, 
the first of the English restorers, was a late 
learner, being in the forty-eighth year of his 
age when he went, in 1488, to Italy, where 
the fountains of ancient learning were once 
more opened. After having studied under 
Politian, and learnt Greek from Chalcon- 
dylas, one of the lettered emigrants who 
educated the teachers of the western nations, 
he returned to Oxford, where he taught that 
language to More, to Linacre, and to Eras- 
mus. Linacre followed the example of Gro- 
cyn in visiting Italy, and profiting by the in- 
structions of Chalcondylas. Colet spent four 
years in the same country, and in the like 
studies. William Latimer repaired at a 
mature age to Padua, in quest of that know- 
ledge which was not to be acquired at home. 
He was afterwards chosen to be tutor to 
Reginald Pole, the King's cousin ; and Eras- 
mus, by attributing to him '-maidenly mo- 
desty," leave* in one word an agreeable im- 
pression of the character of a man chosen for 
his scholarship to be Linacre's colleague in a 
projected translation of Aristotle, and solici- 
ted by the latter for aid in his edition of the 
New Testament.* 

At Oxford More became known to a man 
far more extraordinary than any of these 
scholars. Erasmus had been invited to Eng- 
land by Lord Mountjo)^, who had been his 
pupil at Paris, and continued to be his friend 
during life. He resided at Oxford during a 
great part of 1497 ; and having returned to 
Paris in 1498, spent the latter portion of the 
same year at the university of Oxford, where 
he again had an opportunity of pouring his 
zeal for Greek study into the mind of More. 
Their friendship, though formed at an age of 
considerable disparity, — Erasmus being then 



• For Latimer, see Dodd, Church Hieiory, vol- 
i. p. 219. : for Grocyn, Ibid. p. 227: for Coleland 
Linacre, all biographical compilations. 



46 



IMACKINTOSirS MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



thirty atul Moro only seventeen, — lasted 
throiiuhont tlio whole of their lives. Eras- 
mus h;ul HOtiuirei.1 only the rmliments of 
(J reek iit the age most siiiteil to the acquisi- 
tion of laMguuges, ami was now completing 
his kno\vlet.lgt> on that subject at a period of 
mature mauhooJ, which he jestingly com- 
pares with the age at which the elder Cato 
coninitMieed his (Jreciau studies.* Though 
Erasmus himself seems to have been much 
excited towanis (Jreek learning by the ex- 
ample of the English scholars, yet the cul- 
tivation of classical literature was then so 
email a part of the employment or amuse- 
ment of life, that Wdliam Latimer, one of 
the most eminent of these scholars, to whom 
Erasmus applied for aid in his edition of the 
(Jreek Testament, declared that he had not 
read a ixige of tJreek or Latin for nine years,! 
thut he had almost forgotten his ancient lite- 
rature, and that (Jreek books were scarcely 
procurable in England. Sir Joiui More, in- 
flexibly atlhering to the old education, and 
dreading that the alluitMiients of literature 
might seJuee his son from law, discouraged 
the pursuit of (rreek, and at the s;ime time 
reducetl the allowance of Thomas to the 
level of the most frugal life ; — a parsimony 
for which the son was afterwards, though 
not then, thankful, as having taught him 
gmid husbandry, and preserved him from 
dissipation. 

At the university, or soon after leaving it, 

J'oung More composed the greater part of 
lis English vei-ses; which are not such as, 
from their intrinsic merit, in a more advanced 
state of our langu:\ge and literature, would 
be deserving of particular attention. But as 
the poems of a contemporary of Skelton, they 
may merit more consideration. Our language 
was still neglected, or contined chietly to the 
vulg-ar uses of life. Its force, its compass, 
and its capaeit}- of harmou}', were untried: 
for though Chaucer had shone brightly for a 
season, the century which followed was dark 
and wititry. No master genius had impreg- 
nated the nation with poetical sensibility. 
In these inauspicious circumstances, the com- 
position of poems, especially if they mani- 
fest a sense of harmony, and some adapta- 
tion of the sound to the subject, indic;ites a 
delight in poetrv, and a proneness to that 
beautiful art, wliich in such an age is a 
more than ordinary token of a capacity for it. 
The experience of all ages, however it may 
be accounted for, shows that the mind, when 
melted into tenderness, or exalted by the 
contemplation of grandeur, vents its feelings 
in languaire suited to a state of excitement, 
and delights in distinguishing its diction from 



* " Delibavimus et oliin has literas, sed summis 
dunlaxat lubiis ; at luiper pauIo altius ini;ressi, 
videtnus id quod sa^pfiiumero npud siravissinios 
auctoros logimus, — Latinam erudiiioncm, qiianivis 
impendiosam. citra Graecismum mancam os^ie ac 
dimidiatam. .A pud nos enini rivuli vix quidam 
Bunt, et Incunula,' lutulcnt&i ; apud illos fontos pu- 
rissinr. etfliiminaaurum volventia." — Opera. Lug. 
Bai. 1703. vol. iii. p. 63. 

* Ihid. vol. iii, p. 293, 



common speech by some species of measure 
and modulation, which combines the gratifi- 
cation of the ear with that of the fancy and 
the heart. The secret connection between 
a poetical ear and a poetical soul is touched 
by the most sublime of i)oets, who consoled 
himself in his blindness by the remembrance 
of those who, under the like calamity, 

Feed on tiioughis that voluniary move 

Ilarmoiiiiuis nmnbcrs. 

We may be excused for thiowinga glance 
over the compositions of a writer, w ho is 
represented a century after his death, by Ben 
Jonson, as one of the models of English lite- 
rature. More's poenr on the death of Eliza- 
beth, the wife of Henry VII., and his merry 
jest How a Serjeant would play the Friar, 
may be considered as fair samples of his 
pensive ami sportive vein. The superiority 
of the latter shows his natumi disposition 
to pleasantry. There is a sort of dancing 
mirth in the metre which seems to warrant 
the observation above hazarded, that in a 
rude period the structure of verse may be 
rt>g;irdeil as some presumption of a genius 
for poetry. In a relined age, indeed, all the 
circumstances are ditferent : the frame-work 
of metrical composition is known to all the 
world ; it may be taught by rule, ami ac- 
quired mechanically; the greatest facility of 
versification may exist without a spark of 
genius. Even then, however, the secrets of 
the art of versiiication are chiefly revealed 
to a chosen few by their poetical sensibility; 
so that sullieient reiuains of the original tie 
still contiiuie to attest its primitive origin. 
It is remarkable, that the most poetical of 
the poems is written in Latin : it is a poem 
addressed to a lady, with whom he had been 
in love when he was sixteen years old, and 
she fourteen; and it turns chielly on the 
pleasing rellection that his atiectionate re- 
membrance restored to her the beauty, of 
which twenty-live years seemed to others to 
have robbed her.* 

When More had completed his time at 
Oxford, he applied himself to the study of 
the law, which was to be the occupation of 
his life. He first studied at New Inn. ae.d 
afterwards at Lincoln's Inn.t The societies 
of lawyers having purchased some inns, or 
noblemen's residences, in London, were 
hence called '•■ inns of court." It was not 
then a metaphor to call them an university ; 
they had professors of law; they conferred 
the characters of barrister and serjeant, ana- 
logous to the degrees of bachelor, master, 
and doctor, bestowed by the universities; 
and every man, before he became a barrister, 
was subjected to cxamiuation, and clliged 



* "Grainlatur quod earn rcpererit incoliimem 
quam oliiu fermo puer aniaverat." — Not. in Poem. 
It does not seem rceoncilable with dates, that his 
ladv could have been the younger sister of Jane 
Colt. Vide in/rn. 

t Inn was successively applied, like the I'Vench 
word hotel, first to the town mansion of a great 
man, and afterwards to a house where all man- 
kind were entertained for money. 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



47 



to defend a thf^sis. More was appointed 
reader at Furnival's Inn, where he delivered 
lectures for three yearB. The English law . 
had already grown into a science, formed by ' 
a process of generalisation from usages and ! 
decisions, with less help fronn the Ronrian 
law than the jurisprudence of any other 
country, though not with that total indepen- 
dence of it which pjiiglish lawyers in former ' 
times considered as a subject of boast ; it 
was rather formed as the law of Rome itself 
had been formed, than adopted from that , 
noble system. When More began to lecture ' 
on English law, it was by no means in a ' 
disorderly and neglected state. The eccle- | 
siastical lawyers, whose arguments and de- 
termmalions were its earliest materials, were ', 
well prepared; by the logic and philosophy ! 
of their masters the Schoolmen, for those 
exact and even subtle distinctions which the 
precision of the rules of juri.sprudence emi- ] 
nently required. In the reigns of the Lan- 1 
castrian princes, Littleton had reduced the j 
law to an elementary treatise, distinguished I 
by a clear melhod and an elegant concise- 
ness. Fortescue had during the same time 
compared the governments of England and 
France with the eye of a philosophical ob- 
server. Brooke and Fitzherbert had com- 
piled digests of the law, which they called 
(it might be thought, from their size, ironi- 
cally) " Abridgments." The latter composed 
a treatise, still very curious, on "writs;*' 
that is, on those commands (formerly from 
the king) which constitute essential parts of 
every legal proceeding. Other writings on 
jurisprudence occupied the printing presses 
of London in the earliest stage* of their ex- 
istence. More delivered lectures also at St. 
Lawrence's church in the Old Jewry, on 
the work of St. Augustine, De Civitale Dei, 
that is, on the divine government of the 
moral world ; which must seem to readers 
"who look at ancient times through modern 
habits, a very singular occupation for a 
younij lawyer. But the clergy were then the 
chief depositaries of knowledge, and were 
the sole canonists and civilians, as they had 
once been the only lawyers. t Religion, 
morals, and law, were then taught together 
without due distinction between them, to 
the injury and confusion of them all. To 
these lectures, we are told by the afTectionate 
biographer, " there resorted Doctor Grocyn, 
an excellent cunning man, and all the chief 
learned of the city of London. "t More, in 
his lectures, however, did not so much dis- 
cuss "the points of divinity as the precepts 
of moral philosophy and history, wherewith 
these books are replenished."^ The effect 
of the deep study of the first was, perhaps, 
however, to embitter his polemical writings, 
and somewhat to sour that naturally sweet 
temper, which was so deeply felt by his 

• Doctor and Student (by St. Germain) and Di- 
▼ofBiie des Courics were both printed by Rastell 
in 1534. 

t Nnllut causidicus nui dericus. 

X Ruper, p. 5. % More, p. 44. 



companions, that Erasmnsscarcely ever con- 
cludes a letter to him without epithets more 
indicative of the most tender affection than 
of the calm feelings of friendship.* 

The tenderness of More's nature combinea 
with the instructions and habits of his edu- 
cation to predispose him to piety. As ne 
lived in the neighbourhood of the great Car- 
thusian monastery, called the "Charter- 
house," for some years, he manifested a 
prediipction for monastic life, and is said to 
have practised some of those austerities and 
self-inflictions which prevail among the 
gloomier and sterner orders. A pure mind 
in that age often sought to extinguish some 
of the inferior impulses of human nature, in- 
stead of employing them for their appoiiited 
purpose, — that of animating the domestic 
affections, and sweetening the most- impor- 
tant duties of life. He soon learnt, however, 
by self-examination, his unfitness for the 
priesthood, and relinquished his project of 
taking orders, in words which should have 
warned his church against the imposition of 
unnatural self-denial on vast multitudes and 
successive generations of men.t 

The same affectionate disposition which 
had driven him towards the visions, and, 
strange as it may seem, to the austerities of 
the monks, now sought a more natural chan- 
nel. " He resorted to the house of one Mai»- 
ter Colt, a gentleman of Essex, who had often 
invited him thither : having three daughters, 
whose honest conversation and virtuous edu- 
cation provoked him there especially to set 
his affection. And albeit his mind most 
served him to the second daughter, for that 
he thought her the fairest and best favoured, 
yet when he considered that it would be 
both great grief, and some shame also, to 
the eldest, to see her younger sister prefer- 
red before her in marriage, he then of a cer- 
tain pity framed his fancy toward her, and 
soon after married her, neverthemore dis- 
continuinjr his study of the law at Lincoln's 
Inn." t His more remote descendant adds, 
that Mr. Colt " proffered unto him the choice 
of any of his daughters; and that More, out 
of a kind of compassion, settled his fancy on 
the eldest. "§ Erasmus gives a turn to More's 
marriage with Jane Colt, which is too inge- 
nious to be probable : — " He wedded a very 
young girl of respectable family, but who 
had hitherto lived in the country with her 
parents and sisters, and was so uneducated, 
that he could mould her to" his own tastes 
and manners. He caused her to be in- 
structed in letters ; and she became a very 
skilful musician, which peculiarly pleased 
him."il 

The plain matter of fact seems to have 
been, that in an age when marriage chiefly 
depended upon a bargain between parents, 



* " Snavissime More." " Cbarissime More. 
" Mellitissime More." 

+ " Maluit maritus esse castus quam sacerdo* 
impiirus." Erasmus, Op. vnl. iii. p. 475. 

t Roper, p. 6. ^ More, p. 30. 

11 Erasmus. Op. vol. iii. p. 475. 



«8 



i\i.\t.KiNTosirs Mit^cKi.LANKOus l•:ss.\^ s. 



OH \vl\ ell sons wtMC littl<» consullt'd, mui 
dauiilitcis iu>l »t i»ll, IMoic, onuMi;iiij» at 
t\voiity-oin> Iroin ll»i» toil ol luviuiiinii IJiri'k, 
«iul llu' vohinlarv scir-tortiiiv ol (.'arllmsi.iii 
mystics was ilt>li<L;litt>»i at liis tiist tMitiy 
ainoii},'; ploasinur yminir \vom««n, of whom 
tho Icasi attrai'livi* niii^lit, in thoso oiiviiin- 
l»tnncfs, havt» tom"l»i>il hiiii ; aiul that liis 
slisjhl pit<tViTtuv> torllii' sormni oasil\ violJ- 
Oil to a ,'»iiO(l-natvn»nl n'liu'taiirt> to luDrlily 
thi* olJcr. Most youii^' iailios in Kssivv, in 
tlu> bi'^iimir.ii of the sixlfoulli oiMitiuv, must 
liavo iviiuii«<il *ionio tuition toappoar In l,on- 
vloii anionii si-holars anil oouilitMS. who wiMt> 
«t that tinio nioiv minylinl than it is now 
usual lor th«Mu to l>t>. It is iuinossibhi to 
nsooilain tho prtviso sliado of tVt'liny whioh 
tho bio^viaplxMs intonvK\l to lionoto hy tho 
woi\ls .'■ pit v" aiul "oomivission." i\n tho 
uso ol" whioli llioy aro ohaiiitvl with a want 
ol :ii»llanliy or ilolioaoy by u>oilorn writors; 
allhouuli utMilior of thoso tonus, wlion tho 
o«Mito\t is at llio s;uno tinio roail, sotMUS un- 
happily oin|iloyotl to sii^iiify tho natural ro- 
tinoniont, whn-h slirinks iVoni hnn\blnii; tho 
hannloss soll-ooiuplaoonov ot' an inuooont 
Jlirl. 

'I'ho inarria<j-(' provoil so happy, that uo- 
thinu: was to bo rojirotlo^l in it but tl»o sliort- 
noss of tho union, \n oonsinpionoo of tlio i>arly 
doath vi .lano C\)ll, wlio lol't a son and ihioo 
ilaiiuhtors ; o( w liou\ Maiii^artM, tho oKiost, 
inhorito,! iho toaturos, lht» form, ainl tlio i^o- 
ninsof hor falhor, anil roqnitoii his Jouil jvu- 
tiulity by a ilaujjhiorly lov(>, which ouiluroil 
to tho ouil. 

In no lonii tinu'* aftor tho lUwtlv of Jano 
Colt, ho niarrioil Alioo Midviloton. a widow, 
sovon yoars oUior than hinisolt", ami not hanJ- 
sonio ; — rathor, tor tho oaro of liis faniily. ami 
tho niaiiaijiMnont of his luniso. than as a ooni- 
imnion and a frioiul. Ho troatod hor, and in- 
dood all foiualos, oxoopt his daui^hlor INlar- 
pnrot. as botlor ijualitiod to rolish a jost, than 
to tako a pari in nioro sorions oonvorsation ; 
and in tlioir prosonoo i:~avo an unboundod 
soopo to his natural inolination towauls ploa- 
i»;uitry. Ho ovou iuduliivd hinisolf in a Latin 
nlay of words on hor want of youth and 
ooauty. oallins; hor " uoo bolla noo puolla."t 
'' Sho was of i;x)Ovl yoars, of no irood tavour 
vt ooinploxion, nor vory rioh. and by disjMisi- 
liou noar and worKlly. It was ropoitod that 
hi> woood hor for a friond of his; but sho 
nusworinji that ho minht spood if ho sjxiko 
for hinisolf, hotuarriod hor with tho oonsonl 
of his triond. yioKlini; to hor that whioh por- 
haps ho novor would havo dono of his own 
aooord. luilood, hor tavour could not liavo 
bowitohod, (U- soarco niovovl, any man to 
lovo hor; but yot sho fimvod a kiuvl and 
iNirotul uiothor-in-law to hisohildron." Knis- 
mus, whowasofton an inuiato in tho faniilvs 
sp-aks of hor as -'n koon ami watohlul lua- 



• "In • ft>w moaihs." snys Erasmus, Op, vol. 
iii \\ 47.''. : — " wiiluii two or ilirc»> yojtra," ac- 
ronii'ii; to liis jjreai grandson. — More, p. 3*. 

t F.rasnms, vol. iii. p. 475. 



iiajfor, with whom IMoro livod on tovms of 
as niuoh rospt'ol and kindness as if sho had 
boon fair and younu."' Suoh is tho happy 
powor of a loviny ilisposition, whioh ovor- 
ilows on companion.s. though thoir attiac- 
lions or dostuts should b^ .slondor. "No 
husband," oontnnu's Krasmns, "over jiainod 
so nuuh obi>dionoo from a wifo by autho'ity 
and sovority, as Mori> wnu by gontionot-s anil 
ploasantry. Thoiu-h vorging on old ago, and 
not of a yielding tompor, lio provadoil on hor 
to tako los,<ons on tho Into, tho oithara, iho 
viol, tho nu)noohord, and tho (Into, w huh she 
daily praotisod to him. \Vith tho sanu> gon- 
tlouoss ho rulod his wholo family, so that it 
was without broils or ijuarrols. Ho om- 
posod all diliortMH'os, aiui novor j>arttil with 
any ono on tornis o( ludiiuilnt^ss. Tho liouso 
was tatod to tho poonliar folioity that tho.><o 
who dwoll in it wt'io always raised lo a 
highor forluno ; and that no spot ovor foil ou 
tho gooil namo o( its happy iidiabitants." 
Tho oourso of INloro's donu-stio lito is mi- 
uutoly do.soribod by oyo-witiu^ssi\>». "'His 
custom was daily {bosidos his private pmvers 
with his children) to s;iv tho seven psalms, 
tho litany, and tho sutlVages following; so 
was his guis(> with his wife, chiMren, and 
household, nightly InMbro ho went lo bed, to 
go to his chapt>l, and there on his knees or- 
dinarily to Siiy certain psalms and collects 
with them.'-'* "With him,"' s;iys Krasmu.s, 
"you might imagine your.-^olf in the acade- 
my o( Plato. lUit I should do injustice to 
his house bv comparing it to the aoadiiny 
of IMato, wliore numbers, and geometrical 
ligures. and .'^ometiiiu's moral virtues, wero 
tho subjoctsof di.>^cussiou ; it would bo moro 
just to call it a school and tworciso of the 
Christian religion. All its inhabitants, male 
or female, applied tlioir leisure to liboml 
studies and protitable reading, although jMoty 
was thoir tirst care. No wrangling, no angry 
word, was heard in it ; no one was idle; evi>ry 
one ilid his duty with alacrity, and not with- 
out a temperate choerfidness."t Kiasmus 
! had not tho sensibility oi More ; ho was moro 
' pitme to smili' than to sigh at tho concerns 
of men ; but iu> was touched by tho re?uem- 
j brance of these domestic soleinuities in the 
household of his friend. Ho manifests an 
agreeable emotion at the recollection of these 
scones in dailv life, which tended to b.allow 
I the natui-al authority of ixirents, to bestow a 
sort of dignity on humble occupation, to raise 
niouial ollices to the rank of virtue.s, and to 
spread |h\ic(> and ouhivate kindness auu'ng 
those who h.id shared, aial were soon ag^ain 
to share, tho s;\mo modest rites, in gonlly 
breathing around them a spirit of meek 
equality, which rather humbled tho p.ide of 
the givat than disquieted tho spirits of the 
lowlv. Moro himself justly speaks of the 
, hourly interchauiio of the smaller a.Ms of 
'kindness which tlow fmm tho charities ol 
I domestic life, as having a claim on his time 
as strvMig as the occuixitioiis which soeintHl 

• Roper, p. 25» t Op. rol. iii. p. IS] 3. 



LFFK OF SIR THOMAS MORK. 



49 



to oth'.TH SO much more BorioiiH ;irirl irrifior- 
t;uil. " VVIiilf;," wi^rt lin, "in jilciidin/Lf, in 
\iir,ir\uu;, in (Ir'cidin;^ c!iii«r-« or cotnjvmiti^^ 
»li(rei(;iiccK, in waili;if( on fiomo rrmn fibout 
bufiincBH, and on olh'TK ont o/ ii'kjx-cI, ihr; 
Rrufilc'Hl |)art of lli'; day in .*.pf!ril on olhcr 
nifsn's afiiiiift, Ihn r«;rnanid<:r of it niiisl \)ii 
j2;iv(Ti to my family at hotno ; no that I ran 
rcHLTVc no j)art of it to mysidf. that in, to 
Hliidy. I ffiMfl talk wilh my wife, and <diat 
with my chddrr!ii. and I liavo W)m(!uhat to 
H-'iy to my srjrvanl.s; (or all ihfHO t}iin;.^fl I 
n;ckon an a j).'i.il of my liiisincHH, (jxccpt a 
man will nrHoivr; to bu a htratif.';<!r at horm! j 
and wilh whomsoever oitlmr nature, eharicf;, 
or choicrj, han enii;.'! ;/'•'' '•>■ f"''i" i" '"'y W)m- 
morc«!, h'! miiHt cndHavonr to rriakr; himself 
asacceplabh; to those ahont him ;ik lit; f%'in."* 
Ui« occupationH now necewyaril)' employed 
a larf^r; jmrlion of his timf!. MiH profensional 
praeticf! hf;(;ame ho conKidcmlile. that ahont 
lh(5 ac-r-.esnion of Jlenry VIII., in ir)()'.i with 
his lf!^al oflico in the rity of London, it pio- 
• lijfied /JOOL a yrsar, nrooahly «;'|iiivaleiil to 
an annual income o( r>{)W)l. in the f)r<;Herit 
(lay. Thf)iij.'h it he not (-asy to d(!termiiie the 
<?vact period of the orciirrencefi of his lif<j, 
from his (!slal)liKhrrn!iit in London to his ac- 
coptance of political office, the he;.nniiifif^ of 
Henry VIH.'h rei;.i;n may he conftidered as 
the time of his hi{.^hcHt eminence at the bar. 
About this time a. ship behni^^inp^ to the J'ojk!, 
orclaim(!d by bin Holiness on behalf o( some 
of his sid»jec,lH, happeiK^d (o come to Soiilh- 
amplon, whine shi; was pfiized as a forfei- 
ture. — probably aH what is called a droit of 
the crown, or a droit of thi; admiralty. — 
fhou;{;h under what circumstances, or on wnat 
(^rounds we know ririt. The |)a|)al minister 
made suit to tli(! Kin;^ that th*; cast! mij.dit be 
arfj;ued for tlie Pope by learntrd counsrd in a 

fiublic place, and in pr(;Reric« of the minister 
limsidf, who was a (lif!tin{.Miished civilian. 
Nonf! was found so well qualified to be of 
nounsel for him as More, who could report 
in Latin all the ar^^uments to his client, and 
who ar;»uod so learnedly (ni the I'ope's siib;, 
that he succeeib^d in obtainin;^ an oriler for 
the restifiition of the ves.-tei diMained. 

it has been already intimated, that about 
th« sarno time he had been appointed to a 
judicial office in the city of London, which 
IS described by his son-in-law as '-that of 
ono of the uixler-sheriffs." Roper, who was 
himself for many years an officer of the court 
of Kht'^^f Bench, gives the name of the office 
correctly; but do(;5 not describe its iialuif! 
and importance so truly as Kiasmus, who 
tfillfl his correspondent that More passed 
neveral yciars in the city of London asa jnd^^e 
in civil causfts. "This office," he says, 
'• thoiij^h not laborious, for the court sits only 
on the forenoon of every Thursday, is ac- 
counted Vf!ry honourable. No judj^e of that 
court ever wont throu^di more causes; none 
decided them more uprightly; often remit- 
ting the foes to which he was entitled from 

* Dfidicaiion of Utopia to Peter Giles, (Burnet's 
traruilation,) 1684. 



the KuitorM. Jlis dej)ortmf;rit in this capacity 
end(.'ai(!d him I'xtremifly to hirt fellow-citi- 
zens."* 'I'he under-sheriff was ihe/i aj)[)a 
ri'iitly Judf^e of the sheriff s court, which, 
beiii;; the county couit for London and Mid- 
dh-Hcv, was. at th;it time, a slution ol honour 
afid advanta;,'(!.t For tlie coiuity courts in 
gi;neial, and indeed all the aii(;ient suboidi- 
nate jurisdictions of the common Jaw, had 
not y(;t been Kiijierseded by that concen- 
tration of authority in the hands of the su- 
[H'rior courts at Westminster, which con- 
tribnterl indeed to the jmrity and di}.niily of 
the judicial characl<;r, as well as to the uni- 
formity and the im|)iovemetit of the admin- 
istration of law, — but which cannot be said 
to have served in the same degree to pro- 
mote a speedy and cheap redress of the 
wroii^^s suffer<;d by those suitors to whom 
cost and drday are most grievous. More's 
offi<;r?, in that state of llie jurisdiction, might 
therefore havf! poss»;ss(;d llie irnj)ortaiice 
which his cont(!mj)Oiaric8 ascribed (o it; 
although the di;nofriiriatioii of it would not 
make sucfi an irri[)re,ssion on rriodrnri ears. 
It is apj)arerit, that fiither as a considerable 
sourtx; of his incornt!, or as an honourable 
token of [lublic confidence, this office wart 
va.luff'd l»y Mort;; since he informs Erasmus, 
in 15 Hi, that he had deeliiifjrj a handwjme 
p«;nsiori offered to him by the kin^ on his 
ifdurn from Flanders, ari'l that he believed 
he should always decline it ; becau.se either 
it would oblige him to resign hisofficr; in the 
city, whicfi he prefV.'rred to a bolter, or if he 
retained it. in case of a controversy of the city 
wilh the king for their privileges, he might be 
d(!em(;d by his fellow-citi/ens to be dis;ibled 
by d(rpendi;ric»j on the crown fmm fiinc(;rc- 
ly and faithfully maintaining their rights. t 
This last reasoning is also interesting, as the 
first intimation of the necessity of a city law- 
officer being independent of the crown, amJ 
of thf; legal resistance of the corporation of 
London to a Tudor king. It paved the way 
lor those hanpiier limes in which the great 
city had the nonour to number the Holts and 
the Denmans among her legal advisers. § 

* F'rnfimiis, Op. vol. iii. p. 476. 

t " III url>c Hiia pro hliyrcvo dixil." — Epitaph. 

t KraBiiiuH, Op. vol. in. p. 220. 

^ From cornrnutrualioiiH otjiaiiicd for mc fronn 
ihc rorords of iIk! Oily, f am enabled to nswriain 
fiotno pariiciilars of ilic nalurc of Moro's n;jj)oint- 
rnciii, wliii-ii liavc ocrasioned a diff'-'rcrinc of^opin. 
ion. On ilic Hiji of May, L'ili, it wah agreed tiy 
llic conimiin council, " lliat, 'I'lioriias More, i^eri- 
licinaii, one of ihc inidcr-fcli<;rifrn of London, Hlioiild 
occupy IiIh office and chaiiitx.-r liy a Kufficji^ni depu- 
ty. diiririK his ttlisencc as tfie king's aniliaHvadol 
in FlandrTH." It appears from sf^veral entries jn 
ilie Hame recordH, from 1')% to l.'>02 inclusive, that 
the undcr-HlierifT wnH Hnniiully elocied, or railier 
confirmed ; lor the praciicc was not to remove 
iiim witliout JiiH own ajiplieation or Bome Korioiis 
fniilt. For six years of Henry's reign, Kdward 
Dudley was one of the under-shcrifTs ; a circum- 
sfniiec which renders the superior imporinncc of 
the ofTicc at that time prohablo Thorn.-is IVIarowe, 
the author of works on law eateemed in liis lime, 
though not puldiahcd, appears also in the abov4 
records as undcr-shcrifT. 



80 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



More IS the first person in our history dis- 
tinguishfil by tlie faculty of public speaking. 
A remarkable occasion on which it was suc- 
cessfully cmployeil in parliament against a 
lavish grant of money to the crown is thus 
recorded by his son-in-law as follows: — '"In 
the latter time of king Henry VII. he was 
made a burgess of the parliament, wherein 
was demanded by the king ab<.)ut three 
fifteenths for the marriage of his eKlest 
daughter, that then should be the Scottish 
queen. At the last debating whereof he 
made such arguments and reasons there 
against, that the king's demands were there- 
by clean overthrown ; so that one of the 
king's privy chamber, named maister Tyler, 
being present thereat, brought word to the 
king out of the parliament house, that a 
beardless boy had disappointed all his pur- 
pose. Whereupon the king, conceiving great 
uidignation towards him, could not be satis- 
fied iHitil he had some way revenged it. 
And forasmuch as he, nothing having, could 
nothing lose, his grace devised a causeless 
quarrel against his father; keeping him in 
the Tower till he had made him to pay 100/. 
fine,-" (probably on a charge of having in- 
fringed some obsolete penal law). '-Shortly 
after, it fe.rtuned that Sir T. More, .coming 
in a suit to Dr. Fox, bi.^hop of Winchester, 
one of the king's privy council, the bishop 
called him aside, and, pretending great fa- 
vour towards him, promised that if he would 
be ruled by him he would not fixil into the 
king's favour again to restore him ; meaning, 
as it was afterwards conjectnretl, to cause 
him thereby to confess his offences against 
the king, whereby his highness might, with 
the better colour, Iiave occasion to revenge 
his displeasure against him. But when he 
came from the bishop he fell into communi- 
cation with one maister Whitforde, his fami- 
liar friend, then chaplain to that bishop, and 
showed iiim what the bishop had said, 
praying for his advice. Whitforde prayed 
him by the passion of God not to follow the 
counsel ; for my lord, to serve the king's 
turn, will not stick to agree to his own fa- 
ther's death. So Sir Thomas IMore returned 
to the bishop no more ; and had not the king- 
died soon alter, he was determined to have 
gone over sea."* That the advice of Whit- 
forde was wise, appeared from a circum- 
stance which occurred nearly ten years after, 
•which exhibits a new feature in the character 
of the King and of his bishops. When Dud- 
ley was sacrificed to popular resentment, 
under Henry VIII., and when he was on his 
way to execution, he met Sir Thomas, to 
whom he said, — -Oh More, INIore ! God 
was your good friend, that you did not ask 
the king forgiveness, as manie would have 
had you do ; for if you had done so, perhaps 

* Roper, p. 7. There seems to l>e some for- 
getfulness of dates in the latter part of this passace, 
which has been copied by succeedinn; writers. 
Margaret, it is well known, was married in 1503 ; 
the debate was not, therefore, later than that year : 
but Henry VII. lived till 1509. 



you should have been in the like case with va 
noji'."* 

It was natural that the restorer of political 
eloquence, which had slumbered for a long 
series of age.'s,! should also he the earliest of 
the parliamentary champions of liberty. But 
it is lamentable that we have so little infor- 
mation respecting the oratorical powers which 
alone could have armed him for the noble 
contlict. He may be said to hold the same 
station among us, which is assigned by 
Cicero, in his dialogue On the Celebrated 
Orators of Rome, to Cato the censor, whose 
consulship was only about niriety years prior 
to his own. His answer, as Speaker of the 
House of Commons, to Wolsey, of which 
more will be said presently, is admirable for 
its promptitude, quickness, seasonableness, 
and caution, combined with dignity and 
spirit. It unites presence of mind ami adap- 
tation to the person and circnmstances, with 
address and management seldom surpassed. 
If the tone be more submissive than suits 
modern ears, it is yet remarkable for that 
ingenious refinement which for an instant 
sho\\ s a glimpse of the sword generally hid- 
den under robes of stale. "His eloquent 
tongue," says Erasmus, '-so Avell seconds 
his fertile invention, that no one .speaks bet- 
ter when suddenly called forth. His atten- 
tion never languishes ; his mind is always 
before his words ; his memory has all its 
slock so turned iiilo ready money, that, with- 
out hesitation or delay, it gives out whatever 
the time and the ca.se may require. His 
acuteness in dispute is unrivalled, and he 
often perplexes the most renowned theolo- 
gians when he enters their province. "t 
Though much of this encomium may be 
applicable rather to private conversation 
than to public debate, and though this pre- 
sence of mind may refer altogether to promp- 
titude of repartee, and comparatively little 
to that readiness of reply, of which his ex- 
perience must have been hmited ; it is still 
obvious that the great critic has ascribed to 
his friend the higher part of those mental 
qualities, which, when justly balanced and 
perfectly trained, constitute a great orator. 

As if it had been the lot of More to open 
all the paths through the wilds of our old 
English speech, he is to be considered also 
as our earliest prose writer, and as the firsl 
Englishman who wrote the history of hi/ 
country in its present language. The his 
torical fragment^ commands belief by sim- 
plicity, and by abstinence from too confident 
affirmation. It betrays some negligence 
about minute particulars, which is not dis- 
pleasing as a symptom of the absence of 
eagerness to enforce a narrative. The com- 
position has an ease and a rotundity (which 
gratify the ear without awakening the sus- 



* More. p. 38. 

t " Posiquam piignatum est opud Actium, 
magna ilia ingenia cessere." — Tacitub, Hist, lib, 
i. cap. 1. 

i Erasmus, Op. vol. iii. p. 476. 

^ History of Richard III. 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



picion of art) of which there was no model i 
ui any preceding writer of EiiKlifih prose. 

In comparing the prose of More with the 
modern style, we must distinguish the words 
from the composition. A very small part of 
his vocabulary has been superannuated j the 
number of terms which require any expla- 
nation is inconsiderable ; and in lliat respect 
the stability of the language is remarkable. 
He is, indeed, in his words, more English 
than the great writers of a century after him, 
who loaded their native tongue with expres- 
sions of Greek or Latin derivation. Cicero, 
speaking of ''old Cato," seems almost to de- 
scribe More. "His style is rather antiquated ; 
he has gome words displeasing to our ears, 
but which were then in familiar use. Qiange 
those terms, which he could not, you will 
then prefer no speaker to CatoJ"* 

But in the combination and arrangement 
of words, in ordinary phraseology and com- 
mon habits of composition, he differs more 
widely from the style that has now been 
prevalent among us for nearly two centuries. 
His diction seem-s a continued experiment to 
discover the forms into which the language 
naturally runs. In that attempt he has fre- 
quently failed. Fortunate accident, or more 
varied experiment in al'tertimes, led to the 
adoption of other combinations, which could 
scarcely have succeeded, if they had not 
been more consonant to the spirit of the lan- 
guage, and more agreeable to ihe ear and the 
feelings of the people. The structure of his 
sentences is frequently not that which the 
English language has finally adopted : the 
language of his countrymen has decided, 
without appeal, against the composition of 
the father of English prose. 

The speeches contained in his fragnienl, 
like many of those in the ancient historians, 
were probably substantially real, but bright- 
ened by ornament, and improved in compo- 
sition. It could, indeed, scarcely be other- 
wise : for the history was written in 1.513. t 
and the death of Edward IV., with which it 
opens, occurred in 1483; while Cardinal 
Morton, who became prime minister two 
years after that event, appears to have taken 
young More into his household about the 
year 1493. There is, therefore, little scope, 
in BO short a time, for much falsification, by 
tradition, of the arguments and topics really 
employed. These speeches have the merit 
of being accommodated to the circumstances, 
and of being of a tendency to dispose those 
to whom they were addressed to promote 
the object of the speaker; and this merit, 
tare in similar compositions, shows that More 

* De Clar. Orat. cap. 17. 

t Holinshed, vol. iii. p. 360. Holinshed called 
Mere's work " unfinished." That it was meant 
to extend to the death of Richard III. seems pro- 
bahle from the following senience : — " But, for- 
asmuch as this duke's (ihe Duke of Gloucester) 
demeanour ministereth in effect all the whole 
matter whereof this book slwll entreat, it is there- 
fore convenient to show you, as we farther go, 
what manner of man this was that could find in 
his hear* such miscliief to conceive." — p. 3C1. 



had been taught, by the practice (f speaking 
in contests where objects the most importan 
are the prize of the victor, that eloquence ' 
the art of persuasion, and that the end of the 
orator is not the display of his talents, but 
dominion over the minds of his hearers. The 
dying speech, in which Edward exhorts the 
two pai ties of his friends to harmony, is a 
grave appeal to their prudence, as well as an 
affecting address from a father and a king to 
their public feelings. .The surmi.ses thrown 
out by Richard against the Widvilles are 
short, dark, and well adapted to awaken sus- 
picion and alarni. The insinuations against 
the Queen, and the threats of danger to the 
lords themselves fiom leaving the person of 
the Duke of York in the hands of that prin- 
cess, in Richard's speech to the Privy Coun- 
cil, before the Archbishop of York was sent 
to Westminster to demand the surrerkler of 
the boy. are admirable specimens of the 
address and art of crafty ambition. Gene- 
rally speaking, the speeches have little of 
the vague common-place of rhetoricians and 
declairners ; and the time is nC wasted in 
parade. In the case, indeed, of .he dispute 
between the Archbishop and the Queen, 
about taking the Duke of York out of his 
mother's care, and from the Sanctuary at 
Westminster, there is more ingenious argu- 
ment than the scene allows; and the mind 
rejects logical refinements, of which the use, 
on such an occasion, is quite irreconcilable to 
dramatic verisimilitude. The Duke of Buck- 
ingham alleged- in council, that sanctuary 
could be claimed only against danger; and 
that the royal infant had neither wisdom to 
desire sanctuaiV; nor the malicious intention 
in his acts without which he could not re- 
quite it. To this notable paradox, which 
amounted to an affirmation that no certainly 
innocent person could ever claim protection 
fiom a sanctuary, when it was carried to the 
Queen, she answered readily, that if she 
could be in sanctuary, it followed that her 
child, who was her ward, was included in 
her protection, as much as her servants, w ho 
were, without contradiction, allowed to be. 

The Latin epigrams of More, a small vo- 
lume which it required two years to carry 
though the press at Basle, are mostly trans- 
lations from the Anthologia, which were 
rather made known to Euiope by the fame 
of the writer, than calculated to increase it. 
They contain, however, some decisive proofs 
that he always entertained the opinions re- 
specting the dependence of all government 
on the consent of the people, to which he 
professed his adherence almost in his dying 
moments. Latin versification was not in 
that early period successfully attempted in 
any Transalpine country. The rules of pros- 
ody, or at least the laws of metrical compo- 
sition, were not yet sufficiently studied for 
such attempts. His Latinity was of the same 
school with that of his friend Erasmus; 
which was, indeed, common to the first gen- 
eration of scholars after the revival of clasoi- 
cal study. Finding Latin a sort of general 



52 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



laiifrH-'mo oiit]>lovotl by men of letters in their 
conveisvitioii ixnd conespomiiMice. thoy cou- 
tiniu'ii the vise of it in the mixed and cor- 
rupted state to which such an application 
had necossiiriiy reduced it: they beiran, 
indeed, to purify it from some grosser cor- 
ruptions ; but they built their style upon 
the foundation of this colloquial ilialect, 
with no riiiforous observation of tlie good 
us;ige of the Koman language. Writings 
of business, of pleasantry, of familiar inter- 
course, could never have been composed 
in pure Latinity ; which was still more in- 
consistent with new manners, institutions, 
and opinions, and with discoveries and in- 
ventions addeil to those which were trans- 
mittC'l by antiquity. Erasmus, who is the 
master and model of tliis system of compo- 
sition, admirably shows how much had been 
gained by loosening the fetters of a dead 
sj>eech, ami acquiring in its stead the na- 
ture, ease, variety, and vivacity of a spoken 
and living tongue. The course of circum- 
stances, however, determined that this lan- 
guage should not subsist, or at least llourish, 
lor much more than a century. It was as- 
Kiiled on one side by the purely classical, 
whom Erasmus, in derision, calls "Cicero- 
nians ;'' and when it was sutTiciently emas- 
culated by dread of their censiire, it was 
linally overwhelmed by the rise of a national 
literature in every European language. 

More exemplilied the abundance and flexi- 
bility of the Erasmian Latinily in Utopia, 
with which this short view of all his writings, 
except those of controversy, may be litly con- 
cluded. The idea of the work Kad been sug- 
gested by some of the dialogues of Plato, 
who speaks of vast territories, formerly cnlti- 
vated and p<>opled, but afterwards, by some 
convulsion of nature, covered by the Atlantic 
Ocean. These Egyptian traditions, or le- 
gends, harmonised admirably with that dis- 
covery of a new continent by Columbus, 
which had roused the admiration of Europe 
about twenty years before the composition 
of Utopia. This was the name of an island 
feigned to have been discovered by a sup- 
posed companion of Amerigo Vespucci, who 
is made to tell the wondrous tale of its con- 
dition to More, at Antwerp, in 151-1 : and in 
it was the tiat of the Platonic conception of 
an imaginary commonwealth. All the names 
which ne invented for men or places* were 



♦The following specimen of Utopian ety- 
mologies may amuse some readers : — 
Utopia - - oiTsTij - nowhere. 
Acliorinns - d-;^ir-^c - ofnocoHutry 
Ademinas - - d-Jx^uof - of no i>eople. 

rThe in- 
Anyder (n river) i-CJaif - waterless. visible 
Amaiuot (a city) &-ftx~fi( dark, 



Hythloday - /xJiat-Sflkoc 



rity IS 
on the 
viver 
water- 
less. 

Some are inteotionally tmweaning, and olh- 
tn are taken from little known langnago in 



a lonrner of 
triples, &c. 



intimations of their being unreal, and were, 
perhaps, by treating with raillery his own 
notions, intended to silence gainsayers. Thn 
first book, which is preliminary, is nalvirally 
and ingeniously opened by a conversation, 
in which liapfiael Hythloday, the Utopian 
traveller, describes his visit to England; 
where, as much as in other countries, he 
found all pri>posals for improvement encoun- 
tered by the remark, that, — ''Such things 
l)leased our ancestors, and it were well for 
us if we could but match them : as if it 
were a great mischief that any should be 
found wiser than his ancestors." "I met,** 
he goes on to siiy, " these proml; morose, and 
absurd judgments, particularly once when 
dining with Cardinal JMorton at London." 
'•There happencil to be at table an English 
lawyer, who run out into high commenda- 
tion of the severe execution of justice upon 
thieves, who were then hanged so fast that 
there were sometimes twenty hanging upon 
one gibbet, and added, 'that he could not 
wonder enough how it came to pass that 
there were so many thieves left robbing in 
all places.'" Kaphael answered, '-that it 
was because the puni.shment of death was 
neither just in itself, nor g-ood for the public; 
for as the severity was too great, so the rem- 
edy was not etlectual. You. as well as other 
nations, like bad schoolmasters, chasti.>^e their 
scholars because ihey have not the skill to 
teach them." Ivaphael afterwards more spe- 
cially ascribed the g-angs of banditti who, 
after the suppression of Perkin Warbeck's 
Cornish revolt, infested England, to two 
causes, of which tlie first was the frequent 
disbanding of the idle and armed retainers 
of the nobles, who, when from necessity let 
loose from tlieir masters, were too proud for 
industry, and had no resource but rapine; 
and the second was the conversion of much 
corn field into pasture for sheep, because 
the latter had become more profitable, — by 
\\ liich base motives many landholders were 
tempted to expel their tenants and destroy 
the food of man. Raphael suggested the 
substitution of hard labour for death; for 
which he quoted the example of the Ro- 
mans, and of an imaginary community in 
Persia. "The lawyer answered, ' lh;it it 
could never bo so settled in England, with- 
out endangi^'ring the whole nation by it :' he 
phook his head, and made some grimaces, 
and then held his peacCj and all the com- 
pany seemed to be of his mind. But the 
cardinal said, ' It is not easy to say whether 
this plan would succeed or not, since no 
trial has been made of it ; but it might 
be tried on thieves condenmed to death, 
and adopted if found to answer ; and vaga- 
bonds might be treated in the same way.* 
When the cardinal had said this, they 
all fell to commend the motion, though 

order to perplex pedants. Joseph Scaliger 
represents Utopia ns a word not formed ac- 
cording to the analogy which regulates ih« 
formation of Greek words. 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



53 



fhoy hafl dospiscd it when it camo from me. 
They rrion; particularly commoiidod that 
couceniiii;:^ th'; va;;;aboiids, because; it had 
been ad(i(;d by hirn." * 

From fornc parts of the above extracts it 
18 aj)par(;iit thai Mori;^ instead of havirjj^ ari- 
ticij)ated ihi; economical doctrines of Adam 
Smith, as some modem \vril(;rH have fancied, 
Vvfas thorou;^hly imbueil with the prejudices 
of his contemporaries against the inclosure 
of commons, and the exiension of pasture. 
It is, however, observable, that he is per- 
fectly consistent with himself, and follows 
his principles throuj^h all their legitimate 
consefjuences, thouf^h they may end in doc- 
trities of very startling sound. Considering 
separate property as always productive of 
unecpial aistribution of the fruits of labour, 
and regarding that iiunjuality of fortune as 
the source of bodily suffering to those who 
labour, and of mental depravation to those 
who are not compelled to toil for subsistence, 
Hythloday is made to say. ttiat, "as long as 
there is any property, and while money is 
the standard of all other things, he cannot 
expect that a nation can be governed either 
justly or happily."! More himself objects 
to Hythloday: "It seerjis to me that men 
cannot Jive conveniently where all thirjgs 
are common. How can there; be any plenty 
wh(!re every man will excuse hims(;If from 
labouring? for as the hope of gain does not 
exeite him, so the confidence that he has in 
other men's industry may make him slothful. 
And if people come to be pinched with want, 
and yet cainiot dispose of any thing as their 
own, what can follow but perpetual sedition 
and bloodshed ; especially whe-n the reverence 
and authority due to magistrates fall to the 
ground ; for I cannot imagine how they can be 
kept atriong those that are in all things equal 
to one another." These remarks do in reality 
contain the germs of unanswerable objections 
to all those projects of a community of goods, 
which suppose tin; moral charactcsr of the 
majority of mankind to continue, at the mo- 
ment of their adoption, such as it has been 
heretofore in the most favourable instances. 
If, indeed, it be proposed only on the suppo- 
sition, that by the influence of laws, or by 
the agency of any other cause, mankind in 
general are rendered more honest, more be- 
nevolent, more disinterested than they have 
hitherto been, it is evident that they will, in' 
the same proportion, approach to a practice 
more near the principle; of an equality and a 
community of all advantages. The; hints of 
an answer to Plato, thrown out by More, are 
60 decisive, that it is not easy to see how he 
left this speck orj his romance, uidess we 
may be allowed to suspect that the specula- 
tion was in part suggested as a convenient 
cover for that biting satire on the sordid and 
rapacious government of Henry VII., which 

•Biirnei'a traiislaiion, p. 13, et tcq. 

t IJurtiet's Iranylaiion, p. 57. irappfinini» to 
write where I hfivo no access to the orij;inal, I use 
niiriioi'a iransl!irn)ti. 'i'licre can be no doubl 
of Burnet's learning or fidelity. 



occupies a considerable portion of Ilythlo- 
day's first discourse. It may also be supposed 
that More, not anxious to save visionary re- 
formers from a few light blows in an attack 
aimed at corrupt and tyrannical statesmen, 
thinks it suitable to his imaginary personage, 
and conducive to the liveliness of his fiction, 
to represent the traveller in Utopia as louchea 
by one of the most alluring and delusive of 
political chimeras. 

In Utopia, farm-houses were built over the 
v/hole country, to which inhabitants were 
sent in rotation from the (ifly-foyr cities. 
Every family had forty men and women, 
besides two slaves; a master and mistress 
preside over every family; and over thirty 
families a magistrate. Every year twenty 
of the family return to town, being two ^ears 
in the country; so that all acquire some 
knowledge of agriculture, and the land is 
never left in the hands of persons quite 
unacquainted with country labours. When 
they want any thing in the country which it 
doth not produce, they fetch it from the city 
without carrying any thing in exchange : the 
magistrates Iri^ke care to see it given to them. 
The people of the towns carry their commo- 
dities to the market place, where they are 
taken away by those who need them. The 
chief business of the magistrates is to take 
care that no man may live idle, and that 
ev(;ry one should labour in his trade for six 
hours of every twenty-four; — a portion of 
time, which, according to Hythloday, was 
sufficient for an abundant supply of all the 
necessaiies and moderate accommodations 
of the community; and which is not inad- 
equate where all labour, and none apply 
extreme labour to the production of super- 
fluities to giatify a few, — where there are 
no idle priests or idle rich men, — and where 
women of ail sorts perform their light allot- 
ment of labour. To women all domestic 
otrices which did not degrade or displease 
were assigned. Unhappily, however, the 
iniquitous and unrighteous expedient was 
devised, of releasing the better order of fe- 
males from offensive and noisome occupa- 
tions, by throwing them upon slaves. Their 
citizens were forbidden to be butchers, "be- 
cause they think that pity and good-nature, 
which are among the best of those afTections 
that are born within us, are much impaired 
by the butchering of animals;'" — a striking 
represt;ntatioii, indeed, of the depraving ef- 
fects of cruelty to anhnals, but abused for 
the iniquitous and cruel purpose of tiaining 
inferiors to barbarous habits, in order to pre- 
serve for their masters the exclusive benefit 
ofa discipline of humanity. Slaves, too, were 
employed in hunting, which was deemed too 
frivolous and barbarous an amusement for 
citizens. " They look upon hunting as one 
of the basest parts of a butcher's business, 
for they account it more decent to kill beasts 
for the sustenance of mankind, than to take 
pleasure in seeing a weak, harmless, and 
fearful hare torn in pieces by a strong, fierce, 
[and cruel dog." An excess of population 
£ 2 



54 



MACKINTOSH'S mSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



was remedied by planting colonies; a defect, 
by the recall of the necessary number of for- 
mer colonists; irregularities of distribution, 
by transferring the superfluous members of 
one township to supply the vacancies in an- 
other. They did not enslave their prisoners, 
nor the children of their own slaves. In those 
maladies where there is no hope of cure or 
alleviation, it w as customary for the Utopian 
priests to advise the patient voluntarily to 
shorten his useless and burthensome life by 
opium or some equally easy means. In cases 
of suicide, without permission of the priests 
and the senate, the party is excluded from 
the honours of a decent funeral. They allow 
divorce in cases of adultery, and incorrigible 
perverseness. Slavery is the general punish- 
ment of the highest crime. They have few 
laws, and no lawyers. "Utopus, the founder 
of the state, made a law that every man 
might be of what religion he pleased, and 
might endeavour to draw others to it by force 
of argument and by amicable and modest 
ways; but those who used reproaches or 
violence in their attempts were to be con- 
demned to banishment or slavery." The 
following passage is so remarkable, and has 
hitherto been so little considered in the 
history of toleration, that I shall insert it at 
length : — " This law was made by Utopus, 
not only for preserving the public peace, 
\vhich. he said, suffered much by daily con- 
tentions and irreconcilable heat in these 
matters, but because he thought the interest 
of religion itself required it. As for those 
who so far depart from the dignity of human 
nature as to think that our souls died with 
our bodies, or that the world was governed 
by chance without a wise and over-ruling 
Providence, the Utopians never raise them 
to honours or offices, nor employ them in any 
public trust, but despise them as men of base 
and sordid minds; yet they do not punish 
such men, because they lay it down as a 
ground, that a man cannot make himself 
believe any thing he pleases : nor do they 
drive any to dissemble their thoughts; so 
that men are not tempted to lie or disguise 
their opinions among them, which, being a 
sort of fraud, is abhorred by the Utopians:" 
— a beautiful and conclusive reason, which, 
when it was used for the first time, as it 
probably was in Utopia, must have been 
drawn from so deep a sense of the value of 
sincerity as of itself to prove that he who 
thus employed it was sincere. "These un- 
believers are not allowed to argue before the 
common people; but they are suffered and 
even encouraged to dispute in private with 
their priests and other grave men, being 
confident that they will be cured of these 
mad opinions by having reason laid before 
them." 

It maybe doubted whether some extrava- 
g-ancies in other parts of Utopia were not in- 
troduced to cover .such passages as the above. 
\}y enabling the writer to call the whole a 
mer§ sport of wit, and thus exempt him from 
Ihe perilous responsibility of having maui- 



tained such doctrines seriously. In other 
cases he seems diffidently to propose opinions 
to which he was in some meassire inclined, 
but in the course of his statement to have 
warmed himself into an indignation against 
the vices and corruptions of Europe, which 
vents itself in eloquent invectives not un- 
worthy of Gulliver. He makes Hythloday 
at last declare, — " As I hope for mercy, I can 
have no other notion of all the other govern- 
ments that I see or know, but that they are 
a conspiracy of the richer sort, w ho, on pre- 
tence of managing the public, do only pursue 
their private ends." The true notion of Uto- 
pia is, however, that it intimates a variety of 
doctrines, and exhibits a multiplicity of pro- 
jects, which the writer regards with almost 
every possible degree of approbation and 
shade of assent ; from the frontiers of serious 
and entire belief, through gradations of de- 
scending plausibility, where the lowest are 
scarcely more than the e.xercises of inge- 
nuity, and to which some wild paradoxes are 
appended, either as a vehicle, or as an easy 
means (if necessary) of disavowing the se- 
rious intention of the whole of this Platonic 
fiction. 

It must be owned, that though one class 
of More's successors was more susceptible 
of judicious admiration of the beauties of 
Plato and Cicero than his less perfectly form- 
ed taste could be, and though another divi- 
sion of them had acquired a knowledge of 
the words of the Greek language, and per- 
ception of their force and distinctions, for the 
attainment of Avhich More came too early 
into the world, yet none would have been 
so heartily welcomed by the masters of the 
Lyceum and the Academy, as qualified to 
take a part in the discussion of those grave 
and lofty ihemes which were freely agitated 
in these early nurseries of human reason. 

The date of the publication of Utopia 
would mark, probablj', also the happiest pe- 
riod of its author's life. He had now acquired 
an income equivalent to four or five thousand 
pounds sterling of owr present money, by his 
own independent industry and well-earned 
character. He had leisure for the cultivation 
of literature, for correspondence with his 
friend Erasmus, for keeping up an intercourse 
with European men of letters, who had al- 
ready placed him in their first class, and for 
the composition of works, from which, un- 
aware of the rapid changes which Avere to 
en.sue, he probably promised himself more 
fame, or at least more popularity, than they 
have procured for him. His affections and 
his temper continued to insure the happiness 
of his home, even when his son with a wife, 
three daughters with their husbands, and 
a proportionable number of grandchildren, 
dwelt under his patriarchal roof. 

At the same perioti, the general progress 
of European literature, and the cheerful pros- 
pects of improved education and diffused 
knowledge, had filled the minds of More and 
Erasmus with delight. The expectation of 
an age of pacific improvement seems to have 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



55 



prevailed among studious men in the twenty- 
years which elapsed between the migraliou 
of classical learning across the Alps, and the 
rise of the religious dissensions stirred up by 
the preaching of Luther. •' I foresee," says 
Bishop Tunstall, writing to Erasmus, "that 
our posterity will rival the ancients in every 
sort of study ; and if they be not ungrateful, 
they will pay the greatest thanks to those 
■who have revived these studies. Go on, and 
deserve well of posterity, who will never suf- 
fer the name of Erasmus to perish."*' Eras- 
mus, himself, two yeai-s after, expresses the 
same hopes, which, with unwonted courtesy, 
he chooses to found on the literary character 
of the conversation in the palace of Henry 
VIII.: — '-'The world is recovering the use 
of its senses, like one awakened from the 
deepest sleep ; and yet there are some who 
cling to their old ignorance with their hands 
and feet, and will not suffer themselves to 
be torn from it."t To Wolsey, he speaks in 
still more sanguine language, mixed with the 
like personal compliment : — ■' I see another 
golden age arising, if other rulers be animat- 
ed by your spirit. Nor will posterity be un- 
grateful. This new felicity, obtained for the 
world by you, will be commemorated in im- 
mortal monuments by Grecian and Roman 
eloquence. "t Though the judgment of pos- 
terity in favour of kings and cardinals is thus 
confidently foretold, the writers do not the 
less betray their hope of a better age, vvhich 
will bestow the highest honours on the pro- 
moters of knowledge. A better age was, in 
truth, to come ; but the time and circum- 
stances of its appearance did not correspond 
to their sanguine hopes. An age of iron was 
to precede, in which the turbulence of refor- 
mation and the obstinacy of establishment 
were to meet in long and bloody contest. 

When the storm seemed ready to break 
out, Erasmus thought it his duty to incur the 
obloquy which always attends mediatorial 
counsels. "You know the character of the 
Germans, who are more easily led than 
driven. Great danger may arise, if the na- 
tive ferocity of that people be exasperated 
by untimely severities. We see the perli- 
iiacity of Bohemia and the neighbouring pro- 
vinces, A bloody policy has been tried with- 
out success. Other remedies must be em- 
ployed. The hatred of Rome is fixed in the 
minds of many nations, chiefly from the ru- 
mours believed of the dissolute manners of 
that city, and from the immoralities of 
the representative.s of the supreme pontiff 
abroad." The uncharitableness, the turbu- 
lence, the hatred, the bloodshed, which fol- 
lowed the preaching of Luther, closed the 
bright visions of the two illustrious friends, 
vrho agreed in an ardent love of peace, though 
not without a difference in the shades and 

* Erasnii Opera, vol. iii. p. 267. 

t Ibid. p. 321. 

t Ibid. p. 591. To this theory neither of the 
parlies about to contend could have assented; but 
it is not on that account the less likely to be in a 
great measure true. 



modifications of their pacific temper, arising 
from some dissimilarity of original character. 
The tender heart of More clung more strong- 
ly to the religion of his youth ; while Eras- 
mus more anxiously apprehended the dis- 
turbance of his tastes and pursuits. The 
last betrays in some of his writings a tem- 
per, which might lead us to doubt, w hether 
he considered the portion of truth w hich was 
within reach of his friend as equivalent to 
the evils attendant on the search. 

The public life of More may be said to 
have begun in the summer of 1514,* with a 
mission to Bruges, in which Tunstall, thea 
Master of the Rolls, and afterwards Bishop 
of Durham, was his colleague, and of which 
the object was to settle some particulars re- 
lating to the commercial intercourse of Eng- 
land with the Netherlands. He was consoled 
for a detention, unexpectedly long, by the 
company of Tunstall, v\hom he describest 
as one not only fraught with all learning, and 
severe in his life and morals, but inferior to 
no man as a delightful companion. On this 
mission he became acquainted with several 
of the friends of Erasmus in Flanders, where 
he evidently saw a progress in the accom- 
modations and ornaments of life, to which he 
had been hitherto- a stranger. With Peter 
Giles of Antwerp, to whom he intrusted the 
publication of Utopia by a prefatory dedica- 
tion, he continued to be closely connected 
during the lives of both. In the year follow- 
ing, he was again sent to the Netherlands ou 
a like mission ; the intricate relations of traf- 
fic between the two countries having given 
rise to a succession of disputes, in \> hich the 
determination of one case generally produced 
new complaints. 

In the beginning of 1516 More was made 
a privy-councillor; and from that time may 
be dated the final surrender of his own 
tastes for domestic life, and his predilections 
for studious leisure, to the flattering impor- 
tunities of Henry VIII. "He had resolved,"" 
says Erasmus, "to be content with his pri- 
vate station ; but having gone on more than 
one mission abroad, the King, not discour- 
aged by the unusual refusal of a pension, did 
not rest till he had drawn More into the 
palace. For why should I not say ^ drawn ^^ 
since no man ever laboured with more in- 
dustry for admission to a court, than More to 
avoid it ? The King would scarcely ever 
suffer the philosopher to quit him. For if 
serious affairs were to be considered, who 
could give more prudent counsel? or if the 
King's mind was to be relaxed by cheerful 
conversation, where could there be a more 
facetious companion 1"t Roper, who was 
an eye-witness of these circumstances, re- 
lates them with an agreeable simplicity. 
"So from time to time was he by the King 
advanced, continuing in his singular favour 
and trusty service for twenty years. A good 

* Records of the Common Council of London. 
t In a letter to Erasmus. SOih April, 1516. 
X Erasmus, Op. vol. iii- p. 476. 



56 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



part thereof used the King, upou holidays, 
when he had done his own devotion, to send 
for him ; and there, sometimes in matters of 
astronomy, geometry, divinity, and such other 
faculties, and sometimes on his worldly 
affairs, to converse with him. And other 
whiles in the night would he have him up 
into the leads, there to consider with him 
the diversities, courses, motions, and opera- 
tions of the stars and planets. And because 
he was of a pleasant disposition, it pleased 
the King and Queen, after the council had 
supped at the time of their own {i. e. the 
royal) supper, to call for him to be merry 
with them." What Roper adds could not 
have been discovered by a less near ob- 
server, and would scarcely be credited upon 
less authority: "When them he perceived 
60 much in his talk to delight, that he could 
not once in a month get leave to go home to 
his wife and children fwhose company he 
most desired), he. mucn misliking this re- 
straint on his liberty, began thereupon some- 
what to dissemble his nature, and so by 
little and little from his former mirth to dis- 
use himself, that he was of them from 
thenceforth, at such seasons, no more so 
ordinarily sent for."* To his retirement at 
Chelsea, however, the Ktng followed him. 
"He used of a particular love to come of a 
sudden to Chelsea, and leaning on his shoul- 
der, to talk with him of secret counsel in his 
garden, yea, and to dine with him upon no 
inviting."! The taste for More's conversa- 
tion, and the eagerness for his company thus 
displayed, would be creditable to the King, 
if his behaviour in after time had not con- 
verted them into the strongest proofs of utter 
depravity. Even in Henry's favour there was 
somewhat tyrannical ; and his very friend- 
ship was dictatorial and self-willed. It was 
reserved for him afterwards to exhibit the 
singular, and perhaps solitary, example of 
a man unsoftened by the recollection of a 
communion of counsels, of studies, of amuse- 
ments, of social pleasures with such a com- 
panion. In the moments of Henry's par- 
tiality, the sagxicity of More was not so ut- 
terly blinded by his good-nature, that he did 
not in some degree penetrate into the true 
character of these caresses from a beast of 
prey. "When I saw the King," says his 
son-in-law, "walking with him for an hour, 
holding his arm about his neck, I rejoiced, 
and said to Sir Thomas, how happy he was 
whom the King had so familiarly entertained, 
as I had never seen him do to any one before, 
except Cardinal Wolsey. ' I thank our Lord, 
son,' said he, 'I find his grace my very good 
lord indeed, and I believe he doth as singu- 
larly favour me as any other subject within 
tliis realm : howbeit, son Roper, I may tell 
thee, I have no cause to be proud thereof; 
(or if my head would win him a castle in 
France, when there was war between us, it 
should not fail to go.' "t 



* Roper, p. 12. t More, p. 49. 

t Roper, pp. 21, 22, Compaie this insight into 



An edition of Utopia had been printed in- 
correctly, perhaps clandestinely, at Paris 3 
but, in 1518, Erasmus' friend and printer, 
Froben, brought out a correct one at Basle, 
the publication of which had been retarded 
by the expectation of a preface Irom Budaeus, 
the restorer of Greek learning iu Fiance, and 
probably the most critical scholar in that 
province of literature on the north of the 
Alps. The book was received with loud ap- 
plause by the scholars of France and Ger- 
many. Erasmus in confidence observed to 
an intimate friend, that the second book 
having been written before the first, had oc- 
casioned some disorder and inequality of 
style j but he particularly praised its novelty 
and originality, and its keen satire on the 
vices and absurdities of Europe. 

So important was the office of under-sherifl' 
then held to be, that More did not resign it 
till the 23d of July, 1519,* though he had in 
the intermediate time served the public in 
stations of trust and honour. In 1521 he 
was knighted, and raised to the office of 
treasurer of the exchequer,! a station in some 
respects the same with that of chancellor of 
the exchequer, who at present is on his ap- 
pointment designated by the additional name 
of under-treasurer. It is a minute but some- 
what remarkable, stroke in the picture of 
manners, that the honour of knighthood 
should be spoken of by Erasmus, if not 
as of superior dignity to so important an 
office, at least as observably adding to its 
consequence. 

From 1517 to 1522, More was employed 
at various times at Bruges, in missions like 
his first to the Flemish government, or at 
Calais in watching and conciliating Francis 
I., with whom Henry and Wolsey long 
thought it convenient to keep up friendly 
appearances. To trace the date of More's 
reluctant journeys in the course of the unin- 
teresting attempts of politicians on both sides 
to gain or dupe each other, would be vain, 
without some outline of the negotiations in 
which he was employed, and repulsive to 
most readers, even if the inquiry promised 
a better chance of a successful result. — 
Wolsey appears to have occasionally ap- 

Henry'.s character with a declaraiion post of an 
opposite nature, though borrowed also from cas- 
tles and towns, made by Charles V. when he 
heard of More's murder. 

* Records of the ciiy of London. 

t Est quod Moro grat\ileris ; nam Rex hunc nee 
amhientem ncc flasi'Uantem munere magnifico ho- 
nesiavii, addiio salario nequaquam pRniiendo: est 
enim principi suo a thesauris. . . Nee hoc con- 
tentus, equiiis auraii dignjlatem adjecit. — Eras- 
mus, Op. vol. ill. p. 378. 

" Then died Master Weston, treasurer of the 
exchequer, whose office ilie King, of Ins oirn ac- 
cord, without any asking, freely gave unto Sir 
Thomas More." — Roper, 13. 

The minute verbal coincidences which often 
occur between Erasmus and Roper, cannot be 
explained otherwise than by the probable suppo- 
sition, that copies or originals of the correspond- 
ence between More and Erasmus were preserved 
by Roper after the death of the former. 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



57 



pointed commissioners to conduct his own 
affairs, as well as those of his master, at 
Calais. At this place they could receive in- 
structions from London with the greatest 
rapidity, and it was easy to manage negotia- 
tions, and to shift them speedily, with Brus- 
sels and Paris; with the additional advan- 
tage, that it might be somewhat easier to 
conceal from each one in turn of those jealous 
courts the secret dealings of his employers 
with the other, than if the despatches had 
been sent directly from London to the place 
of their destination. Of this commission 
More was once at least an unwilling mem- 
ber. Erasmus, in a letter to Peter Giles on 
the 15th of November, 1518. says, -'More is 
still at Calais, of which he is heartily tired. 
He lives with great expense, and is engaged 
in business most odious to him. Such are 
the rewards reserved by kings for their fa- 
vourites.''* Two years afterwards, More 
writes more bitterly to Erasmus, of his own 
residence and occupations. •'• I approve your 
determination never to be involved in the 
busy irifimg of princes; from which, as you 
love me, you must wish that I were extri- 
cated. You cannot imagine how painfully 
I feel myself plunged in them, for nothing 
can be more odious to me than this legation. 
I am here banished to a petty sea-port, of 
which the air and the earth are equally dis- 
agreeable to me. Abhorrent as I am by na- 
ture from strife, even when it is profitable, 
as at home, you niay judge how wearisome 
it is here where it is attended by loss."t — 
On one of his missions, — that of the summer 
of 1519 — More had harboured hopes of being 
consoled by seeing Erasmus at Calais, for all 
the tiresome pageantry, selfish scuffles, and 
paltry frauds, which he was to witness at 
the congress of kings,t where he could find 
little to alter those splenetic views of courts, 
which his disappointed benevolence breathed 
in Utopia. Wolsey twice visited Calais du- 
ring the residence of More, who appears to 
have then had a weight in council, atid a 
place in the royal favour, second only to 
those of the cardinal. 

In 1523, § a parliament was held in the 
middle of April, at Westminster, in which 
More took a part so honourable to his me- 
mory, that though it has been already men- 
tioned when touching on his eloquence, it 
cannot be so shortly passed over here, be- 
cause it was one of those signal acts of his 
life which bears on it the stamp of his cha- 
racter. Sir John, his father, in spite of very 
advanced age, had been named at the be- 
ginning of this parliament one of " the triers 
of petitions from Gascony," — an office of 
which the duties had become nominal, but 
which still retained its ancient dignity ; while 
of the House of Commons. Sir Thomas him- 



* Op. vol. ii. p. 357. 

t Op. vol. ill. p. 589. 

t Ibid. From the dates of the following letters 
of Erasmus, it appears that the hopes of More 
were disappointed. 

% 14 Henry VHL 

8 



self was chosen to be the speaker. He e.x- 
cused himself, as usual, on the ground of 
alleged disability ; but his excuse was justly 
pronounced to be inadmissible. The Jour- 
nals of Parliament are lost, or at least have 
not been printed; and the Rolls exhibit only 
a short account of what occurred, which is 
necessarily an unsatisfactory substitute for 
the deficient Journals. But as the matter 
personally concerns Sir Thomas More, and 
as the account of it given by his son-in-law, 
then an inmate in his house, agrees with the 
abridgment of the Rolls, as far as the latter 
goes, it has been thought proper in tlus place 
to insert the very words of Roper's narrative. 
It may be reasonably conjectured that the 
speeches of More were copied from his 
manuscript by his pious son-in-law."* — 
'■ Sith I perceive, most redoubted sovereign, 
that it standeth not with your pleasure to 
reform this election, and cause it to be 
changed, but have, by the mouth of the most 
reverend father in God the legate, your high- 
ness's chancellor, thereunto given your most 
royal assent, and have of your benignity de- 
termined far above that I may bear for this 
office to repute me meet, rather than that 
you should seem to impute unto your com- 
mons that thej' had unmeetly chosen, I am 
ready obediently to conform myself to the 
accomplishment of your highness's pleasure 
and commandment. In most humble wise 
I beseech your majesty, that I may make to 
you two lowly petitions;— the one privately 
concerning myself, the other the v.-hole as- 
sembly of your commons' house. For my- 
self, most gracious sovereign, that if it mishap 
me in any thing hereafter, that is, on the be- 
half of your commons in your high presence 
to be declared, to mistake my message, and 
in lack of good utterance by my mishearsal 
to prevent or impair their prudent instruc- 
tions, that it may then like your most noble 
majesty to give me leave to repair again 
unto the commons' house, and to confer with 
them and take their advice what things I 
shall on their behalf utter and speak before 
your royal grace. 

"Mine other humble request, most excel- 
lent prince, is this: forasmuch as there be 
of your commons here by your high com- 
mandment assembled for j-our parliament, a 
great number of which are after the accus- 
tomed manner appointed in the commons' 
house to heal and advise of the common 
affairs among themselves apart; and albeit, 
most dear liege lord, that according to your 
most prudent advice, by your honourable 
writs every where declared, there hath been 

* This conjecture is almost raised above that 
name by what precedes. "Sir Thomas More 
made an oration, not now extant, to the king's 
highness, for his discharge from the speakership, 
whereunto when the king would not consent, the 
speaker spoke to his grace in ihe form following." 
— It cajinol be doubled, wiihout injustice to the 
honest and amiable biographer, that he would 
have his readers to understand that the original of 
the speeches, which actually follow, were es'ani 
in his hands. 



58 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



as due diligence used in sending up to your 
highness's court of parliament the most dis- 
creet persons out of every quarter that men 
could esteem meet thereunto; whereby it is 
not to be doubted but that there is a very 
substantial assembly of right wise, meet, 
and politique persons: yet, most victorious 
prince, sith among so many wise men, neither 
is every man wise alike, nor among so many 
alike well witted, every man well spoken; 
and it often happeth that as much folly is 
uttered with painted polish speech, so many 
boisterous and rude in language give right 
substantial counsel; and sith also in matters 
of great importance, the mind is often so oc- 
cupied in the matter, that a man rather stu- 
dieth what to say than how; b)- reason 
whereof the wisest man and best spoken in 
a whole country fortuneth, when his mind is 
fervent in the matter, somewhat to speak in 
such wise as he would afterwards wish to 
have been uttered otherwise, and yet no 
worse will had when he spake it than he had 
when he would so gladly change it; there- 
fore, most gracious sovereign, considering 
that in your high court of parliament is 
nothing treated but matter of weight and 
importance concerning your realm, and your 
own royal estate, it could not fail to put to 
silence from the giving of their advice and 
counsel many of your discreet commons, to 
the great hindrance of your common afTairs, 
unless every one of your commons were ut- 
terly discharged from all doubt and fear how 
any thing that it should happen them to 
speak, should happen of yonr highness to be 
taken. And in this point, though your well- 
known and proved benignity putteth every 
man in good hope ; yet such is the weight 
of the matter, such is the reverend dread 
that the timorous hearts of your natural sub- 
jects conceive towards your highness, our 
most redoubted king and undoubted sove- 
reign, that they cannot in this point find 
themselves satisiied, e.vcept your gracious 
bounty therein declared put away the scruple 
of their timorous minds, and put them out 
of doubt. It may therefore like your most 
abundant grace to give to all your commons 
here assembled jour most gracious licence 
and pardon freely, without doubt of yonr 
dreadful displeasure, every man to discharge 
his conscience, and boldly in every thing in- 
cident among us to declare his advice; and 
whatsoever happeneth any man to say, that 
it may like your noble majesty, of your in- 
estimable goodness, to take all in good part, 
interpreting every man's words, how uncun- 
ningly soever they may be couched, to pro- 
ceed yet of good zeal towards the profit of 
j-our realm, and honour of your royal person ; 
and the prosperous estate and preservation 
whereof; most excellent sovereign, is the 
thing which we all, your majesty's humble 
loving subjects, according to the most bound- 
en duty of our natural allegiance, most highly 
desire and pray for." 

This speech, the substance of which is in 
the Rolls denominated "the protest," is con- 



formable to former usage, and the model of 
speeches made since that time in the like 
circumstances. What follows is more sin- 
gular, and not easily reconciled with the in- 
timate connection then subsisting between 
the speaker and the government, especially 
whh the cardinal: — 

"At this parliament Cardinal Wolsey found 
himself much aggrieved with the burgesses 
thereof; for that nothing was so soon done or 
spoken therein, but that it was immediately 
blown abroad in every alehouse. It fortuned 
at that parliament a very great subsidy to 
be demanded, which the canlinal, fearing 
would not pass the commons' house, deter- 
mined, for the furtherance thereof, to be 
there present himself. Before where coming, 
after long debating there, whether it was 
better but with a few of his lords, as the 
most opinion of the house was, or with his 
whole train royally to receive him; 'INIas- 
ters,' quoth sir Thomas More, ' forasmuch as 
my lord cardinal lately, ye wot well, laid to 
our charge the lightness of our tongues for 
things uttered out of this house, it shall not 
in my mind be amiss to receive him with all 
his pomp, with his maces, his pillars, his 
poll-axes, his hat, and great seal too ; to the 
intent, that if he find the like fault with us 
hereafter, we may be the bolder from our- 
selves to lay the blame on those whom his 
grace bringeth here with him.' Whereunto 
the house wholly agreeing, he was received 
accordingly. Where after he had by a solemn 
oration, by many reasons, proved how neces- 
sary it was the demand then moved to be 
granted, and farther showed that less would 
not serve to maintain the prince's purpose ; 
he seeing the company sitting still silent, and 
thereunto nothing answering, and, contrary 
to his expectation, showing in themselves 
towards his request no towardness of inch 
nation, said to them, 'Masters, you have 
many wise and learned men amongst you, 
and sith I am from the king's own person 
sent hitherto unto you, to the preservation of 
yourselves and of all the realm, I think it 
meet you give me some reasonable answer.' 
Whereat every man holding his peace, then 
beg-an to speak to one Master Marney, after- 
wards lord Marney; 'How say you,' quoth 
he, 'Master Marney"?' who making him no 
answer neither, he severally asked the same 
question of divers others, accounted the 
wisest of the company ; to w hom, when 
none of them all would give so much as one 
word, being agreed before, as the custom 
was, to give answer by their speaker; 'Mas- 
ters,' quoth the cardinal, 'unless it be the 
manner of your house, as of likelihood it is, 
by the mouth of your speaker, whom you 
have chosen for trusty and wise (as indeed 
he is), in such cases to utter your minds, 
here is, without doubt, a marvellously obsti- 
nate silence :' and thereupon he required 
answer of Mr. Speaker; who first reverently, 
on his knees, excusing the silence of the 
house, abashed at the presence of so noble a 
personage, able to amaze the wisest and best 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



59 



learned in a realm, and then, by many proba- 
ble arguments, proving that for them to make 
answer was neither expedient nor agreeable 
with the aincient liberty of the house, in con- 
clusion for himself, showed, that though they 
had all with their voices trusted him, yet 
except every one of them conld put into his 
own head their several wits, he alone in so 
weighty a matter was unmeet to make his 
grace answer. Whereupon the cardinal, 
displeased with Sir Thomas More, that had 
not in this parliament in all things satisfied 
his desire, suddenly arose and departed."* 

This passage deserves attention as a speci- 
men of the mild independence and quiet 
steadiness of More's character, and also as a 
proof how he perceived the strength which 
the commons had gained by the power of 
the purse, which was daily and silently 
growing, and which could be disturbed only 
by such an unseasonable show of an imma- 
ture authority as might too soon have roused 
the crown to resistance. It is one among 
many instances of the progress of the influ- 
ence of parliaments in the midst of their 
apparently indiscriminate submission, and it 
affords a pregnant proof that we must not 
estimate the spirit of our forefathers by the 
humility of their demeanour. 

The reader will observe how nearly the 
example of More was followed by a succeed- 
ing speaker, comparatively of no distinction, 
but in circumstances far more memorable, in 
the answer of Lenlhall to Charles I., when 
that unfortunate prince came to the House 
of Commons to arrest the five members of 
that assembly, who had incurred his dis- 
pleasure. 

There is another point from which these 
early reports of parliamentary speeches may 
be viewed, and from which it is curious to 
consider them. They belong to that critical 
moment in the history of our language when 
it was forming a prose style, — a written dic- 
tion adapted to grave and important occa- 
sions. In the passage just quoted, there are 
about twenty words and phrases (some of 
them, it is true, used more than once) which 
would not now be emplo)-ed. Some of them 
are shades, such as "lowly," where we say 
"humble;" '-company," for "a house of 
parliament;" ''simpleness," for "simpli- 
city," with a deeper tinge of folly than the 
single word now ever has; "right," then 
used as a general sign of the superlative, 
where we say "very," or "most;" "reve- 
rend," for "reverent," or "reverential." 
" If it mishap me," if it should so hap- 
pen, " to mishap in me," "it often hap- 
peth," are instances of the employment 
of the verb "hap" for happen, or of a 
conjugation of the former, which has fallen 
into irrecoverable disuse. A phrase was 
then so frequent as to become, indeed, the 
established mode of commencing an address 
to a superior, in which the old usage was, 
"It may like," or "It may please )-our Ma- 

♦ Roper, pp. 13—21, 



jesty," Avhere modem language absolutely 
requires us to say, " May it please," by a 
slight inversion of the words retained, but 
with the exclusion of the word "Kke" in that 
combination. "Let" is used for "hinder," 
as is still the case in some public forms, and 
in the excellent version of the Scrij)tures, 
"Well wilted" is a happy phrase lost to the 
language except on familiar occasions with a 
smile, or by a master in the art of combining 
words. Perhaps "enable me," for "give 
me by your countenance the ability which 
I have not," is the only phrase which savours 
of awkwardness or of harsh effect in the ex- 
cellent speaker. The whole passage is a 
remarkable example of the almost imper- 
ceptible differences which mark various 
stages in the progress of a langunge. In 
several of the above instances we see a sort 
of contest for admission into the language 
between two phrases extremely similar, and 
yet a victory which excluded one of ihem as 
rigidly as if the distinction had been very 
wide. Every case where subsequent usage 
has altered or rejected words and phrases 
must be regarded as a sort of national ver- 
dict, which is necessarily followed by their 
disfranchisement. They have no longer any 
claim on the English language, other than 
that which may be possessed by all alien 
suppliants for naturalization. Such examples 
should warn a writer, desirous to be lastingly 
read, of the danger which attends new 
words, or very new acceptations of those 
which are established, or even of attempts 
to revive tho.se which are altogether .=upe: 
annuated. They show in the clearest ligt 
that the learned and the vulgar parts of lan- 
guage, being those which are most liable r 
change, are unfit materials for a durable 
style ; and they teach us to look to those 
words which form the far larger portion of 
ancient as well as of modern language, — that 
" well of English undefiled," which has been 
happily resorted to from More to Cowper, as 
beinc proved by the unimpeachable evidence 
of that long usage to fit the rest of our speech 
more perfectly, and to flow more easily, 
clearly, and sweetly, in our composition. 

Erasmus tells us that Wolsey rather fear- 
ed than liked More. W'hen the short session 
of parliament was closed, Wolsey, in his gal- 
lery of Whitehall, said to More, " I wish to 
God you had been at Rome, Mr. More, when 
I made you speaker." — "Your Grace not of- 
fended, so would I too, my lord," replied Sir 
Thomas ; " for then should I have seen the 
place I long have desired to visit."* More 
turned the conversation by saying that he 
liked this gallery better than the cardinal's 
at Hampton Court. But the latter secretly 
brooded over his revenge, which he after- 
vvards tried to gratify by banishing More, 
under the name of an ambassador to Spain. 
He tried to effect his purpose by magnifying 
the learning and wisdom of More, his pecu- 
liar fitness for a conciliatory adjustment of 



Roper, p. SO. 



60 



MACKlNTl>SirS M1SCKLT,ANF.0US ESSAYS. 



tho ilillu'ult maltors whirh wrro nt issuo bo- 
twofii tht> KiiiLT atiil his kinsmaii tho Kmpo- 
nu. T\\o Kiiii; siip4<':*U\l this propos^il to 
Moiv. who, oonsivhMiiisi tho unsuiUibUMioss 
of tho Siwiiish olimato to his constitution, 
uml porhaps susoootinii Wolsov ot" shiistor 
purposes, oanioslly bosoiti^ht UtM\ry not to 
sonvt his liulhtul sorraiit to liis iir.wo. Tho 
Kinir. who also suspootoil \Volsoy of boinij 
aotuatovl by joalousy, answoroil, " It is not 
onr nioatiiniT. Mr. Moro, to do you any hurt : 
but to lio \ou iroovl wo shouKl bo sjlad ; wo 
shall thorotoiv ouiploy yiyi othorwiso.''* 
M»)io ooulil Kxvst that ho luul novor askod 
tho Kmjx tho valuo of u ponny for l\inisolt", 
whon ou tho -JiMh of IVooinbor. 1505.1 tho 
KitiiT appointor hiui ohanoollor of tho iluohy 
of i.anoastor, as suooossor of Sir Anthony 
WinatioKl — ;»n olluv of dii:nity and pivlit, 
whioh ho oontinuovl to hoKl for noarly throo 
yoars. 

Ill tho suninior of 15-7, Wolsoy wont on 
his nKiiitiitioont embassy to Franco, in whioh 
^b>ro and othor otHoors of stato woro ioinod 
with him. 0.1 this oooasion tho main, tnoniih 
sovMot objoot of Uonry was to jvivo tho way 
for a divoivo tiiMU Quoon Catharino, with a 
view .to a marriaiiv with Anno Roloyn. a 
voun^ boauty who had boon brod at tho 
Fronoh court," wht^ro hor father. Sir Thomas 
H,ih\vn, created F.arl of Wiltshire, had boon 
repejxtedly ambass;\dor. 

Ou their journey to tho coast. Wolsoy 
siMiudtHl Aivhbishop Warehani and Uishop 
Fisher on tho important secret with which 
ho was intrusted. Wareham, an estimable 
and amiable pivlate, appeal's to have inti- 
matoil that his opinion was favourable to 
llonrv's pui^uit ot a divoive.t Fisher, bi- 
shop of l\och;"ster, an asjvd and uprijiht man, 
priMuisod \Volsey that ho would do or sjiy 
uothui<x in tho matter, nor in any way coun- 
sel tho Qnoen, except what stiHxl with Heu- 
rv's ploasuiv; "for,'' s;»id he, "thoui;h she 
be vjueou of this realm, vet he ackuowlovlir- 
eth you to be his sovereipru hml :"^ as if tho 
rank or authority of iho j^arties had aiiy ooii- 



• More. p. 53. with a small variation. 

t Such is ilu> infxnnafion \vhiv-l\ I have received 
fn>i« the nn-onls in ihe Tower. Tlie aocnrate writer 
of tho arii le on Mon\ in the Ri.i>:rap' i:\ Britamiiea, 
is perplexed l>y tinding Sir Thomas Mon\ ehaneel- 
ior of the d«ehy, as one of ihe negoiiatons of a 
treaty in AuiriKt, Kk'o, whioh seems to the waiter 
in the Uiographia to brin^ down the death of Wing, 
field to near th;\t time ; lie beinsi on all sides ao- 
knowlediied to be More's inimedia'e pnvleeessor. 
Ha! ihert» is nv» ditli.'ulty. unless we needlessly as- 
sume ihat the nesti'>'iation with xvliioh Wnigtield 
was eonoerned relat«Hi to the same treaiv whieh 
More concluded. Oi\ the eontmry. the tlrst ap- 
ptv^rs to have btvn a treaty with Spam; the last a 
Uvatv wi'h France. 

t &!ate Papers. Men. VMT. vol i. p. 1%. Wol- 
tey's words are, — " He e.\prt»ssly .itVirmed. that 
however displea<anttv the queen io«»k this matter, 
yet the tr\uh and judgment of tho l.»w nuist take 
place. 1 have instructed liin» how he shall orvler 
himself if the queei\ shall demand his counsel, 
which he pn.">mises me to t'otlow." 

^ State Papers. Hcu, YlU. vol. i. p. loi^. 



corn with tho duty of honestly fjivinj:: coun- 
sel where it isi^iven at all. The ovorboaritis; 
deportment of Wolsoy pmbaMy ovoiawen 
both those liooil prelates: ho understood 
them in tho manner most suitable lo his pur- 
pose; and, contivltMit that ho should by some 
means linally iiani ihoni, ho probably colour- 
ed very hiiihiy their language in his commu- 
nication to Henry, whom he had h.m.*elf jusJ 
bofoiv disploasovl by unexpected scruples. 

It was generally believed by their oontem- 
jxiraries that ^b>le and Fisher had conectcd 
the manuscript of Henry's answer to Luther; 
while it is certain that the prepensity of tho 
King to theological discussions constituted 
one of the links of his intimacy witli tho 
fortner. As Mote's writings agiunst the Lii- 
theraiis were of great note in his own time, 
and as they \\ere probably those of his works 
on which ho oxortoil tho most aeuteness, and 
employed most knowloilgo, it would be wix^ng 
to omit all mention of them in an estimate 
o\' his mind, or as proofs of his disposition. 
They cotitain many anecdotes which thiow 
considenible light ou our ecclesiastical his- 
tory during the tiist prosectition o( tlR> Pro- 
testants, or, as they were then called, Lu- 
therans, under tho old statutes ag^ainst Lol- 
lai\l-<, during tho period w hich extended from 
15'20 to 15o"J; and they do not seem to havo 
been enough examined with that view by the 
historians of the Church. 

Leg-al responsibilitv, in a well-constituted 
commonwealth, reaches to all the avowed 
advisers of tho government, and to all those 
whoso concurrence is necessiiry to tho va- 
lidity of its commands: but moral responsi- 
bility is usually or chietly contiaed to the 
actual authors of each jvirticular measure. 
It is true, that whon a gvu-enmient has at- 
tained a stato of more than usual regularity,, 
the feelings of mankind become so weU 
adapted to it, that men are heUl to be even 
morallv ivspousible for sanctioning, by a base 
continuance iu othoe, the lv»d jKilicy which 
may bo known not to originate w iih them- 
selves. These retinements were, howt^ver, 
unknown in the reign of Henry VHL The 
administration was thou carried on under the 
jvrsonal direction of the monarch, whogone- 
nilly admitted one contidential servant only 
into his most secret counsels; and all the 
other ministers, whatever their n^nk might 
be, commonly confined their attention to the 
business of their own otlices, or to the exe- 
cution of special commands intrusted to 
them. This system was prohiblv carried to 
its utmost lieight under so sell-willed a prince 
as Henry, aiul by so domineering a nnnister 
as Wol.sey. Although there can be no doubt 
that More, as a privy-councillor, attended 
and co-operated at the examination of the 
unfortunate l.nthoi-ans, his conduct in that 
respect was rec.irvled by his contemixnaries 
ns little moiv than the enforcement of Onlers 
whioh he could not lawfully decline to obey. 
' The opinion that a minister who dis;ip- 
proves measures which he cannot control is 
Pound to resign his offioe, is of very modei:) 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



61 



origin, aiifl Hfill not uriivorKally f;Mt<Mtainc'(l, 
C'Hpccially il' /idfility to a paily \)i: not cail<!(l 
in to lis aiil. In iho lime ol Ilunry, hu w.ia 
not ihoii/^hl »'V';n (fntitlc'd to r<;Hif.;ii. Tluj 
fact of Mokj'b ulleri(larico, irideeH, appijarH in 
his controvornial writingH, eBpocially by his 
anrtwor lo Tyndal. It in not u'juJtabUi to 
treat him aH e/fcotivoJy and morally, na well 
a.H l(!(,'a]ly, anMvvorablo for measures of state, 
till the removal of VVolsey, and the deliv(;ry 
of the great H';al into his own hands. Tlie 
iiijuHtiee of eoriKirluiing these transactions in 
any other li;(ht aj)pr;ars from tfie circnrn- 
Hlance, lliat ihon;;^h he was Joined witli Wol- 
H<;y in the splendid embassy to France in 
1.027, ihi.-re is no reason to suppose that More 
was intrusted with the secret and main pur- 
pose of the embassy, — tlxat of facilitating a 
divorce and a s'jcond marriage. His respon- 
sibility, in its most important and only practi- 
cal p.'irt, must be contiacled to the short time 
which extends from the 2.0th of Octobijr, 1529, 
when he was appointed cfiancellor, to the 
IGlh of May, 1532, when he was removed 
fiom his othce, not much more than two 
years and a half.* Even after confining it 
to these narrow limits, it must be remember- 
ed, that lie found the system of persecution 
established, and its machinery in a state of 
activity. The prelates, likt; most other pre- 
lates in Europe, did their part in convicting 
the Protestants of Lollardy in the spiritual 
courts, which were the competent tribunals 
for trying that ofFence. Our means of deter- 
miniii;^ what executions for Lollardy (if any) 
look place when More had a decisive ascend- 
ant in the royal councils, are very imperfect. 
If it were certain that he was the adviser of 
such executions, it would only follow that he 
executed one part of the criminal law, with- 
out approving it, as succeeding judges have 
certainly done in cases of fraud and theft ; — 
where they no more approved the punish- 
ment of death than ihe author of Utopia 
might have done in its application to heresy. 
If the progress of civilization be not checked, 
wo seem not far from the period when such 
capital punishments will appear as little 
consistent with humanity, and indeed with 
ju.slice, as the burning of heretics now ap- 
pears to us. More himself deprecates an 
appeal lo his writings and those of his friend 
Erasmus, innocently intended by them.selves, 
but abused by incendiaries to inflame the 
fury of the ignorant mullilude.t "Men," 
says he (alluding evidently lo Utopia), "can- 
not almost now speak of such things inso- 
much as in play, but tfiat such evil hearers 
■were a great deal the worse." " I would 
not now translate the Moria of Erasmus, — 
even some works that I myself have written 
ere this, into English, albeit there be none 
harm therein." It is evident that the two 
philosopners deeply felt the injustice of citing 
against them, as a proof of inconsistency, 

• Records in the Tower, 
t More'a answer to Tyndal, part i. p. 128. — 
(Printed by John Raatell, 1532.) 



that they departed from the pleasantries^ the 
gay dr(;ams, — at most the fond speculations, 
of llieir early days, when they saw these 
harmless visions turned into weapons of de- 
struction in the blood-stained hands of the 
boors of Saxony, and of the ferocious fanatics 
of Munster. The virtuous love of peace 
might be more prevalent in More; the Epi- 
curean desire ol perwjiial ease predominated 
more in Erasmus: but both were, doubtless 
from commenrlable or excusable caus<j8, in- 
censed against those odious disciples, wIk> 
now, "with no friendly voice," invoked their 
authoiity against themselves. 

If, however, we examine the question 
on the grounds of positive testimony, it is 
impossible to appeal to a witness of more 
weight tlian Erasmuf*. "It is," said he, 
"a sufhcient proof of his clemency, that 
while he was ciiancellor no man was put to 
death for these pestilent dogmas, while so 
many have Buffered capital punishment for 
them in France, in Germany, and in the 
Netherlands."* The onlv charges against 
him on this subject, which are adverted to 
by himw;lf, relate to minor severities; but 
as these rnay be marks of more cruelty than 
the infliction of death, let us listen on this 
subject lo the words of the merciful and 
righteous man:t "Divers of them have said 
that of such as were in my house when I 
was ciiancellor, I used to examine them 
with torments, causing ihem to be bound to 
a tree in my garden, and there piteou.sly 
beaten. Except their sure keeping, I never 
did else cause any such thing lo be done 
unto any of the heretics in all my life, ex- 
cept only twain: one was a child and a ser- 
vant of mine in mine own house, whom his 
father, ere he came to me, bid nursed up in 
such matters, and set him to attend upon 
George Jay. This Jay did leach the child 
his ungracious heresy against the blessed 
sacrament of the altar; which heresy this 
child in my house began to teach another 
child. And upon that point I caused a ser- 
vant of mine to strip him like a child before 
mine household, for amendment of himself 
and ensample of others." " Another was 
one who, after he had fallen into these fran- 
tic heresies, soon fell into plain open frensy: 
albeit that he had been in Bedlam, and after- 
wards by beating and correction gathered his 
remembrance ;t being therefore set at lib- 
erty, his old frensies fell again into his head. 
Bemg informed of his relapse, I caused him 
to be taken by the constables and bounden 
to a tree in the street before the whole town, 
and there striped him till he waxed weary. 
Verily, God be thanked, I hear no harm of 
him now. And of all who ever came in my 
hand for heresy, as help me God, else had 
never any of them any stripe or stroke given 
them, so much as ajillip in the forehead. "i 



•Op. vol. Hi. p. 1811. 
tMore's Apology, chap. 36. 
t Such was then the mode of curing insanity ! 
^ Apology, chap. 36. 
F 



62 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



This Rtatomeiit, so minute, so capable of 
easy CDiifutation, if in any part false, was 
maile pultlic after his fall lioni power, when 
he was surroiuuled by enemies, and could 
have 110 friends but the generous. It relates 
circumslanees of public notoriety, or at least 
60 known to all liis own houseliold (from 
vhich it appears that Protestant servants 
we;? not excluded), which it would have 
been r.\!her a proof of insanity than of im- 
prudence to have allciicil in his ilefeiice, if 
ihey had not been imiisputabiy anil confes- 
sedly true. WhereviM- he louches this sub- 
ject, there is a quietness and a circumstan- 
tiality, which are amonii' the least equivocal 
marks of a man who adheres to the teuiper 
most favourable to the truth, because he is 
conscious that the truth is favourable to 
him.* Without relying, therefore, on the 
character of JNlore for probity autl veracity 
(which it is derogatory to him to employ for 
such a purpose), the evidence of his hu- 
manity having prevailed over his opinion 
decisively outweighs the little positive testi- 
mony proiUiced ag-.iinst him. The charge 
against JNlore rests originally on Fox alone, 
from whom it is copied by Burnet, and with 
consiilerable hesitation by Strype. Hut the 
honest martyrologist writes too inaccurately 
to be a weighty witness in tliis case ; for he 
tells us that Firth was put to death in June 
1533, and yet imputes it to More, who had 
resigiieil his olUce a year before. In the 
case of James Baytiham, he only says that 
the accused was chained to two posts for 
two nights in More's house, at some unspe- 
cified distance of time before his execution. 

Burnet, in mentioning the extreme tolera- 
tion tauglit in Utopia, truly observes, that if 
More had died at the time of its publication, 
" he would have been reckoned among those 
who only wanted a fit opportunity of decla- 
ring themselves openly for a reformation." t 
The same sincere and upright writer was too 
zealous for an historian, when he added : — 
'•When ]\Iore was raised to the chief post in 
the ministry, he became a persecutor even 
to blootl. and ilelilctl those hands which were 
never iwlluted with bribes." In excuse for 
the total silence of the honest bishop re- 
specting the opposite testimony of More him- 
self (of whom Burnet speaks even then with 
reverence), the reader must be reminded 
that the third volume of the History of the 



* There is a romarknbie instance of this obser- 
Talion in More's Dialogue, book iii. cliap. ,\vi., 
where Up tells, wiih some prolixity, the story of 
Richard Dunn, who was found dead, and lianging 
in the Lollard's Tower. The only pan taken by 
More in this alTair was his share ns a privy coun- 
cillor ill die inqv.iry, wlieiher Dunn hanged him- 
eelf, or was murdered and then hanged up by tlie 
Bishop of London's chancellor. The evidence to 
prove that the deatii could not be suicide, was as 
absurd as the story of the bisiiop's cliancellor was 
improbable. He was afterwards, however, con- 
victed by a jurv, but pardoned, it should seem 
rightly, by the Ring. 

t History of ihe Reformation (Lend. 1820), 
vol. HI. juiit I. p. 45. 



Reformation was written in the old age of 
the Bishop of Salisbury, thirty years after 
those moie laborious researches, which at- 
tended the composition of the two former vo- 
lumes, and under the inlluence of those ani- 
mosities against the Uomaii Catholic Church, 
which the conspiracy of Queen Anne's last 
ministers ag-aiiist the Kevolution had revived 
with more than their youthful vigour. It 
must beowneil that he Irom the commence- 
ment acquiesced too lightly in the allegations 
of Fox; and it is certain, that if the fact, 
however deplorable, had been better proved, 
yet in that age it wouKI not have warranteil 
such asperity of condemnation.* 

The dale of the work in which More de- 
nies the charge, and challenges his accusers 
to produce their proofs, would have aroused 
the attention of Purnet if he had read it. 
This book, entitled "The Apology of Sir 
Thomas More," was Avritten in 1533, "after 
he had given over the oliice of lord chancel- 
lor," and when he was it daily expectation 
of being committed to the I'ower. Defence- 
less and obnoxious as he then was, no man 
was hardy enough to dispute his truth. Fox 
was the lirst who, thirty years afterwards, 
ventured to oppose it in a vague statement, 
which we know to be in some respects inac- 
curate j and on this slender authority alone 
has rested such an imputation on the ve- 
racity of the most sinceie of men. Who- 
ever reads the Apology will perceive, from 
the melancholy ingenuousness with which 
he speaks of the glowing unpopularity of his 
religion in the court and country, that he 
could not liave hoped to escape exposure, if 
it had been then possible to question liis 
declaration.t 

On the whole, then, More must not only be 
absolved ; but when we consider that his ad- 
ministration occurred during a hot paroxysm 
of persecution, — that intolerance was the 
creed of his age, — that he himself, in his 
days of compliance and ambition, hail been 
drawn over to it as a theory, — that he was 
filled with alarm and horror by the excesses 
of the heretical insurgents in Germany, we 
must pronounce him, by his abstinence from 
any practical share in it, to have given 
stronger proofs than any other man, of a re- 
pugnance to that execrable practice, founded 



* Tiie change of opinion in Erasmus, and the 
less reniarkaliie change of More in the same re- 
spect, is somewhat excused l)y the excesses and 
disoriJers which followed the Reformation. " To 
believe," says Bayle, " that the church required 
ret^Drmaiion, and to approve a particular manner 
of reforming it, are two very ditierent things. To 
blame the opponents of reformation, and to die- 
approve the conduct of the reformers, are two 
things very compatible. A man may then imi- 
tate Erasmus, without being an apostate or a trai- 
tor." — Dictionary, art. Castellan. These are po- 
sitions too reasonable to be practically believed, 
at the time when their adoption would be most 
useful. 

t In the Apology, More states that four-tenths 
of the people were unable to read ; probably an 
overrated estimate of the number of readers. 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



63 



on the unshaken basis of his natural hu- 
manity. 

The fourth book of the Dialogue* exhibits 
a lively picture of the horror with which the 
excesses of the Reformers had filled the mind 
of this good man, whose justice and even 
humanity were disturbed, so far at least as 
to betray him into a billerness of lai]f.niage 
and harshness of opinion foreign from his 
general temper. The events themselves are, 
it must be owned, sufficient to provoke the 
meekest, — to appal the firmest of men. 
"The temporal lords," he tells us, "were 
glad to hear the cry against the clergy; the 
people were glad to hear it against the clergy 
and the lords too. They rebelled first against 
an abbot, and after against a bishop, where- 
with the temporal lords had good game and 
sport, and dissembled the matter, gaping 
after the lands of the spirituality, till they 
had almost played, as yEsop telleth of the 
dog, which, to snatch at the shadow of the 
cheese in the water, let fall and lost the 
cheese which he bare in his mouth. The 
uplandisli Lutherans set upon the temporal 
lords: they slew 70,000 Lutherans in one 
summer, and subdued the remnant in that 
part of Alrnayne into a right miserable servi- 
tude. Of this sect was the great partj of 
those ungracious people which of late en- 
tered Rome with the Duke of Bourbon." 
The description of the horrible crimes per- 
petrated on that occasion is so disgusting in 
some of its particulars, as to be unlit for the 
decency of historical narrative. One speci- 
men will suffice, which, considering the 
constant intercourse between England and 
Rome, is not unlikely to have been related 
to More by an eye-witness : — " Some took 
children and bound them to torches, and 
brought them gradually nearer to the fire to 
be roasted, while the fathers and mothers 
were looking on, and then began to speak of 
a price for the sparing of the children ; ask- 
ing first lOf) ducats, then fifty, then forty, 
then at last offered to take twain : after they 
had taken the last ducat from the father, 
then would they let the child roast to death." 
This wickedness (More contended) was the 
fruit of I.,uther's doctrine of predestination ; 
"for what good deed can a man study or 
labour to do, who believeth Luther, that he 
hath no free will of his own. "J "If the 
world were not near an end, and the fervour 
of devotion almost quenched, it could never 
have come to pass that so many people 
should fall to the following of so beastly a 
sect." He urges at very great length, and 
with great ability, the tendency of belief in 
destiny to overthrow morality; and repre- 
sents it as an opinion of which, on account 
of its incompatibility with the order of so- 



* Dialogue of Sir Thomaa More, touching the 
pestilent sect of Lulher, composed and published 
when he was chancellor of the duchy of Lancaster, 
" but newly oversene by the said Sir T. More, 
chancellor of England," 1530. 

t A violent exaegeration. 

t Dialogue, booli iv. chap. 8. 



ciety, the civil magistrate may lawfully pun- 
ish the promulgation; little aware how de- 
cisively experience was about to confute 
such reasoning, however specious, by the 
examples of nations, who, though their w hole 
religion was founded on predestination, were, 
nevertheless, the most moral portion of man- 
kind.* "The fear." says More, "of out- 
rages and mischiefs to follow upon such here- 
sies, with the proof that men have had in 
some countries thereof, have been the cause 
that princes and people have been constrained 
to punish heresies by a terrible death ; where- 
as else more easy ways had been taken with 
them. If the heretics had never beaun with 
violence, good Christian people had perad- 
venture used less violence against ihem : 
while they forbare violence, there was little 
violence done unto them. 'By my soul,' 
quoth your friend,t 'I would all the world 
were agreed to take violence and compulsion 
away.' 'And sooth,' said 1, 'if it were so, 
yet would God be too strong for his ene- 
mies.' " In answer, he faintly attempts to 
distinguish the case of Pagans, w ho may be 
tolerated, in order to induce them to tolerate 
Christians, from that of heretics, from which 
no such advantage was to be obtained in ex- 
change; — a distinction, however, which dis- 
appeared as soon as the supposed heretics 
acquired supreme power. At last, however, 
he concludes with a sentence which suffi- 
ciently intimates the inclination of his judg- 
ment, and shows that his ancient opinions 
still prevailed in the midst of fear and ab- 
horrence. "And yet. as I said in the begin- 
ning, never were they by any temporal pun- 
ishment of their bodies any thing sharply 
handled till they began to be violent them- 
selves." It is evident that his mind misgave 
him when he appeared to assent to intoler- 
ance as a principle ; for otherwise there was 
no reason for repeatedly relying on the de- 
fence of society against aggression as its jus- 
tification. His silence, however, respecting 
the notorious fact, that Luther strained every 
nerve to suppress the German insurgents, 
can never be excused by the sophistry which 
ascribes to all reformers the evil done by those 
who abuse their names. It was too much 
to say that Luther should not have uttered 
what he believed to be sacred and necessary 
truth, because evil-doers took occasion from 
it to screen their bad deeds. This contro- 
versial artifice, however grossly unjust, is 
yet so plausible and popular, that perhaps 
no polemic ever had viriue enough to resist 
the temptation of employing it. What other 
controversialist can be named, who, having 
the power to crush antagonists whom he 
viewed as the disturbers of the quiet of his 
own declining age, — the destroyers of all the 
hopes which he had cherished for mankind, 
contented himself with severity of language 
(for which he humbly excuses himself in his 



•Switzerland, Holland, Scoiland, English puri- 
tans, New England, French Hugiienois, &,c. 

t This wish is put into the mouth of the adverse 
speaker in the Dialogue. 



64 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Apology — in some measure a dying work), 
and Willi one instance of unfair inference 
against opponents who were too zealous to 
be merciful. 

In the autumn of 1529. More, on his return 
from Canibray, where he had been once 
more joined in commission with his friend 
Tunstall as ambassador to the emiieror, paid 
a visit to the conit, then at Woodstock. A 
letter written from thence to his wife, on oc- 
casion of a mishap at home, is here inserted 
asaflbrding a little glimpse into the manage- 
ment of his mo.st homely concerns, and es- 
Secially as a specimen of his regard for a 
eserving woman, who was, probably, too 
"coarsely kind" even to have inspired him 
with tenderness.* 

'■Mistress Alyce, in my most harty will, 
I recomfnd me to you. And whereas I am 
enfourmed by my son Heron of the loss of 
our barnes and our neighbours also, w' all 
the come that was therein, albeit (saving 
God's pleasure) it is gret pitie of so much 
good come lost, yet sith it haih liked hym 
to send us such a chance, we must saie 
bounden, not only to be content, but also to 
be glad of his visitation. He sent us all that 
we have lost : and sith he hath by such a 
chance taken it away againe, his pleasure 
b.? fulfilled. Let us never grudge thereat, 
but take it in <iooJ worth, and hartely thank 
him, as well for adversitie. as for prosperitie. 
And par a.lveuture we have more cause to 
thank him forourlosse, than for our winning: 
for his wisedom better seeth what is good 
for us then we do ourselves. Therefore I 

Kray you h?. of good cheere, and take all the 
owsoKl with you to church, and there thank 
God both for that he hath given us, and for 
that he has left us, which if it please hym, 
he can increase when he will. And if it 
please him to leave us yet lesse, at hys plea- 
eure be it. I praye you to make some good 
ensearche what my poor neighbours have 
loste, and bidde them take no thought there- 
fore, and if I shold not leave myself a spone, 
there shall no jwore neighbour of mine bere 
no losse by any chance happened in my 
house. I pray you be with my children and 
hou.sehoUl mery in God. And devise some- 
what with your friends, what way wer best 
to take, for provision to be made for corne 
for our household and for sede thys yere 
coming, if ye thinke it good that we keepe 
the ground still in our handes. And whether 
ye think it good y' we so shall do or not. 
yet I think it were not best soderdye thus 
to leave it all up, and to put away our folk 
of our farme, till we have somewhat advised 
us thereon. Howbeit if we have more nowe 
than ye shall neede, and which can get 
the other maisters, ye may then discliarge 

* In More's nieirioal inscriprion for his own 
moiui iient, we liiid a just but long, and somewhat 
laboured, commendmion of Alice, which in ten- 
derness is outweighed by one word applied to the 
long-departed companion of liis youth. 
" Chwa Thomae jacet hie Joanna uxorcula Mori." 



us of them. But I would not that any map 
wer sodenly sent away he wote nere we- 
ther. At my coming hither, I perceived 
none other, but that I sholil tary still with 
the kinges grace. Hut now I shall (I think), 
because of this chance, get leave this next 
wt ke to come home and se you ; and then 
shall we further tievise together uppon all 
ihinges, what order shall be best to take : and 
thus as hartely fare you well with all our chil- 
dren as you can wishe. At Woodslok the 
thirde daye of Septembre, by the han;! of 
"Your loving husband, 

" Thomas JMore, Knight." 

A new scene now opened on IMore, of \^ hose 
private life the above simple letter enables us 
to form no inadequate or uni>leasingcstimate. 
On ilie '25th of October 15'2J<, sixteen days 
after the commencement of the iirosecution 
against Wolsey, the King, by delivering the 
great seal to him at Greenwich, constituted 
him lord chancellor, — the highest dignity of 
the state and of the law. and which had 
previously been generally held by ecclesias- 
tics.* a' very summary account of the na- 
ture of this hiiih oHice. may perhaps.prevenl 
soine confusion respecting it among those 
who know it only in its present state. The 
otiice of chancellor was known to all the 
European governments, who borroweil it, 
like many other institutions, from the usage 
of the vaiupiished Romans. In those of 
Engliuid and France, which most resembled 
each other, and whose history is most fa- 
miliar and most interesting to us,t the chan- 
cellor, whose otiice had been a conspicuous 
dignity under the Lower Em}iire, was origi- 
nally a secretary who derived a great part 
of his consequence from the trust of holding 
the king's seal, the substitute for subscription 
under illiterate monarchs, and the stamp of 
leg-al authority in more cultivateil times. 
From his constant access to the king, he 
acquired every where some authority in the 
cases which were the frequent subject of 
complaint to the crown. In France he be- 
came a minister of state with a peculiar 
superintendence over courts of justice, and 
some remains of a special juristiiction. which 
contimied till the downfal of the French 
monarchy. In the English chancellor were 
gradually united the characters of a legal 
magistrate and a political adviser; and since 
that time the ofKce has been contined to 
lawyers in eminent practice. He has been 
presumed to have a due reverence for the law, 
as well as a familiar acquaintance with it j 
and his presence and weight in the counsels 
of a free commonwealth have been regarded 
as links which bind the state to the law. 

One of the earliest branches of the chan- 
cellor's duties seems, by slow degrees, to 
have enlarged his jurisdiction to the extent 

* Thorpe, in 1371, and Knivet, in 1372, seem 
to be the last exceptions. 

t Ducange and Spehnan, voce Cancellarius, 
who give u3 the series of Chancellors in both 
countries. 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



65 



which it reached in modern times.* From 
the .;h;iiicery issued those writs which first 
put the m;ichiiieiy of la>.v in motion in every 
case where legal redress existed. In that 
court new writs were framed, when it was 
fit to adapt the proceedings to the circum- 
stances of a new case. When a case arose 
in which it appeared that the course and 
order of the common law could hardly be 
adapted, by any variation in the forms of 
procedure, to the demands of justice, the 
complaint was laid by the chancellor, before 
the king, who commanded it to be considered 
in council, — a practice which, by degrees, led 
to a reference to that magistrate by himself. 
To facilitate an equitable determination in 
such complaint.s, the writ was devised called 
the writ of ^'subpxnd,^^ commanding the 
person complained of to appear before the 
chancellor, and to answer the complaint. 
The essential words of a petition for this 
writ, which in process of time has become 
of so great importance, were in the reign of 
Richard HI. as follows : '•' Please it therefore, 
your lord.ship, — considering that your orator 
has no remedy by course of the common 
law, — to grant a writ sxbpxndj commanding 
T. Coke to appear in chancery, at a certain 
day, and upon a certain pain to be limited 
by you, and then to do what by this court 
shall be thought reasonable and according 
to conscience." The form had not been 
materially different in the earliest instances, 
which appear to have occurred from 1380 
to 1400. It would seem that this device 
was not first employed, a^ has been hitherto 
supposed,! to enforce the observance of the 
duties of trustees who held lands, but for 
cases of an extremely different nature, where 
the failure of justice in the ordinary courts 
might ensue, not from any defect in the 
common law, but from the power of turbu- 
lent barons, who, in their acts of outrage and 
lawless violence, bade defiance to all ordinary 
jurisdiction. In some of the earliest cases we 
find a statement of the age and poverty of 
the complainant, and of the power, and even 
learning, of the supposed wrongdoer ; — topics 
addressed to compassion, or at most to equity 
ia a very loose and pop\ilar sense of the word, 
which throw light on the original nature of 
this high jurisdiction.}: It ia apparent, from 
the earliest cases in the rei^n of Richard II., 



* " Non facile est digito monstrare qiiihos 
graJilius, sed conjeciuraia accijie.'' — Spchuaii, 
voce Can''ellarius 

+ Blacksioiie, book iii. chap. 4. 
" t Calendars of Prot^eedinffs in Chancery, tomp. 
Eliz. London. 1827. Of len of ihc^e suits wliirii 
occurred ia ihe last len years ol tlie foiiricenili 
century, one conipIaiDS of ouster from land by 
violence ;• another, of exclusion from a benefice, 
by a writ obtained from the kinw under false sug- 
gestions; a third, for the seizure of a freeman, 
under pre'ext of bein^ a slave (or nief) ; a fourth, 
for being disturbed in the enjoyment of land by a 
trespasser, abetted by the sheriff; a fifth for im- 
prisonment on a false allegation of debt. No case 
is extant prior to the first year of Henry V., which 
relates t'l the trust of lands, which eminent writers 



that the occasional relief proceeding from 
mixed feelings of pity and of regaid to sub- 
stantial justice, not effectually aided by .'.iw, 
or overpowered by tjrannical violence, had 
then grown into a regular .system, and was 
subjr^ct to rules re.senibling those of legal 
jurisdiction. At first sight it may appear 
difficult to conceive how ecclesiastics could 
have moulded into a regular form this ano- 
malous branch of juri.sprudence. But many 
of the ecclesiastical order, — originally the 
only lawyers, — were eminently skilled in the 
civil and canon law, which had attained an 
order and precision unknown to the digests 
of barbarous usages then attempted in France 
and England. The ecclesiastical chancellors 
of those countries introduced into their courts 
a counse of proceeding very similar to that 
adopted by other European nations, who all 
owned the authority of the canon law, and 
were enlightened by the wisdom of the Ro- 
man code. The proceedings in chancery, 
lately recovered fiom oblivion, show the sys- 
tem to have been in regular activity about 
a century and a half before the chancellor- 
ship of Sir Thomas More, — the first common 
lawyer who held the great seal since the 
Chancellor had laid any foundations (known 
to us) of his equitable jurisdiction. The 
course of education, and even of negotiation 
in that age, conferred on Moore, who was 
the most distinguished of the practisers of 
the common law, the learning and ability of 
a civilian and a canonist. 

Of his administration, from the 25th of 
October 1529, to the 16lh of May 1532, four 
hundred bills and answers are still preserved, 
which aflbrd an average of about a hundred 
and sixty suits annually. Though this ave- 
rage may by no means adequately represent 
the whole occupations of a court which had 
many other duties to perform, it supplies us 
with some means of comparing the extent 
of its business under him with the number 
of similar proceedings in succeeding times. 
The whole amount of bills and answers in the 
reign of James I. was thirty-two thousand. 
How far the number may have difl'ered at 
different parts of that reign, the unarranged 
state of the records does not yet enable us 
to ascertain. But supposing it, by a rough 
estimate, to have continued the same, the 
annual average of bills and answers during 
the four years of Lord Bacon's admini.stration 
was fourteen hundred and sixty-one. being 
an inciease of nearly ten-fold in somewhat 
less than a century. Though cases con- 
nected with the progress of the jurisdiction 
and the character of the chancellor must 
have somewhat contributed to this ren-aika- 
ble increase, )-et it must be ascribed princi- 
pally to the ext'faordinary impulse given te 

have represented as the original object of this 
jiirisdiciion. In the reign of^EIenry VI. there is 
a bill against certain Wycliffites for outrages done 
to the plaintiff, Robert Burton, chanter of the 
cathedral of Lincoln, on account of his zeal as an 
inquisitor in the diocese of Lincoln, to convict 
and punish heretics. 

r2 



66 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



daring enterprise and national wealth by 
the splendid administration of Elizabeth, 
which muhiplied alike the occasions of liti- 
gation and the means of carrying it on.* In 
a century and a half after, when equitable 
jurisdiction was completed in its foundations 
and most necessary parts by Lord Chancellor 
Nottingham, the yearly average of suits wafe, 
during his tenure of the great seal, about 
si.vteen hundred.! Under Lord Hardwicke, 
the chancellor of most professional celebrity, 
the yearly average of bills and answers ap- 
pears to have been about two thousand ; 
Erobablyin part because more questions had 
een finally determined, and partly also be- 
cause the dela3's were so aggravated by the 
multiplicity of business, that parties aggriev- 
ed chose rather to submit to w'rong than to 
be ruined in pursuit of right. This last mis- 
chief arose in a great measure from the 
variety of aflairs added to the original duties 
of the judge, of which the principal were 
bankruptcy and parliamentary appeals. Both 
these causes continued to act with increas- 
ing force ; so that, in spite of a vast increase 
of the property and dealings of the kingdom, 
the average number of bills and answers was 
considerably less from 1800 to 1S02 than it 
had been from 1745 to 1754. t 

It must not be supposed that men trained 
in any system of jurisprudence, as were the 
ecclesiastical chancellors, could have been 
indifTerent to the inconvenience and vexa- 
tion which necessarily harass the holders 
of a merely arbitrary power. Not having a 
law, they were a law unto themselves ; and 
every chancellor who contributed by a de- 
termination to establish a principle, became 
instrumental in circumscribing the power of 
his successor. Selden is, indeed, represented 
to have said, " that equity is according to 
the conscience of him who is chancellor; 
which is as uncertain as if we made the 
chancellor's foot the standard for the mea- 
sure which we call a foot."§ But this was 
epoken in the looseness of table-talk, and 
under the influence of the prejudices then 
prevalent among common lawyers against 
equitable jurisdiction. Still, perhaps, in his 
time what he said might be true enough for 
a smart saying: but in process of years a 
system of rules has been established which 
has constantly tended to limit the originally 
discretionary powers of the chancery. Equity, 
in the acceptation in which that word is used 
in English jurisprudence, is no longer to be 
confounded with that moral equity which 

* From a letter of Lord Bacon (Lords' Journals, 
20th March, 1680,) it appears that he made two 
thousand decrees and orders in a year; so that in 
his time the bills and answers amounted to about 
two-thirds of the whole business. 

t 'I'lie numbers have been obligingly supplied 
by the gentlemen of ihe Record Office in the 
Tower. 

t Account of Proceedings in Parliament rela- 
tive to the Court of Chancerv. By C. P. Cooper 
Esq. (Lond. 1828,) p. 102, &.C.— A work equally 
remarkable for knowledge and acutcness. 

* Table Talk, (Edinb. 1809,) p. 55. 



generally corrects the unjust operation of 
law, and with which it seems to have been 
synonymous in the days of Selden and Bacon. 
It is a part of law formed from usages and 
determinations which sometimes difler from 
what is called '-common law" in its subjects^ 
but chiefly varies from it in its modes oi 
proof, of trial, and of relief; it is a jurisdic- 
tion so irregularly formed, and often so little 
dependent on general principles, that it can 
hardly be defined or made intelligible other- 
wise than by a minute enumeration of the 
matters cognisable by it.* 

It will be seen from the above that Sir 
Thomas More's duties differed very widely 
from the various exertions of labour and in- 
tellect required from a modern chancellox. 
At the utmost he did not hear more than two 
hundred cases and arguments yearly, inclu- 
ding those of every description. No authentic 
account of any case tried before him, if any 
such be extant, has been yet bmught to light. 
No law book alludes to any part of his judg- 
ments or reasonings. Nothing of this higher 
part of his judicial life is preserved, which 
can warrant us in believing more than that 
it must have displayed his never-failing in- 
tegrity, reason, learning, and eloquence. 

The particulars of his instalment are not 
unworthy of being specified as a proof of the 
reverence for his endowments and excel- 
lences professed by the King and entertained 
by the public, to whose judgment the min- 
isters of Henry seemed virtually to appeal, 
with an assurance that the King's appoint- 
ment would be ratified by the general voice. 
'• He was led between the Dukes of Norfalk 
and Suffolk up Westminster Hall to the Stone 
Chamber, and there they honourably placed 
him in the high judgment-scat of chancel- 
lor ;"t (for the chancellor was, by his office, 
the president of that terrible tribunal.) "The 
Duke of Norfolk, premier peer and lord high 
treasurer of England," continues the biogra- 
pher, "by the command of the king, spoke 
thus unto the people there with great applause 
and joy gathered together : — 

" ' The King's majesty (which, I pray God, 
may prove happie and fortunate to the v hole 
real me of England) hath raised to the most 
high dignitie of chancellourship Sir Thomas 
More, a man for his extraordinarie worth 
and sufficiencie well knowne to himself and 
the whole realme, for no other cause or earth- 
lie respect, but for that he hath plainely per- 
ceaved all the gifts of nature and grace to be 
heaped upon him, which either the people 
could desire, or himself wish, for the dis- 
charge of so great an office. For the ad- 
mirable wisedome, integritie, and innocencie. 
joyned with most pleasant facilitie of witt, 
that this man is endowed withall, have been 
sufficiently knowen to all Englishmen frooa 
his youth, and for these manie yeares also to 



* Blackstone, book iii. chap. 27. Lord Hard- 
wicke's Letter to Lord Knmes, 30ih June, 1757. 
— Lord Woodhouseiee's Life of Lord Karnes, vol- 
i.p. 237. 

t More, pp. 156. 163. 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



67 



(he King's majestie himself. This hath the 
King abundantly found in manie and weightie 
afTayres, which he hath happily dispatched 
boih at home and abroad, in divers offices 
which he hath born, in most honourable em- 
bassages which he hath undergone, and in 
his daily counsell and advises upon all other 
occasions. He hath perceaved no man in 
his realme to be more wise in deliberating, 
more sincere in opening to him what he 
thought, nor more eloquent to adorne the 
matter which he uttered. Wherefore, be- 
cause he saw in him such excellent endow- 
ments, and that of his espeeiall care he hath 
a particular desire that his kingdorae and 
people might be governed with all equitie 
and justice, integritie and wisedome, he of 
his owne most gracious disposition hath 
created this singular man lord chancellor; 
that, by his laudable performance of this 
office, his people may enjoy peace and jus- 
tice ; and honour also and fame may re- 
dounde to the whole kingdome. It may 
perhaps seem to manie a strange and un- 
usuall matter, that this dignitie should be 
bestowed upon a layman, none of the nobili- 
tie, and one that hath wnfe and children ; be- 
cause heretofore none but singular learned 
prelates, or men of greatest nobilitie, have 
possessed this place; but what is wanting in 
these respects, the admirable vertues, the 
matchless guifts of witt and wisedome of 
this man, doth most plentifully recompence 
the same. For the King's majestie hath not 
regarded how great, but what a man he was; 
he hath not cast his eyes upon the nobilitie 
of his blomd, but on the worth of his person ; 
he hath respected his sulficiencie, not his 
profession ; finally, he would show by this 
his choyce, that he hath some rare subjects 
amongst the rowe of gentlemen and laymen, 
who deserve to manage the highest offices 
of the realme, which bishops and noblemen 
think they only can deserve. The rarer 
therefore it was, so much both himself held 
it to be the more excellent, and to his people 
he thought it would be the more gratefuil. 
Wherefore, receave this your cliancellour 
with joyful acclamations, at whose hands 
you may expect all happinesse and content.' 
'•' Sir Thomas More, according to his wont- 
ed modestie, was somewhat abashed at this 
the duke's speech, in that it sounded so 
much to his praise, but recollecting himself 
as that place and time would give him leave, 
he answered in this sorte : — ' Although, most 
noble duke, and you right honourable lords, 
and worshipfull gentlemen, I knowe all these 
things, which the King's majestie, it seemeth, 
hath bene pleased should be spoken of me 
at this time and place, and j^our grace hath 
with most eloquent wordes thus amplifyed, 
are as far from me, as I could wish with all 
my hart they were in me for the better per- 
formance of so great a charge; and although 
this your speach hath caused in me greater 
feare than I can well express in words: yet 
this incomparable favour of my dread soue- 
raigne, by which he showeth how well, yea 



how highly he conceaveth of my weake- 
nesse, having commanded that my meanesse 
should be so greatly commended, cannot be 
but most acceptable unto me ; and I cannot 
choose but give your most noble grace e.x- 
ceedingthankes, that what his majestie hath 
w'illed you briefly to utter, you, of the abun- 
dance of your love unto me, have in a large 
and eloquent oration dilated. As for myself, 
I can take it no otherwise, but that his ma- 
jestie's incomparable favour towards me, the 
good will and incredible propension of his 
royall minde (wherewith he has these manie 
yeares favoured me continually) hath alone 
without anie desert of mine at all, caused 
both this my new honour, and these your 
undeserved commendations of me. For who 
am I, or what is the house of my father, that 
the King's highnesse should heape upon me 
by such a perpetuall streame of affection, 
these so high honours? I am farre lesse then 
anie the meanest of his benefitts bestowed 
on me; how can I then thinke myself wor- 
ihie or fitt for this so peerlesse dignitie ? I 
have bene drawen by force, as the King's 
majestie often profes.seth, to his highnesse's 
service, to be a courtier; but to take this 
dignitie upon me, is most of all against my 
will ; yet such is his highnesse's benignitie, 
such is his bountie, that he highly esteem- 
eth the small dutiefulnesse of his meanest 
subjects, and seeketh still magnificently to 
recompence his servants; not only such as 
deserve well, but even such as have but a 
desire to deserve well at his hands, in which 
number I have ahvaies wished myself to be 
reckoned, because I cannot challenge myself 
to be one of the former; which being so, you 
may all perceave with me how great a bur- 
den is layde upon my backe, in that I must 
strive in some sorte with my diligence and 
dutie to corresponde with his royall benevo- 
lence, and to be answerable to that great ex- 
pectation, which he and you seeme to have 
of me ; wherefore those so high praises are 
by me so much more grievous unto me, by 
how much more I know the greater charge 
I have to render myself worthie of, and the 
fewer means I have to make them goode. 
This weight is hardly suitable to my weake 
shoulders; this honour is not correspondent 
to my poore desert; it is a burden, not a 
glorie ; a care, not a dignitie; the one there- 
fore I must beare as manfully as I can, and 
discharge the other with as much dexteritie 
as I shaH be able. The earnest desire which 
I have alwaies had and doe now acknow- 
ledge myself to have, to satisfye by all 
meanes I can possible, the most ample be- 
nefitts of his highnesse, will greatly excite 
and ayde rae to the diligent performance of 
all, which I trust also I shall be more able 
to doe. if I finde all your good wills and 
wishes both favourable unto me, and con- 
formable to his royall munificence : because 
my serious endeavours to doe well, joyned 
with your favourable acceptance, will easily 
procure that whatsoever is performed oy me, 
though it be in itself but smsfll, y«t will it 



«8 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAV'Si. 



seeme great and praiseworthie ; for those 
things are ahvaies atchieved happily, which 
are accepted wUhnglyj and those .succeede 
fortunately, which are receaved by others 
courteously. As you therefore doe hope for 
great matters, and the best at my hands, so 
though I dare not promise anie such, yet do 
I promise truly and affectionately to per- 
forme the best I shall be able.' 

"When Sir Thomas More had spoken 
these wordes, turning his face to the high 
judgment seate of the chancerie, he pro- 
ceeded in this manner : — ' But when I looke 
upon this seate, when I thinke how greate 
and what kinde of personages have possessed 
this place before me, when I call to minde 
who he was that sate in it last of all — a man 
of what singular wisdome, of what notable 
experience, what a prosperous and favour- 
able fortune he had for a great space, and 
how at the last he had a most grevious fall, 
and dyed inglorious — I have cause enough 
by my predecessor's example to think hon- 
our but slipperie, and this dignitie not so 
grateful to me as it may seeme to others ; 
for both is it a hard matter to follow with 
like paces or praises, a man of such admira- 
ble witt, prudence, authoritie, and splendour, 
to whome I may seeme but as the lighting 
of a candle, when the sun is downe ; and 
also the sudden and unexpected fall of so 
great a man as he was doth terribly putt me 
in minde that this honour ought not to please 
me too much, nor the lustre of this glistering 
seate dazel mine eyes. Wherefore I ascende 
this seate as a place full of labour and dan- 
ger, voyde of all solide and true honour; 
the which by how much the higher it is, by 
so much greater fall I am to feare, as well in 
respect of the verie nature of the thing it 
selfe, as because I am warned by this late 
fearfull example. And truly I might even 
now at this verie just entrance stumble, yea 
faynte, but that his majestie's most singular 
favour towardes me, and all your good wills. 
which your joyfuU countenance doth testifye 
in this most honorable assemblie, doth some- 
what recreate and refresh me* otherwise 
this seate would be no more pleasing to me, 
than that sword was to Damocles, which 
hung over his head, tyed only by a hayre of 
a horse's tale, when he had store of delicate 
fare before him, seated in the chair of slate 
of Denis the tirant of Sicilie ; this therefore 
shall be always fresh in my minde, this will 
I have still before mine eies, that-this seate 
will be honorable, famous, and full of glorie 
unto me, if I shall with care and diligence, 
fidelitie and wisedome, endeavour to doe 
my dutie, and shall persuade myself, that 
the enjoying thereof may be but short and 
uncertaine ; the one whereof my labour ought 
to performe j the other my predecessor's ex- 
ample may easily teach me. All which be- 
ing so, you may easily perceave what great 
pleasure I take in this high dignitie, or in 
this most noble duke's praising of me.' 

"All the world took notice now of sir 
Thomas's dignitiej whereof Erasmus writeth 



to John Fabius, bishop oi Vienna, thus :— 
' Concerning the new increase of honoui 
lately happened to Thomas More, I should 
easily make you believe it, if I should thow 
you "the letters of many famous men, rejoi- 
cing with much alacritie, and congratulating 
the King, the realme, himself, and also me, 
for More's honor, in being made lord chan- 
cellour of England.' " 

At the period of the son's promotion. Sir 
John More who was nearly of the age of 
ninety, was the most ancient judge of the 
King's Bench. " What a grateful spectacle 
was it," says their descendant, "to see the 
son ask the blessing of the father every day 
upon his knees before he sat upon his own 
seat V'* Even in a more unceremonious 
age, the simple character of More would 
have protected these dail}' rites of filial re- 
verence from that suspicion of affectation, 
which could alone destroy their charm. 
But at that time it must have borrowed its 
chief power from the conspicuous e.vcellence 
of the father and son. For if inward worth 
had then borne any proportion to the grave 
and reverend ceremonial of the age, we 
might be well warranted in regarding our 
forefathers as a race of superior beings. 

The contrast which the humble and affa- 
ble More afforded to the haughty cardinal, 
astonished and delighted the suitors. No 
application could be made to Wolsey, which 
did not pass through many hands; and no 
man could apply, whose fingers were not 
tipped with gold : but More sat daily in an 
open hall, that he might receive in person 
the petitions of the poor. If any reader 
should blame his conduct in this respect, as 
a breach of an ancient .and venerable pre- 
cept, — ^"Ye shall do no unrighteousness in 
judgment ; thou shalt not respect the person 
of the poor, nor honour the person of the 
mighty ; but in righteousness shalt thou judge 
thy neighbour,"t let it be remembered, that 
there still clung to the equitable jurisdiction 
some remains of that precarious and eleemo- 
synary nature from which it originally spi ungj 
which, in the eyes of the compassionate 
chancellor, might warrant more preference 
for the helpless poor than could be justified 
in proceedings more rigorously legal. 

Courts of law were jealous then, as since, 
of the power assumed by chancellors to 
issue injunctions to parties to desist from 
doing certain acts which they were by law 
entitled to do, until the court of chancery 
should determine whether the exercise of the 
legal right would not work injustice. There 
are many instances in which irreparable 
wrong may be committed, before a right can 
be ascertained, in the ordinary course of pro- 
ceedings. In such cases it is the province 
of the Chancellor to take care that affairs 
shall continue in their actual condition until 
the questions in dispute be determined. A 
considerable outcry against this necessary, 
though invidious authority, was raised at the 



* More, p. 163. t Leviticus, chap. six. v. 15b 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



69 



commencement of More's chancellorship. 
He silenced this clamour wilh his wonted 
prudence and meekness. Havinj^ caused 
one of the six clerks to make out a list of the 
injunctions issued by him, or pending before 
him, he invited all the judges to dinner. He 
laid the list before them; and explained the 
circumstances of each case so satisfactorily, 
that they all confessed that in the like case 
they would have done no less. Nay, he 
offered to desist from the jurisdiction, if they 
would undertake to contain the law within 
the boundaries of righteousness, which he 
thought they ought in conscience to do. The 
judges declined to make the attempt ; on 
which he observed privately to Roper, that 
he saw they trusted to their influence for 
obtaining verdicts which would shift the re- 
sponsibility from them to the juries. "Where- 
fore," said he, " I am constrained to abide 
the adventure of their blame." 

Dauncey, one of his sons-in-law, alleged 
that under Wolsey "even the door-keepers 
got great gains," and was so perverted by 
the venality there practised that he expostu- 
lated with More for his churlish integrity. 
The chancellor said, that if " his father, 
whom he reverenced dearly, were on the 
one side,-and the devil, whom he hated with 
all his might, on the other, the devil should 
have his right." He is represented by his 
descendant, as softening his answer by pro- 
mising minor advantages, such as priority of 
hearing, and recommendation of arbitration; 
where the case of a friend was bad. The 
biographer, however, not being a lawyer, 
might have misunderstood the conversation, 
which had to pass through more than one 
generation before the tradition reached him; 
or the words may have been a hasty effusion 
of good nature, uttered only to qualify the 
roughness of his honesty. If he had been 
called on to perform these promises, his head 
and heart would have recoiled alike from 
breaches of equality which he would have 
felt to be altogether dishonest. When Heron, 
another of his sons-in-law, relied on the bad 
practices of the times, so far as to entreat a 
favourable judgment in a cause of his own. 
More, though the most affectionate of fathers, 
immediately undeceived him by an adverse 
decree. This act of common justice is made 
an object of panegyric by the biographer, as 
if it were then deemed an extraordinary in- 
stance of virtue; a deplorable symptom of 
that corrupt slate of general opinion, which, 
half a century later, contributed to betray 
into ignominious vices the wisest of men, 
and the most illustrious of chancellors, — if 
the latter distinction be not rather due to the 
virtue of a More or a Somers. 

He is said to have despatched the causes 
oefore iiim so speedil3\ that, on asking for 
the next, he was told that none remained; 
which is boastfully contrasted by Mr. More, 
his descendant, with the arrear of a thousand 
in the time of that gentleman, who lived in 
the reign of Charles I. : though we have 
already seen that this difference may be re- 



ferred to other causes, and therefore that the 
fact, if true, proves no more than his exem- 
plary diligence and merited reputation. 

The scrupulous and delicate integrity of 
More (for so it must be called in speaking of 
that age) was more clearly shown after his 
resignation, than it could have been during 
his continuance in office. One Parnell com- 
plained of him for a decree obtained by his 
adversary Vaughan. whose wife had bribed 
the chancellor by a gilt cup. More surprised 
the counsel at first, by owning that he re- 
ceived the cup as a new year's gift. Lord 
Wiltshire, a zealous Protestant, indecently, 
but prematurely, exulted: "Did I not tell 
you, my lords," said he, "that you would 
find this matter true?" "But, my lords," 
replied More, " hear the other part of my 
tale." He then told them that, "having 
drank to her of wane with which his butler 
had filled the cup, and she having pledged 
him, he restored it to her, and would listen 
to no refusal." When Mrs. Croker, for 
whom he had made a decree against Lord 
Arundel, came to him to request his accep- 
tance of a pair of gloves, in which were con- 
tained 40L in angels, he told her, wilh a 
smile, that it were ill manners to refuse a 
lady's present ; but though he should keep 
the gloves, he must return the gold, which 
he enforced her to receive. Greshara, a 
suitor, sent him a present of a gilt cup, of 
which the fashion pleased him : More ac- 
cepted it ; but would not do so till Gresham 
received from him another cup of greater 
value, but of which the form and workman- 
ship were less suitable to the Chancellor. It 
would be an indignity to the memory of such 
a man to quote these facts as proofs of his 
probity; but they may be mentioned as spe- 
cimens of the simple and unforced honesty 
of one who rejected improper offers with all 
the ease and pleasantry of common courtesy. 

Henry, in bestowing the great seal on 
More, hoped to dispose his chancellor to lend 
his authority to the projects of divorce and 
second marriage, which were now agitating 
the King's mind, and were the main objects 
of his policy.* Arthur, the eldest son of 
Henry VII., having married Catharine, the 
daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, sove- 
reigns of Castile and Arragon, and dying- 
very shortly after his nuptials, Henry had 
obtained a dispensation from Pope Julius II. 
to enable the princess to marry her brother- 
in-law, afterwards Henry VIII. ; and in this 
last-mentioned union, of which the Princess 
Mary was the only remaining fruit, the par- 
ties had lived sixteen years in apparent har 
mony. But in the year 1527, arose a con- 
currence of events, which tried and estab- 
lished the virtue of More, and revealed to 
the world the depravity of his master. Henry 
had been touched by the charms of Anne 
Boleyn, a beautiful young lady, in her twenty- 

*" Thomas Morus, doctrina ei probitate specta- 
bilis vir, cancellarius in Wolsasi locum cotisiitui 
tiir. Neuliqitam Repis causae mquior." — ThuanuSf 
1 Historia sui Temporis, lib. ii. c. 16. 



70 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



second yoar, the (i:uip;hter of Sir Thomas 
Boleyn, Earl of Wiltshire, who 1ml latt^ly 
retiinioil from the court of France, where 
her youth had been spent. At the same 
moment it became the policy of Francis I. 
to loosen all the ties which joincil the King 
of England to the Emperor. When the 
Bishop of Tarbes. his ambassador in Eng- 
land, found, on his arrival in London, the 
growing distaste of Henry for his inotlensive 
-and exemplary wife, he promoted the King's 
inclination towards divorce, and suggesteil 
a marriaire with ^Slargnret Duchess of Alen- 
<jon, the beautiful and graceful sister of 
Francis l* 

At this period Henry for the first time 
professed to harbour conscientious doubts 
whether the dispensation of Julius 11. could 
suspend the obligation of the divine prohibi- 
tion pronounced against such a marriage as 
his "in the Levitical law.t The court of 
Rome did not dare to contend that the dis- 
pensation could reach the case if the prohi- 
bition were part of the universal law of God. 
Henrv, on the other side, could not consistent- 
ly question its validity, if he considered the 
precept as belonginsr to merely positive law. 
To this question, therefore, the dispute was 
confined, though both parties shrunk from an 
explicit and precise avowal of their main 
ground. The most reasonable solution that 
it was a local and temporary law, forming a 
part of the Hebrew code, might seem at first 
sight to destroy its authority altogether. But 
if either party had been candid, this prohi- 
bition, adopted by all Christenilom, might be 
justified by that general u.saQ;e, in a case 
where it was not remarkably at variance 
with reason or the public welfare. But such 
a doctrine would have lowered the gouml 
of the Papal authority too much to be ac- 
ceptable to Rome, and yet, on the other hand, 
rested it on too unexceptionable a foundation 
to suit the case of Henry. False alleg^ations 
of facts in the preamble of the bull were 
allesred on the s;ime side; but they were in- 
conclusive. The principal arguments in the 
King's favour were, that no precedents of 
such a dispens;ition seem to have been pro- 
duced ; and that if the Levitical prohibitions 



* " Marstarita Francisci soror, si>ec;ta'a; forma; 
et vcmistaiis llrniiiin, Carolo .-Monooiiio dn.-e 
inarito paulo ani(> moriuo, vidua pprniansrrat. Ea 
destinata uxor Hfiirico: missiqiie N\'olsapu9 ct 
Biserroimm Pra'sul qui de dissoivondo niairitno- 
nio cum Gallo agorent. Vl Cnleiuni appiilii. 
Wolsreus maiidatmn ii roge conirarium acoipii. 
resi'iviique per aniioos IIcnriiMim iion lain tialli 
adfiniiaicm quam insanum amorein. quo Annani 
Bolfiiam pr(>.«:eqnetiaiiir. cxplere vtMIe " — Thiil 
No ir.ice ol ilie latter part appears in the State 
Papers just (lt^31) published. 

t Leviiicus, I'hap. xx. v. 22. But see Deutero- 
nomy, chap. xxy. v. 5. The latter text, which 
allows an exi-epiion in the case of a brother's wile 
being left childless, may be ihousilu to strengthen 
the proh'biiion in all cases not excepted. It may 
seem applicable to tlie precise case of Henrv. 
But the application of that text is imposisiblc ; for 
It contains an injunction, of wliich the breach is 
chastised bv a disgraceful punishment. 



do not continue in force under the Gospel, 
there is no prohibition against incestuous 
marriages in the system of the New Testa- 
ment. It was a ilisadvantage to the Church 
of Rome in the controversy, that being driven 
from the low ground by its supposed ten- 
dency to degrade the subject, and ileterred 
from the high ground by the fear of the re- 
proach of daring usurpation, the inevitable 
consequence was coidusion and fluctuation 
respecting the first principles on which the 
question was to be determined. 

To pursue this subject through the long 
nt^goJiations and discussioi»s which it occa- 
sioned during six years, would be to lead us 
far from our subject. Clement \ll. (Medici) 
had beeti originally inclined to favour the 
suit* of Hei>ry, according to the usuiil policy 
of I he Roman Court, which sought plausible 
pretexts for facilitating the divorce of kings, 
whose matrimonial connections might be 
represented as involving the quiet of nations. 
The sack of Rome, however, and his own 
captivity left him full of fear of the Empe- 
ror's power ami displeasure; it is even said 
that Chailes V., who had discoveied the 
st^cret designs of the English court, had e.\- 
torted from the Pope, before his release,a pro- 
mise that no attempt would be made to dis- 
honour an Anstritm princess by acceding to 
the divorce.t The Pope, unwilling to provoke 
Hemy, his powerful and generous protector, 
in.^tructed Campeggio to attempt, at first, a 
reconciliation between the King and Queen; 
secotiilly, if that failed, to endeavour to per- 
suade htM- that she ought to acquiesce in her 
husband's desires, b3' entering into a cloister 
— (a proposition which seems to show a rea- 
diness in the Roman court to waive their 
theological ditliculties); and thirdly, if nei- 
ther of these lUtempts were successful, to 
spin out the negotiation to the greatest length, 
in order to profit by the favourable incidents 
which time might bring forth. The inqia- 
tience of the King and the honest indigna- 
tion of the Queen defeated these arts of 
Italian policy; while the resistance of Ainie 
Boleyn to the irregular gratification of the 
King's desires, — without the belief of which 
it is impossible to conceive the motives for 
his perseverance in the pursuit of an unequal 
marriage, — opposed another impedimeiit lo 
the counsels and contrivances of Ciemevit, 
which must havt> surprised and perplexed d 
Florentine pontiff. "The proceedings, how- 
ever, terminated in the sentence pronounced 
by Cranmer annulling the marriage, trie 
espousal of Ainie Boleyn by the King, and 
the rejection of the Papal jurisdiction by 
the kingdom, which still, however, adhered 
to the doctrines of the Roman Catholic 
Church. 

The situation of More during a great part 
of these memorable events was embarrass- 
ing. The great ofilces to which he had 
been raiscil by the King, the personal faveui 
hitherto constantly shown to him, and the 



* Pallavicino, lib. ii. c 15. 



tibid. 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



71 



natural tendency of his gentle and quiet dis- 
position, combined to disincline him to re- 
sistance against the wishes of his friendly 
master. On the other hand, his growing 
dread and horror of heresy, with its train of 
disorders; his belief that universal anarchy 
woulJ be the inevitable result of religious 
dissension, and the operation of seven years' 
controversy on behalf of ihe Catholic Church, 
in heating his mind on all subjects involving 
the extent of her authority, made him re- 
coil from designs which were visibly tend- 
ing towards disiinion with the Roman pon- 
tiff, — the centre of Catholic union, and the 
supreme macistrate of the ecclesiastical 
commonwealth. Though his opinions re- 
lating to the Papal authority were of a mo- 
derate and liberal nature, he at least respect- 
ed it as an ancient and venerable control on 
licentious opinions, of which the prevailing 
heresies attested the value and the necessity. 
Though he might have been better pleased 
with another determination by the supreme 
pontiff, it did not follow that he should con- 
tribute to weaken the holy See, assailed as it 
was on every side, by taking an active part 
hi resistance to the final decision of a lawful 
authority. Obedience to the supreme head 
of the Church in a case which ultimately 
related only to discipline, ap()car('(l peculiarly 
incumbent on ail professed Catholics. But 
however sincere tne zeal of More for the 
Catholic religion and his support of the legi- 
timate supremacy of the Roman See un- 
doubtedly were, he was surely influenced at 
the same time by the humane feelings of 
his just and generous nature, which engaged 
his heart to espouse the cause of a blame- 
less and wronged princess, driven from the 
throne and the bed of a tyrannical husband. 
Though he reasoned the case as a divine and 
a canonist, he must have felt it as a man ; 
and honest feeling must have glowed be- 
neath the subtleties and formalities of doubt- 
ful and sometimes frivolous disputations. It 
w^as probably often the chief cause of con- 
duct for which other reasons might be sin- 
cerely alleged. 

In steering his course through the intrigues 
and passions of the court, it is very observa- 
ble that More most warily retired from every 
opposition but that which Conscience abso- 
lutely required: he shunned unnece.'^sary 
disobedience as much as unconscientious 
compliance. If he had been influenced solely 
by prudential consideration.", he could not 
have more cautiously shunned every need- 
less opposition ; but in that ca.sc he would not 
have gone so far. He displayed, at the time 
of which we now speak, that very peculiar 
excellence of his character, which, as it 
fihowed his submission to be the fruit of 
sense of duty, gave dignity to that which in 
others is apt to s(!em, and to be slavish. His 
anxiety had increased with the approach to 
maturity of the King's projects of divoice and 
second marriage. Some anecdotes of this 
period are preserved by the affectionate and 
descriptive pen of Margaret Roper's husband, 



which, as he evidently reports in the chan- 
cellor's language, it would be unpardonable 
to relate in any other woids than those of 
the venerable man himself. Roper, indeed, 
like another Plutarch, consults the unre- 
strained freedom of his story by a disregard 
of dates, whicli, however agreeable to a gene- 
ral reader, is sometimes unsatisfactory to a 
searcher after accuracy. Yet his cfiice in a 
court of law. where there is the strongest 
inducement toa.scertain truth, and the largest 
experience of tiie m( ans most effectual for 
that purpose, might have taught hirn the ex- 
treme importance of time as well as place in 
estimating the bearing and weight of testi- 
mony. 

"On a time walking with me along the 
Thames' side at Chelsea, he said unto me, 
•Now would to our Lord, son Roper, upon 
condition that three things were well esta- 
blished in Christendom, I were put into a sack, 
and were presently cast into the Thames.' 
— 'What great things be those, sir?' quoth 
1, 'that should move you so to wish.' — 'In 
faith, son, they be these,' said he. 'The 
jirsl is, that whereas the most part of Chris- 
tian princes be at mortal war, they were all 
at universal peace. The second, that where 
the church of Cluist is at present sore afflict- 
ed w ith many errors and heresies, it were 
well settled in perfect uniformity of reli- 
gion. The ikird, that as the matter of the 
King's marriage is now come in question, it 
were, to the glory of God and quietness of 
all parties, brought to a good conclusion.' "* 
On another occasion. t "before the matri- 
mony was brought in question, when I. in 
talk with Sir Thomas More (of a certain joy), 
commeruied unto him the happy estate of 
this realm, that had so catholic a prince, bo 
grave and sound a nobility, and so loving, 
obedient subjects, agreeing in one laith. 
'Truth it is, indeed, son Roper; and yet I 
pray God, as high as we sit upon the moun- 
tains, treading heretics under our feet like 
ants, live not the day that we gladly would 
wish to be at league and composition with 
them, to let them have their churches, so 
that they would be contented to let us have 
ours quietly.' I answered, 'By my troth, it 
is very desperately spoken.' He, perceiving 
me to be in a fume, said merrily, — ' Well, 
well, son Roper, it shall not be so.' Whom," 
concludes Roper, in sixteen years and more, 
being in his house, conversant with liim, I 
never could perceive him as much as once 
in a fume." Doubtless More was some- 
what di.squieled by the reflection, that some 
of those who now a])pealed to the freedom 
of his youthful philosophy against himself 
would speedily begin to abuse such doctrines 
by turning them against the peace which he 
loved; — that some of the spoilers (»f Rome 



* The description of ihe period oppears to suit 
the year 1529, i)efove ilie peace of Canibray and 
the r<'cnll of ihe leiraie CampcL^gio. 

t Protialjfv ill ihe heginnina of 1527, after iho 
promoiion of More to be chancellor ot the duchy 
of Lancaster. 



72 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



mip;ht exhibit the like scenes of rapine and 
blood in the city which was his birth-place 
and his dwelling-place : yet, even then, the 
placid mien, which had stood the test of 
every petty annojance for sixteen years, 
was uniiiflled by alarms for the impending 
fate of his country and of his religion. 

Henry used every means of procuring an 
opinion favourable to his wishes from his 
chancellor, who, however, excused himself 
as unmeet for such matters, having never 
professed the study of divinity. But the 
King "5ore/i/" pressed him,* and never 
ceased urging him until he had promised to 
give his consent, at least, to examine the 
question, conjointly with his friend Tunstall 
and other learned divines. This examina- 
tion over. More, with his wonted ingenuity 
and gentleness, conveyed the result to his 
master. "To be plain with your grace, 
neither your bishops, wise and virtuous 
though they be, nor myself, nor any other 
of your council, by reason of your manifold 
benefits bestowed on us. are meet counsel- 
lors for your grace herein. If you mind to 
understand the truth, consult St. Jerome, St. 
Augiistin, and other holy doctors of the Greek 
and Latin churches, who will not be inclined 
to deceive you by respect of their own worldly 
commodity, or by fear of your princely dis- 
pleasure."! Though the King did not like 
what " was disagreeable to his desires, yet 
the language of More was so wisely temper- 
ed, that for the present he took it in good 
part, and oftentimes had conferences with 
the chancellor thereon." The native meek- 
ness of More was probably more effectual 
than all the arts by which courtiers ingratiate 
themselves, or insinuate unpalatable counsel. 
Shortly after, the King again moved him to 
weigh and consider the great matter: the 
chancellor fell down on his knees, and re- 
minding Henry of his own words on deliver- 
ing the great seal, which were, — " First look 
upon God, and after God upon me," added, 
that nothing had ever so pained him as that 
he was not able to serve him in that matter, 
without a breach of that original injunction. 
The King said he was content to continue 
his favour, and never with that matter mo- 
lest his conscience afterwards ; but when the 
progress towards the marriage was so far 
advanced that the chancellor saw liow soon 
his active co-operation must be required, he 
made suit to his " singular dear friend," the 
Duke of Norfolk, to procure his discharge 
from ofTice. The dnke, often solicited by 
More, then obtained, by importunate suit, a 
clear discharge for the chancellor; and upon 
the repairing to the King, to resign the great 
seal into his hands, Henry received him with 
thanks and praise for his worthy service, and 
assured him, that in any suit that should 
either concern his honour or appertain unto 
his profit, he would show himself a good 
and gracious master to his faithful servant. 
He then further directed Norfolk, when he 



installed his successor, to declare publicly, 
"that his majesty had with pain yielded to 
the prayers of Sir Thomas More, by the re- 
moval of such a magistrate."* 

At the time of his resignation More assert- 
ed, and circumstances, without reference tO" 
his character, demonstrate the truth of his 
assertion, that his whole income, independ- 
ent of grants from the crown, did not amount 
to more than 50/. yearly. This was not more 
than an eighth part of his gains at the bar 
and his judicial salary from the city of Lon- 
don taken together; — so great was the pro- 
portion in which his fortune had declined 
during eighteen years of employment in 
offices of such trust, advantage, and honour.t 
In this situation the clergy voted, as a testi- 
monial of their gratitude to him, the sum of 
5000/., which, according to the rate of inte- 
rest at that time, would have yielded him 
500/. a year, being ten times the yearly sum 
which he could then call his own. But good 
and honourable as he knew their messengers, 
of whom Tunstall was one, to be, he declar- 
ed, '■'■that he would rather cast their vioney 
into the sea than lake it ;" — not speaking tVom 
a boastful pride, most foreign from his nature, 
but shrinking with a sort of instinctive deli- 
cacy from the touch of money, even before 
he considered how much the acceptance of 
the gift might impair his u.sefulness. 

His resources were of a nobler nature. 
The simplicity of his tastes, and the mode- 
ration of his indulgences rendered retrench- 
ment a task so easy to himself, as to he 
scarcely perceptible in his personal habits. 
His fool or jester, then a necessary part of a 
great man's establishment, he gave to the 
lord mayor for the time being. His first care 
was to provide for his attendants, by placing 
his gentlemen and yeomen with peers and 
prelates, and his eight Avatermen in the ser- 
vice of his successor Sir T. Audley, to whom 
he gave his great barge, — one of the most 
indispensable appendages of his office in an 
age w hen carriages were unknown. His sor- 
rows were for separation from those whom 
he loved. He called together his children 
and grandchildren, who had hitherto lived 
in peace and love under his patriarchal roof, 
and, lamenting that he could not, as he was 
wont, and as he gladly would, bear out the 
whole charges of them all himself, continue 
living together as they were wont, he prayed 
them to give him their counsel on this trying 
occasion. When he saw them silent, and 
unwilling to risk their opinion, he gave them 
his, seasoned with his natural gaiety, and 
containing some strokes illustrative of the 
state of society at that time : — " I have been 
brought up," quoth he, " at Oxford, at an inn 
of chancery, at Lincoln's Inn, and also in the 
king's court, from the lowest degree to the 
highest, and yet I have at present left me lit- 
tle above 100/. a year" (including the king's 



• Roper, p. 32. 



t Ibid. p. 48. 



* " Honorifice jiissit rex de me testatum rcddere 
quod segro ad preces meas me deraiserit." — More 
to Erasmus. 

t Apology, chop. X. 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



73 



grants;) "so that now if we like to live to- 
gether we must be content to be contributa- 
ries together ; but we must not fall to the low- 
est fare first : — we will begin with Lincoln's 
Inn diet, where many right worshipful and 
of good years do live full well 3 which, if we 
find not ourselves the first year able to main- 
tain, then will we the next year go one step 
to New Inn fare : if that year exceed our abili- 
ty, we will the next year descend to Oxford 
fare, where many grave, learned, and ancient 
fathers are continually conversant. If our 
ability stretch not to maintain either, then 
may we yet with bags and wallets go a beg- 
ging together, and hoping for charity at every 
man's door, to sing Salve regina ; and so still 
keep company and be merry together."* On 
the Sunday following his resignation, he stood 
at the door of his wife's pew in the church, 
where one of Ins dismissed gentlemen had 
been used to stand, and making a low obei- 
sance to Alice as she entered, said to her v.ith 
perfect gravity^ — '• Madam, my lord is gone." 
He who for seventeen years had not raised his 
voice in displeasure, could not be expected 
to sacrifice the gratification of his innocent 
merriment to the heaviest blows of fortune. 

Nor did he at fit times fail to prepare his 
beloved children for those more cruel strokes 
which he began to foresee. Disconrsing with 
them, he enlarged on the happiness of suf- 
fering for the love of God, the Iosr of goods, 
of liberty, of lands, of life. He would further 
say unto them, " that if he might perceive 
his wife and children would encourage him 
to die in a good cause, it should so comfort 
him, that for very joy, it would make J;iim 
run merrily to death." 

It must be owned that Henry felt the 
weight of this great man's opinion, and tried 
every possible means to obtain at least the 
appearance of his spontaneous approbation. 
Tunstall and other prelates were command- 
ett to desire his attendance at the coronat on 
of Anne at Westminster. They wrote a let- 
ler to persuade him to comply, and accom- 

Eanied it with the needful present of 20L to 
uy a court dress. Such overtures he had 
foreseen ; for he said some time before to 
Roper, M'hen he first heard of that marriage, 
"God grant, son Roper, that these matters 
within a while be not confirmed with oaths !" 
He accordingly answered his friends the bi- 
shops well : — •' Take heed, my lords : by pro- 
curing your lordships to be present at the 
coronation, they will next ask you to preach 
for the setting forth thereof; and finally to 
wrhe books to all the world in defence 
thereof." 

Another opportunity soon presented itself 
for trying to subdue the obstinacy of More, 
whom a man of violent nature might believe 
to be fearful, because he was peaceful. 
Elizabeth Barton, called " the holy maid of 
Kent," who had been, for a considerable 
number of years, afflicted by convulsive 
maladies, felt her morbid susceptibility so 



* Roper, pp. 51, 52. 
10 



excited by Henry's profane defiance of the 
Catholic Church, and his cruel desertion of 
Catharine, his faithful wife, that her pious 
and humane feelings led her to represent, 
and probably to believe, herself to be visited 
by a divine revelation of those punishments 
which the King was about to draw down on 
himself and on the kingdom. In the univer- 
sal opinion of the sixteenth century, such in- 
terpositions were considered as still occurring. 
The neighbours and visiters of the unfortu- 
nate young woman believed her ravings to 
be prophecies, and the contortions of her 
body to be those of a frame heaving and 
struggling under the awful agitations of di- 
vine inspiration, and confirmed that convic- 
tion of a mission from God, for which she 
was predisposed by her own pious benevo- 
lence, combined with the general error of the 
age. Both Fisher and More appear not to 
have altogether disbelieved her pretensions: 
More expressly declared, that he durst not 
and would not be bold in judging her mira- 
cles.* In the beginning of her prophecies, 
the latter had been commanded by the King 
to inquire into her case ; and he made a re- 
port to Henry, who agreed with him in con- 
sidering the whole of her miraculous preten- 
sions as frivolous, and deserving no farther 
regard. But in 1532, several monks t so 
maonified her performances to More that he 
was prevailed on to see her ; but refused to 
hear her speak about the King, saying to her, 
in general terms, that he had no desire to 
pry into the concerns of others. Pursuant, 
as it is said, to a sentence by or in the Star 
Chamber, she stood in the pillory at Paul's 
Cross, acknowledging herself to be guilty of 
the imposture of claiming inspiration, and 
saying that she was tempted to this fraud by 
the instigation of the devil. Considering the 
circumstances of the case, and the character 
of the parties, it is far more probable that the 
ministers should have obtained a false con- 
fession from her hopes of saving her life, than 
that a simple woman should have contrived 
and carried on, for many years, a system of 
complicated and elaborate imposture. It 
would not be inconsistent with this aquittal, 
to allow that, in the course of her self-delu- 
sion, she should have been induced, by some 
ecclesiastics of the tottering Church, to take 
an active part in these pious frauds, which 
th'TC is loo much reason to believe that per- 
sons of unfeigned religion have been often 
so far misgniided by enthusiastic zeal, as to 
perpetrate or to patronize. But whatever 
were the motives or the extent of the "holy 
maid's" confession, it availed her nothing; 
for in the session of parliament which met 
in Januar)-, 1534, she and her ecclesiastical 
prompters were attainted of high treason, and 
adjudged to suffer death as traitors. Fisher, 
bishop of Rochester, and others, were attain- 
ted of misprision, or concealment of treason, 
for which they were adjudged to forfeiture 

♦ Letter to Cromwell, probably written in too 
end of 1532. 
+ Of whom some were afterwards executed. 



74 



RIACKINTOSirS MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



niul iinprisoiuneiit dminsj the King's ploa- 
suro.* Tlio '' holy maid," witli lior spiritual 
jiuidos, sutl'mvil ileath at Tyburn on tht? 'J 1st 
of April, sho oonlirniinii her former confes- 
sion, but layinir her erime to the charge of 
her companions, if we may implicitly beheve 
the historians of the victorious jvirly.t 

Fisher aiul Ills supposed accomplices in 
misprision remained in prison according to 
their attainder. Of JSlore the statute makes 
no mention; but it contains a provision, 
which, when it is combined with other cir- 
cumstances to be presently related, appears 
to have been added to the bill for the pur- 
pose of pi-ovidnig for his safety. Hy this 
provision, the King's majesty, at tlio humble 
suit of his well beloved wite Queen Aune, 
jx^rilons all persons not expressly by name 
attainted by the statute, for all misprision 
and concealments relating to the false and 
feignetl miracles and prophecies of Elizabeth 
Barton, on or before the '.JOih day of October, 
1533. Now we are told by Koper.t ••that 
Sir Thomas INIore's name was originally in- 
serted in the bill,'' tiie King supposing that 
this bill would •' to Sir Thomas More be so 
troublous and terrible, that it would force 
him to relent and condescend to his request; 
wherein his grace was much deceived.'' 
More was personally to have been received 
to make answer in his own defence : but the 
King, not liking that, sent tlie Archbishop of 
Guiterbnry, the Chancellor, the Duke of Nor- 
folk, and Cromwell, to attempt liis conver- 
sion. Audley reminded More of the King's 
special favour and many benetits: ^lore ad- 
mitted them ; but moileslly added, that his 
highness had most graciously declared that 
on this matter he should be molested no 
more. When in the end they saw that no 
persuasion could move him. they then s;iid, 
•• that the King's highness had given them 
in commandment, if they could by no gen- 
tleness win him, in the King's name with 
ingratitude to charge him, that never was 
servant to his master so villainous.§ nor sub- 
ject to his prince so traitorous as he." They 
even reproached him for having either writ- 
ten in the name of his master, or betrayed 
his sovereign into writing, the book ag-aiust 
Luther, which had so deeply pledged Henry 
to the support of Papal pretensions. To 
these upbraidings he calmly answered : — 
'■The terrors are arguments fot children, 
and not lor me. As to the fact, the King 
kuoweth, tliat after the book was liiiished by 
his highness's appointment, or the consent of 
tlie maker, I was only a sorter out and placer 
of the principal matters therein contained." 

• -25 11. viii. c. 1-2. 

+ SuiMi as Hall nnd Holinshed. t p. 63. 

^ Like n slave or a xillaiii. The word in the 
niouih of iheso "tMiilemen .appears to liave been 
in a siato of iransiiion. about liio middle point be- 
tween ilie original sense of " like a slave," and 
its inodtM-n ai-oepiaiion o( moan or malignant of- 
fenders. What proof is not si^pplied by this single 
fact in the history of the language of the masters, 
of their eonvieiion. thai the slavery maiiuoinod by 
Uiom doomed the slaves to depravity ! 



He added, that he had warned the King of 
the prudence of " touchitig the pope's au- 
thority more slemierly, and that he liad re- 
minded Hemy of the statutes of prcHK/iitrc," 
whereby '* a. good part of the poj)e's pastoral 
care was pared away;" and tnat impetuous 
monarch luid auswereil, '• We are so much 
bounden unto the See of Rome, that,we can- 
not do too much honour unto it."" On ISlorc'a 
return to Chelsea from his interview with 
these lords, Roper s;iid to him : — " I hope all 
is well, since you are so merry ?"' — ■• It is so, 
indeed,"' said More, '-I thank Cod."' — "Are 
you, then, out of the parliament bill ?"' said 
Roper — "By my troth, I never remembered 
it ; but," s;xid JNIore, "I will tell thee why I 
was so merry; because I liad given the devil a 
foul fall, ami that with those loiils 1 had gone 
so far, as without gieat shame I can never 
go back ag-ain." This fi-ank avowal of the 
power of temptation, and this simple joy at 
having at the hazard of life escaped from 
the farther seductions of the court, bestows 
a greatness on these few and familiar wonls 
which scarcely belongs to any other of the 
sayings of man. 

Homy, incensed at the failure of wheedling 
and threatening measures, broke out into vio- 
lent declarations of his resolution to include 
More in the attainder, and said that he 
should be personally present to insure the 
passing of the bill. Lord Audley and his 
colleagues on their knees besought their 
master to forbear, lest by an overthrow in 
his own presence, he mi-iht be contemned by 
his own subjects, and dishonoured through- 
out Christendom for ever , — adding, that they 
doubHnl not that they should find a more 
meet occasion "to serve his turn ;" for that 
in this case of the nun he was so clearly in- 
nocent, that men deemed him far worthier 
of praise than of reproof. Henry was com- 
pelled to yield.* buch was the power of 
defenceless virtue over the slender remains 
of independence among slavish peers, and 
over the lingering renniants of common hu- 
manity which might still be mingleil with a 
cooler policy in the bosoms of subservient 
politicians. Otie of the worst of that race, 
Thomas Cromwell, on meeting Roper in the 
Parliament House next day after the King 
assented to the prayer of his ministers, told 
him to tell INIore that he was put out of the 
bill. Rooer sent a messenger to Margaret 
Roper, who hastened to her beloved father 
with the tidings. More answered her, with 
his usual gaiety and fondness, " In faith. 
Megg, what is put oti" is not given up."T 



* The House of Lords addressed the King, 
praying him to declare whether it would be agree- 
able to his pleasure that Sir Thomas More and 
others should not be heard in their own defence 
before "the lords in the royal senate called the 
Sti-rr Chamber." Nothing more appears on the 
Journals relaiinii to this matter. Lords' Journals, 
6th March. 1.133. The Journals prove the narra- 
tive of Roper, iVom which the text is composed, 
to be as accurate as it is beanliful. 

+ He spoke to her in his conversational Latin,— 
*' Quod differtur Hon aiifirtur." 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



75 



Soon after, the Duke of Norfolk Raid to hirn, 
— " Jiy tho mass! Master Moro, it \h peril- 
ous Blriviiifj with princes: the anger of a 
prince brin;,'» death." — '' Is that all, ray lord ? 
then the differeiice between you and rne is 
but lhis_ — that I shall die to-daij, and you to- 
morrow! No life in Plutarch is more full 
of happy sayififrs and strikinj;^ retorts than 
that of More: but the ter.seness and liveli- 
ness of his are justly overlooked in the 
contf-mplatiou of that union of perfect sim- 
plicity with moral grandeur, which, perhaps, 
no othf;r human being has so uniformly 
rcachful. 

liy a tyrannical edict, miscalled "a law," 
in the same session of ].')33-4, it was made 
high treason, after the 1st of May, 15.34, by 
writing, print, deed or act, to do or to pro- 
cure, or cause to be done or procured, any 
thing to the prejudice, slander, disturbance, 
or derogation of the King's lawful matrimony 
with Queen Anne. If the same offences 
should be committed by words, they were 
to be only misprision. The same act en- 
joined all persons to take an oath to main- 
tain its whole contents ; and an obstinate re- 
fusal to make oath was subjected to the 
j^enalties of misprision. No form of oath 
was enacted, but on the 30th of March,* 
1534. which was the day of closing the ses- 
sion, the Chancellor Audley, when the com- 
mons were at the bar, but wh<;n they could 
neither deliberate nor assent, read the King's 
letters patent, containing one, and appointing 
the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Chancel- 
lor, the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, to be 
commissioners for admiin'slering it. 

More was summoned to appt;ar before 
these commissioners at Lambeih, on Mon- 
day the 13th of April. On other occasions 
he had used, at his departure from his wife 
and children, whom he tenderly loved, to 
have them brought to his boat, and there to 
kiss th(;m, and bid them all farewell. At 
this time he would suffer none of them to 
follow him forth of the gate, but pulled the 
wicket after him, and shut them all from 
him, and with Roper and four servants took 
boat towards Lambeth. He sat for a while; 
but at last, his mind being lightened and re- 
lieved by those high principles to which with 
him every low consideration yi(d(l(,'d, whis- 
pered : — "Son Roper! I thank our Lord, the 
field is won." — "As I conjectured," says 
Roper, "it was for that his love to God con- 
quered his carnal affections." What follows 
is from an account of his conduct during the 
subsequent examination at Lambeth sent to 
his darling child, Margaret Roper. After 
having read the statute and the form of the 
oath, he declared fiis readiness to swear that 
he would maintain and defend the order of 
succession to the crown as established by 
parliament. He disclaimed all censure of 
those who had imposed, or on those who had 
taken, the oath, but declared it to be impos- 
sible that he could swear to the whole con- 



♦ Lords' Journals, vol. i. p. 82. 



tents of it, without offending against his owti 
conscience; adding, that if they doubted 
whether his refusal pioceeded from pure 
sciuple of conscience or from his own plian- 
lasies, he was willing to .satisfy their doubts 
by oatli. The commissioners urged that he 
was the first \\ho refused^it; ihev showed 
him the subscriptions of all the lords and 
commons who had sworn; and they held 
out tfie King's sure displeasure against him 
should he be the single recusant. When he 
was called on a second time, they chaiged 
riim with obstinacy for not mentioning any 
special part of the oath which wounded his 
conscience. He answered, that if he were 
to open his reasons fur refusal farther, he 
should exasperate the King still more: he 
offered, bowever, to assign them if the lords 
would procure the King's assurance llial the 
avowal of the grounds of his defence should 
not be considered as offensive to the King, 
nor prove dangerous to himself. The com- 
missioners answered that such assurances 
would be no defence against a legal charge : 
he offered, however, to trust himself to the 
King's honour. Cranmer took some advan- 
tage of More's cantlour, urging that, as he 
had disclaimed all blame of those who had 
sworn, it was evident that he tho'j<.'ht it only 
doubtful whether the oath was uidawful; 
and desired him to consider w helher the ob- 
ligation to obey the King was nol ab.-olulely 
certain. More was struck with the subtilty 
of this reasoning, which took him hy sur- 
prise, — but not convinced of its solidity: 
notwithstanding his surprise, he seems to 
have almost touched upon the true answer, 
that as the oath contained a profession of 
opinion, — such, for example, as the lawful- 
ness of the King's marriage, on w hich men 
might differ, — it might be declined by some 
and taken by others with ecpial honesty. 
Cromwell, whom More believed to favour 
him, loudly swore that he would rather .see 
his only son had lost his head than that More 
had thus refused the oath; he it was who 
bore the answer to the King, the Chancellor 
Audley distinctly enjoining him to state very 
clearly More's willingness to swear to the 
succession. "Surely," said More, " as to 
swearing to the succession. I see no peril," 
Cromwell was not a good man ; but the gen- 
tle virtue of More subdued even the bad. 
To his own house More never more returned, 
being on the same day committed to the 
custody of the Abbot of Westminster, in 
which he continued four days; and at the 
end of that time, on Friday the 17lh, he was 
conveyed to the Tow er.* 

* Roper tells us ifiai the King, wfio had in'ended 
to dc'sisi from his itnporiuriiiies, was exasperated 
hy Queen Anne's clamour to lender the oaih at 
Lambeth; l)ut he detested that unhappy lady, 
whose riiarriaue was the occasion of More's ruin: 
and ihouish Roper was an uniiiipea('hal>lc witness 
relating to Sir Thomas' conversation, he is of lesa 
weiaht as to what passed in the interior of tho 
palace 'I'he ministers mi<:;iit have told such a 
story to excuse themselves to Rnper: Anne cculd 
have bad no opportunity of contradiction. 



76 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Soon after the commencement of the ses- 
sion, which began on the 3d of November 
following:,* an act was -passed which ratified, 
and professed to recite, the form of oath pro- 
mulgTited on the day oi the prorogation : and 
enacted that the oath therein recited should 
be reputed to be lh« very oath intended by the 
former act ;t though there were, in fact, some 
substantial and important interpolations in 
the latter act; — such as the words '-'most 
dear and entirely beloved, lawful wife, Queen 
Anne," which tended to* render that form 
still less acceptable than before, to the scru- 
pulous consciences of More and Fisher. Be- 
fore the end of the same session two statutest 
were passed attainting More and Fisher of 
misprision of treason, and specifying the pun- 
ishment to be imprisonment of body and loss 
of goods. By that which relates to More, 
the King's grants of land to him in 1523 and 
1525 are resumed ; it is also therein recited 
that he refused the oath since the 1st of May 
of 1534, with an intent to sow sedition ; and 
he is reproached for having demeaned him- 
self in other respects Ungratefully and un- 
Kindly to the King, his benefacior. 

That this statement of the legislative mea- 
sures which preceded it is necessary to a 
consideration of the legality of More's trial, 
which must be owned to be a part of its jus- 
tice, will appear in its proper place. In the 
mean time, the few preparatory incidents 
which occurred during thirteen months' im- 
prisonment, must be briefly related. His 
wife Alice, though an excellent housewife, 
yet in her visits to the Tower handled his 
misfortunes and his scruples loo roughly. 
"Like an ignorant, and somewhat worldly, 
woman, she bluntly said to him, — 'How can 
a man taken for wise, like you, play the fool 
in this close filthy prison, when you might 
be abroad at your liberty, if you would but 
do as the bishops have done V " She en- 
larged on his fair house at Chelsea — "his 
library, gallery, garden, and orchard, together 
with the company of his wife and children." 
He bore with kindness in its most unpleasing 
form, and answered her cheerfully after his 
manner, which was to blend religious feeling 
with quaintness and liveliness : — "Is not this 
house as nigh heaven as mine own V She 
answered him in what then appears to have 
been a homely exclamation of contempt,^ 
" Tilhj valle, tilUj vaUe.'>''\\ He treated her 
harsh language as a wholesome exercise for 
his patience, and replied with equal mild- 
ness, though with more gravity, " Whj' should 
I joy in my gay house, when, if I should rise 
from the grave in seven years, I should not 
fail to find some one there who would bid 
me to go out of doors, for it was none of 
mine ?" It was not thus that his Margaret 
Roper conversed or corresponded with him 

* 2fi H. VIII. c. 2. 

t25 Id. c. 22. ^ 9. Compare Lords' Journals, 
vol. i. p. 82. 

t 2fi H. VIII. c. 22, 23. 

^ Roper, p. 78. 

U Nares' Glossary, London, 1822. 



during his confinement. A short note writ- 
ten to her a little while after his conmit- 
ment, with a coal (his only pen and ink) 
begins, "Mine own good daughter," and 
is closed in the following fond and pious 
words: — "Written with a coal, by your ten- 
der loving father, who in his poor prayers 
forgetteth none of you, nor your babes, nor 
your good husband, nor your father's shrewd 
wife neither." Shortly after, mistaking the 
sense of a letter from her, which he thought 
advised him to compliance, he wrote a rebuke 
of lier supposed purpo.se with the utmost 
vehemence of affection, and the deepest re- 
gard to her judg-ment ! — "I hear many terri- 
ble things towards me; but they all never 
touched me, never so near, nor were they so 
grievous unto me as to see you, my well be- 
loved child, in such a piteous and vehement 
manner, labour to persuade me to a thing 
whereof I have of pure necessity, for respect 
unto myne own soul, so often given you so 
precise an answer before. The matters that 
move my conscience I have sundry times 
shown you, that I will disclose them to no 
one."* Margaret's reply was worthy of 
herself: she acquiesces in his "faithful and 
delectable letter, the faithful messenger of 
his virtuous mind," and almost rejoices in 
his victory over all earthborn cares: — con- 
cluding thus: — "Your own most loving obe- 
dient daughter and bedeswoman,t Margaret 
Roper, who desireth above all worldly things 
to be in John Wood'si stede to do you some 
service." After some time pity prevailed so 
far that she obtained the King's licence to 
resort to her father in the Tower. On her 
first visit, after gratefully performing their 
accustomed devotions, his first care was to 
soothe her afflicted heart by the assurance 
that he saw no cause to reckon himself in 
worse case there than in his own house. On 
another occasion he asked her how Queen 
Anne did? "In faith, father," said she, 
"never better." — "Never better, Megg!" 
quoth he; "alas ! Megg, it pitieth me to re- 
member into what misery, poor soul, she 
shall shortly come." Various attempts con- 
tinued still to be made to cajole him ; partly, 
perhaps, with the hope that his intercourse 
with the beloved Margaret might have soft- 
ened him. Cromwell told him that the King 
was still his good master, and did not wish 
to press his conscience. The lords commis- 
sioners went twice to the Tower to tender 
the oath to him: but neither he nor Fisher 
would advance farther than their original 
declaration of perfect willingness to maintain 
the settlement of the crown, which, being a 
matter purely political, was within the un- 
disputed competence of parliament. They 
refused to include in their oath any other 
matter on account of scruples of conscience, 
which they forbore to particularise, lest they 
might thereby furnish their enemies with a 



* English Works, vol. i. p. 14:^0. 
t His waiiinc;-nian, Iliid. p. 1431. Bedesman 
— one who prays for another. 
X Roper, p. 72. 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



77 



pretext for representing their defence as a 
new crime. A statement of their real ground 
of objection, — that it would be insincere in 
them to declare upon oath, that they be- 
lieved the King's marriage with Anne to be 
lawful, — might, in defending themselves 
against a charge of misprision of treason, 
have exposed them to the penalties of high 
treason. 

Two difficulties occurred in reconciling 
the destruction of the victim with any form 
or colour of law. The first of them consisted 
in the circumstance that the naked act of 
refusing the oath was, even by the late 
statute, punishable only as a misprision ; and 
though concealment of treason was never 
expressly declared to be only a misprision 
till the statute to that effect was passed un- 
der Philip and Mary,* — chiefly perhaps oc- 
casioned by the case of More, — yet it seemed 
strange thus to prosecute him for the refusal, 
as an act of treason, after it had been posi- 
tively made punishable as a misprision by a 
general statute, and after a special act of 
attainder for misprision had been passed 
against him. Both these enactments were, 
on the supposition of the refusal being in- 
dictable for treason, absolutely useless, and 
such as tended to make More believe that 
he was safe as long as he remained sileiit. 
The second has been already intimated, that 
he had yet said nothing which could be tor- 
tured into a semblance of those acts deroga- 
tory to the King's marriage, which had been 
made treason. To conquer this last diffi- 
culty. Sir Robin Rich, the solicitor-general, 
undertook the infamous task of betraying 
More into some declaration, in a confidential 
conversation, and under pretext of familiar 
friendship, which might be pretended to be 
treasonable. What the success of this flagi- 
tious attempt was, the reader will see in the 
account of More's trial. It appears from a 
letter of Margaret Roper, apparently written 
sometime in the winter, that his persecutors 
now tried another expedient for vanquishing 
his constancy, by restraining him from at- 
tending church ; and she adds, " from the 
company of my good mother and his poor 
children."t More, in his answer, expresses 
his wonted affection in very familiar, but in 
most significant language: — "If I were to 
declare in writing how much pleasure your 
daughterly loving letters gave me, a peck of 
coals would not suffice to make the pens." 
So confident was he of his innocence, and so 
safe did he deem himself on the side of law, 
that " he believed some new causeless sus- 
picion, founded upon some secret sinister in- 
formation," had risen up against him.t 

On the 2d or 3d of May, 1535, More in- 
formed his dear daughter of a visit from 
Cromwell, attended by the attorney and so- 
licitor-general, and certain civilians, at which 
Cromwell had urged to him the statute which 

* 1 & 2 Phil, and Mar. c. 10. 
t English Works, vol. i. p. 1446. 
I Ibid. p. 1447. 



made the King head of the Church, and re- 
quired an answer on that subject ; and that 
he had •replied: — "I am the King's true 
faithful subject, and daily bedesman : I say 
no harm, and do no harm ; and if this be not 
enough to keep a man alive, in good faith I 
long not to live." This ineffectual attempt 
was followed by another visit from Cranraer, 
the Chancellor, the Duke of Suftblk^ the Earl 
of Wiltshire, and Cromwell, who, alter much 
argument, tendered an oath, by which he 
was to promise to make answers to questions 
which they might put ■* and on his decisive 
refusal, Cromwell gave him to understand 
that, agreeably to the language at the former 
conference, '^ his grace would follow the 
course of his laws towards such as he should 
find obstinate." Cianmer, who too generally 
complied with evil counsels, but nearly al- 
ways laboured to prevent their execution, 
wrote a persuasive letter to Cromwell, ear- 
nestly praying the King to be content with 
More and Fisher's proffered engagement to 
maintain the succession, which would ren- 
der the whole nation unanimous on the prac- 
tical part of that great subject. 

On the 6th of the same month, almost im- 
mediately after the defeat of every attempt 
to practise on his firmness, More was brought 
to trial at Westminster) and it will scarcely 
be doubted, that no such culprit stood at any 
European bar for a thousand years. It is 
rather from caution than from necessity that 
the ages of Roman domination are excluded 
from the comparison. It does not seem that 
in any moral respect Soeraies himself could 
claim a superiority. It is lamentable that 
the records of the proceedings against such 
a man should be scanty. We do not cer- 
tainly know the specific offence of which he 
was convicted. There does not seem, how- 
ever, to be much doubt that the prosecution 
was under the act "for the establishment 
of the king's succession," passed in the ses- 
sion of 1533-4,t which made it high treason 
" to do any thing to the prejudice, slander, 
disturbance, or derogation of the lawful mar- 
riage" between Henry and Anne. Almost 
any act, done or declined, might be forced 
within the undefined limits of such vague 
terms. In this case the prosecutors proba- 
bly represented his refusal to answer certain 
questions which, according to them, must 
have related to the marriage, his observa- 
tions at his last examination, and especially 
his conversation with Rich, as overt acts of 
that treason, inasmuch as it must have been 
known by him that his conduct on these oc- 
casions tended to create a general doubt of 
the legitimacy of the marriage. 

To the first alleged instance of his resist- 
ance to the King, which consisted in his 
original judgment against the marriage, ha 
answered in a manner which rendered reply 
impossible; "that it could never be treason 
for one of the King's advisers to give hira 



* English Works, vol. i. p. 
t 25 H. VIII. c. 22 
02 



1452. 



78 



MACk'lNTOSlI'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



hoMCHt lulvii'o." On the likt> refusal irsnoot- 
iii;^ tln< Iviiii;'}* luMilsliip of iIk' Climi-li, ho 
iuit»wi'r»>il lliat '• no man (.-ouKl be punishcil 
for silcnoi<." 'I'lio attorni'V-j^tMicral saiil, tlial 
llio prisoni'i's silcnoo was " n^alioion^»:" — 
Moro jnslly answtMtHi, tluit ''ho hail u lii^hl 
to bo «ilont whoro his hinj;uairo was hkoly 
to bo injniionsly niisoonstrnoil.'' Uosport- 
iiijj his loltois to Bishoj> Kishor, \]\cy woio 
bmiit, anil no oviilonoo was olfoioil of ihoir 
contonts, whioh ho soloiunly ihvlaioil lo havo 
no lolalion to tht> ohariios. Anil as to tho 
last ohaiijo, that ho luul oalloil iho Art of Sol- 
lloniont "a two-o>li;i'il swonl, whioh wonKl 
doslioy his sonl if lio oomplioil with it, and 
his l)Oily if 1\(< lofnsoil," il was unswoioil by 
him. that '• ho supposoil tho roasou of his 
rotiis;vl to bo oiinailv gooil, whothor tho 
.(Juostion lod to an olVonco an'ainst liis coii- 
scionco, Of lo tho nooossity of ciimMiulinf>- 
himsolf." 

Cioniwoll had bofoio told hi in, ihal llxni^h 
ho was snlioriny; por|ioInal impnsomnont lor 
tho niispiision, that pnnislnnont did not ro- 
loaso hun tVom his allo!;ianoo, and that ho 
was anionalilo to tho law for Iroason ;-- ovor- 
looUin^ tho ossonlial oiroinustanoos, that tho 
fai.'ls laid as troason woro tho san\o on whioh 
tho altaindor for misprision was fonndod. 
Evou il' this woro not a striotly n>aintainablo 
objoolion in toohnioal law, it oortainly show- 
ed tho llai^ranl injuslioo of tho wholo pro- 
ocudiui!;. 

Tho ovidonoo, howovor, of any siioh stroiig 
circunisianoos atlondant on tho rofusal us 
cx)iild raiso il into an aot of troason innst 
havo Rooniod dofootivo; for tho prosooutors 
woro rodiu'od to tho nooossity of oxauunin^; 
Rich, ono of thoir own nninbor, to provo oir- 
cunistanoos of whioh ho oonld havo had no 
knowlodfjo, without Iho fonlost troaohory on 
his part, llo said, that ho had tjono to l\h>ro 
as a iViond, and had asUod him, if an aot of 
parliamonl had mado him, Uioh, kiiiij, wonld 
not ho, Moro, aoknowlodi^o him. I\loro had 
said, "Vos, sir, that I wonld !'' — '■ If thoy 
doolaroil mo popo, would yon aoknowlodi^o 
mo?" — "In tho lirst oaso, I havo no donbl 
about lou'vporal liovornmonls ; but suppose* 
tho parlianuMit si\onld mako a law that tlod 
should not bo (Jod, would yon thon, l\lr. 
Rich, Kiy that (Jod slu>uld not bo (Jod ?'' — 
"No," says llich, '' no pavlianuNit could 
mako suoh a law." Uioh wont on to swoar, 
that IMoro had iiddod, '• No moro could tho 
puiliamont u\ako tho King- tho snpromo hoad 
of tho Church." Moro diMiiod tho latter 
part of Uioh's evidence altoiiothor ; which is, 
indeed, inconsistent with tho wholo tenor 
of his lan;:inai;e : ho was th(>n comnolled to 
expose tho protli^acy of Ixich's cliaraotor. 
"1 am," ht> said, ■• n\oro sorry for your per- 
jury, than tor mine own peril. Noitlier 1, nor 
any man, ever took you to bo a person of 
such credit as I could communicate with on 
puch matter*. Wo dwelt iu>ar\u one parish, 
and you wore always esteemed very lii;ht of 
your touiiuo, and not of any oommondablo 
Taint). Ciiw il bo likely to your lordships that 



I sliould so nnadvisivlly overshoot myself, a« 
to trust Mr. Ivioh with w h.it I have coiicealod 
from tho Kin;;, or any of his noble and f.nave 
counsellors.'" Tho credit of Rich was so 
iloe[)ly wounded, that ho was compollod to 
call !Sir Richard Southwell and Mr. I'almer, 
who woro pr<>sont al tho convor.sation. to 
prop his tolloriiij!; evidonoo. Thoy mado a 
pallry o.vcnso, by alloy,iii^ ihat thoy woro so 
oocupiod in removiiii; Moro's books, that 
thoy did not lislon to tho words of this ex- 
traordinary con versa tiou. 

Tho juiv,* in spite of all those circum- 
slancos, rotmiiod a verdict of "<>uilly." 
Chancellor .\ndloy, who was at the head of 
the commission, of which Spolman and Kitz- 
horbort, eminent lawyers, woro members, 
was about to pronounce jud^niont, when ho 
was interrupted by More, who claimed the 
usual privilege of boiny heard to show that 
jnd^nionl should not bo passed. More ur^ed, 
that ho had so much ground for his scruples 
as at least to exempt his refusal from tho 
imputation of disallection, or of what tho 
law dooms lo bo malice. Tho chancellor 
asked him once more how his scrnplos could 
balance tho weight of the parliament, peo- 
ple, and Church of Hnf;land l — a topic which 
liail boon used against him at every inter- 
view and coiileronce since ho was broniiht 
j>risonor to I.amboth. Tho appeal to weijiht 
of authority iiilliioiicin^' Coiuscionco was. how- 
ever, siniiiilarly unforlunato. Moro answer- 
ed, as ho had always done, ''Nino out of toi\ 
of Christians now in tho world think with 
mo; nearly all tho learned doctors and holv 
fathers who are already ili>ad, aj;roo with 
me; and therefore 1 think myself not buniul 
to conform my conscience to tho councell ol 
ono realm against tho general consent of all 
Christendom." Chief .luslico Fil/james con- 
curred in tho suHiciency of tho indictment ; 
which, after tho verdict of tho jury, was tlio 
only matter before tho court. 

The chancellor then ))ionouncod the sii- 
vaiio sentence which tho law then directed 
in cases of treason. More, haviuii no loiiiior 
any measures to keep, openly dociarod, that 
after seven years' study, '-ho could liiul no 
colour for hoKlinj;' thai a layman could bo 
head of the Church." The commiss oneis 
once moreon'orod him a favourable audicuco 
for any nuxttor which lio had to propo.so. — 
'•I\loio liavo I not to say, my lords," he i-e- 
pliod, "but that as St. I'aul hold the clothes 
of those who stoned Stephen to death, and 
as thoy are both now saints in heaven, and 
shall continue there friends for over; so I 
verily trust, and shall therefore right heartily 
pravi that though your lordshii>s havo now 
liore on earth boon judges to my condemna- 
tion, wo may, nevertheless, hereafter eheer- 

• Sir T. ralmor, Sir T. nont, O. I.ovoll, cs- 
quire, Thomiis IUnlm(jo, e.^ipiiro, niul C. Climu- 
l)t<r. Kilwiinl SuK-kmoro, Wiliiiiin Urown. .lasnor 
Leake, 'rhoiniis Uellington, John I'lunoll, Ki- 
eliard ncllamy, and G. bioakes, gonllcnieii, were 
tho jury. 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 



79 



fully meet in heaven, in everlasting salva- 
tion."* 

Sir W. Kinj^Hton, "his very dear friend," 
constaljl(! of tlie Tower, as, with tears- run- 
ning; down his cheeks, he conducted him 
from Werttminster, condoled with his prison- 
er, who (!nd(!avour<!d to assuaj^t; the Horrow 
of his friend by the con.solations of r(!lif,non. 
The same f;(;nt!eman saiil all(!rwards to 
Roper, — " I was asharniid of niyscdl wh(;n [ 
found my hrsart ko leehle, and his so strf)iif^." 
Marf^arel llop(!r, his ^ood an;:^(;L watchinl i'or 
his iaiiilin;^ at llu! Tower wharf. " After his 
bltfssin;^ upon in-rkiiefis revenMitly n^ceivcjd, 
without ear(! of hers(df, |)ressinjf in the midst 
of lh(5 throng, and the guards that were about 
him with halborts and bills, she liaslily ran 
to him, and openly, in sight of them ail, em- 
braced and kisse(l him. Me gave her again 
his fatlierly bl(!ssing. After separation she, 
all ravished with tlie entire love of lu^r dear 
father, suddrndy tinned back again, ran to 
him as bid'oro, look him about th(; neck, and 
divers timi^s kissed him most lovingly, — a 
sight which made many of the beholders 
weep and mourn. "t Tfuis tender was the 
heart of tlw! admirable woman who had at 
the sam(! tirn(! the grc^alncss of soul to 
fltron^tln-n h(M- fatluir's fortitude, by disclaim- 
ing the advice for which he, having mistaken 
h»!r mfMiiing, had meekly rebuked her, — to 
prefer lift; to right. 

On this Mill of June, More was once more 
e.vamini.'d by four civilians in the Towcn-. 
"He was asked, first, whf;thf!r he would 
obey the King as supreme head of this 
Church of Ivigland on (jarth irruni;dial(!ly 
under Christ '( to which he said, that he could 
make no answer: secondly, wln;th(;r he 
would consent to the King's marriage with 
Queen Anne, and affirm the marriage with 
the lady Catliarine to have been unlawful ? 
to which he answered that he did never 
speak nor meddle against the same: and, 
thirdly, wlKUlnsr he was not bound to answer 
the said ()Ui;stion, and to rcjcognist! the luiad- 
ship as aforesaid '? to which he said, that he 
could rnak(! no answer. "f It is evident that 
these iMt(!rrogatori(!S, into which some terms 

f»eculiar!y objectionable to Mon; were now 
or the first time inserted, were contrived 
for the sole purpose of reducing the illustri- 
ous victim to the oj)tion ef uttering a lie, or 
of suffi'ring death. The eonepirators against 
him might, perhaps, have had a faint idea 
4hat they had at length broken his spirit; 
and if Ik; persisted, they might have hopeil 
that hi! could be represiMited as bringing de- 
struction on himself by his own obstinacy. 
Such, however, was his calm and well-ord(;r- 
ed mind, that he said and did nothing to pro- 
voke his fate. Had he given affirmative 
answers, he would have sworn falsely : he 
was the martyr of veracity ; he perished 
only because he was sincere. 

On Monday, the 5lh of July, ho wrote a 
farewell letter to Margaret Roper, with his 



• Roper, p. 90. t Ibid. p. 90. t Ibid. p. 92. 



usual materials of coal. It contained bless- 
ings on all his children by name, with a kind 
remembiaiice ev<;n to one of Margaret's 
maids. Adverting to their last inlmview, 
on the (pjay, he says, — "I never liketl your 
manner towards me better than when you 
kissed me last ; for I love when daughterly 
lov(!and dear charity have no leisure to looK 
to worldly courtesy." 

Karly the iie\t morning Sir Thf)mas Popo, 
"his singular good friend," came to him 
with a message from the King and council, 
to .say ihat he should di<; bcfor(! nine o'clock 
of the same morning. "The King's plea- 
sure;," said Pope, "is that yon shall not use 
many words." — " I did pur[)ose," answered 
More, " to- have spokfni somewhat, but I 
will conform myself to the King's command- 
miJiit, and I beseech you to obtain fiom him 
that my daughter Margaret may be present 
at my burial." — "The King is already con- 
t(!nt that your wife, children, and other 
friends shall be jjresent thereat." 'i'he Uvu- 
tenaiit brought him to the scaffold, which 
was so weak that it was ready to fall ; on 
which h(; said, merrily, "Master lieutenant, 
I pray you sei; me .sale u[), and for my com- 
ing down let me shift for myself." When 
he laid his head on the block he desired the 
executioner to wait till he had removed his 
beard, " for that had never oil'encli'd his 
highness," — ere the a.\e fell. 

He has beini censured by some for such 
levities at the moment of death. These are 
censorious cavils, which would not be wor- 
thy of an allusion if they had not occasioned 
some sentenc(!s of as noble reflection, and 
b(!autiful composition, as the English lan- 
guage contains. " The innocent mirth, which 
had been .so conspicuous in his liA,', did not 
for.sake him to the last. His death was of a 
piece with his life; there was nothing in it 
new, forced, or affiicted. He did not look 
upon the severing his head from his body as 
a circumstance which ought to produce any 
chang(! in the disposition of his mind; and 
as he di(!d in a fixed and settled hope of im- 
mortality, he thought any unusual degree of 
sorrow and concern improper."* 

According to the barbarous practice of 
laws which vainly struggle to carry their 
cruelty beyond the grave, the head of Sir 
Thomas More was placed on London bridge. 
His darling daughter, Margaret, had the 
courage to procure it to be taken down, that 
she might exercise her afTection by continu- 
ing to look on a relic so dear; and carrying 
her love beyond the grave, she desired that 
it might be buried with her when she died.t 
The remains of this precious relic are said 
to have been since observed, lying on what 
had once been her bosom. The male de- 
scendants of this admirable woman appear 
to have been soon extinct : her descendants 
through females are probably numerous.} 

♦ Spcctolor, No. 349. 

tStie survived licr fiiilior nl)Out nine yenrs. 
t One of tiiein, Mr. James Hinum l^avcrslock, 
iiucricd his noble pedigree from Margaret, in 



80 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



She resembled her father in mind, in man- 
ner, ill the feaiuies and t'X[)iossion of her 
countenance, and in her form ami gait. Her 
learning wascclt-'bratcd throughont Christen- 
dom. It is si'Kloin that literature wears a 
more agreeable aspect than when it becomes 
a bond of union between such a father and 
such a (hmghter. 

Sir Thomas More's eldest son, John, mar- 
ried Anne Cresacre, the heiress of an estate, 
still held by his posterity through female.«, 
at Barnborough, near Doncaster,* where the 
mansion of the Alores still subsists. The last 
male desendaut wasThiwnas More, a Jesuit, 
who was principal of the college of Jt>suits 
at Bruges, and died at Batli in 17[)5, Iiaviug 
survived his famous order, and, accortling to 
the appearances of that time, his ancient re- 
ligion ; — as if the family of Mort; were one 
of the many ties which may be traced, 
through the interval of two centuries and 
a half, between the revolutions of religion 
and those of government. 

The letters and narratives of Erasmus dif- 
fused the story of his friend's fate through- 
out Europe. Cardinal Pole bewailed it with 
elegance and feeling. It tilled Italy, then 
the most cultivated portion of Europe, with 
horror. Paulo Jovio called Ileiuy "a Phala- 
ris," though we shall in vain look in the story 
of Phalaris, or of any other real or legendary 
tyrant, for a victim worthy of lieing compared 
lo More. The English ministers throughout 
Europe were regardeil with averted eyes as 
the agents of a monster. At Venice, Henry, 
after this deed, was deemed capable of any 
crimes: he was believed there to have mur- 
dereil Catharine, and to be about to murder 
his daughter INlary.t The Catholic zeal of 
Spain, and the resentment of the Spanish 
people against the oppression of Catharine, 
quickened their sympathy with More, and 
aggravated their detestation of Henry. Mi\- 
son, the envoy at Valladolid, thought every 
pure Latin phrase too weak for More, and 
ctescribes him by one as contrary to the 
rules of that language as "thrice greatest"! 
would be to tliose of ours. When intelli- 
gence of his death was brought to the Em- 
peror Charles V., he sent for Sir T. Elliot, 
the English ambassador, and said to him, 
" My lord ambassailor, we understand that 
the king your master has put his wise coun- 
sellor Sir Thomas JNlore to death." Elliot, 
abashed, made answer that he understood 
nothing thereof. "Well," said the Emperor, 
"it is too true; and this we will say, thit, if 
we iiad been master of such a servant, we 
shouiil rather have lost the best city in our 
dominions than have lost such a worthy 
counsellor;" — "which matter," says Koper, 
in the concluding words of his beautiful 
narrative, "was by Sir T. Elliot told to my- 



1819. ill R copy of More's English Works, at this 
liioiiieiit beloro inc. 

• Muntcr's South Yorkshire, vol. i. np. 374, 375. 

t ICilis' Original Letters, 2d series, leit. c.xvii. 

t Ibid. leu. ex. " Ter moxiinua ille Morus." 



self, my wife, to Mr. Clement and his wife, 
and to Mr. Ileywood and his wife."* 

Of all men nearly perfect. Sir Thomas 
]More had, perhaps, the clearest marks of in- 
diviilual character. His peculiarities, though 
distinguishing him from all others, were yet 
withheld from growing into moral faults. 
It is not enough to say of him that he was 
unaffected, that he was natural, that he was 
simple ; so the larger part of truly great men 
have been. But thert; is something home- 
spun in More which is common to him with 
scarcely any other, and which gives to all 
his faculties and qualities the appearance of 
being the native giowth of the soil. The 
homeliness of Jiis pleasantry purities it from 
show. He walks on the scalfold clad only 
in his household goodness. Th(> unretined 
benignity with which he ruled his patri- 
archal dwelling at Chelsea enabled him to 
look on the a.\e without being disturbed by 
feeling hatred for the tyrant. This cpiality 
bound together his genius and learning, his 
eloipience and fame, with his homely and 
daily duties, — bestowing a genuineness on 
all his good qualities, a dignity on the most 
ortlinary oflices of life, and an accessible fa- 
miliarity on the virtues of a hero and a mar- 
tyr, which silences every suspicion that his 
e.\cellencies were magniiied. He thus sim- 
ply performed great acts, and uttered great 
thoughls, because they were familiar to his 
great soul. The charm of this inborn and 
homebreil character seems as if it would 
have been taken off by polish. It is this 
household character which relieves our no- 
tion of him from vagueness, and divests per- 
fection of that generality and coldness lo 
which the attempt to paint a perfect man is 
so liable. 

It will naturally, and very strongly, excite 
the regret of the good in every age, that the 
life of this best of men shouUl have been in 
the power of one who has been rarely sur- 
passed in wickedness. But the execrable 
llenry was the means of drawing forth the 
magnanimity, the fortitude, and the meek- 
ness of More. Had Henry been a just and 
merciful monarch, we .should not have known 
the degree of e.vcellence to which human 
nature is capable of ascending. Catholics 
ought to see m More, that mildness and can- 
dour are the true ornaments of all modes of 
faith. Protestants ought to be taught hu- 
mility and charity from this instance of the 
wisest and best ot men falling into, what they 
deem, the most fatal errors. All men, in the 
fierce contests of contending factions, should, 
from such an example, learn the wisdom to 
fear lest in their most hated antagonist they 
may strike down a Sir Thomas More: for 
assuredly virtue is not so narrow as to be 
conthied lo any party; and we have in the 



* Instead of Ilcj'wood, perhaps we ought to 
read " Heron f " In that case the three daughters 
of Sir Thomas More would be present : Mrs. 
Roper was the eldest, Mrs. Clement the second, 
and Cecilia Heron the youngest. 



LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. 8 

case of Moro a signal example that iho ru'ar- 1 proof, that we should beware of hating men 
ept approach to perfect exeelleiice does not | for their opinioriB, or of adopting their doc- 
Cvempt men from mistakes whicli we may trines because we* love and venerate theii 
iiistly deem mischievous. It is a preg/iaiit ' virtues. 



APPENDIX, 



A. 

Some parlicnlars in tlic life of Sir Tliomna More 
I am obliged to leave to more fbrtuiialc inquirers. 
They are, indeed, very minute ; but tliey may ap- 
pear to others v/oriUy of iieing ascertained, as ihoy 
appeared to me, from their connection with the 
life of a wise and f^ood man. 

The records of the Privy C-otindl arc preserved 
only since LO-IO, so that we do not exactly know 
the date of his admission into that body. The 
time when he was knighted (ihen a matter of some 
moment) is not known. As the wliole of his life 
passed during the preat chasm in writs for elec- 
tion, and returns of members of parliament, from 
1477 to l.'Jt2, the places for which he sat, and the 
year of his early opposition to a subsidy, are un- 
ascertained ; — notwiihsiandiiif; the obliging exer- 
tion of the gentlemen empioyed in the repositories 
at the Tower, and in tiic Rolls' chaj)cl. We 
know that he was speaker of the House of Com- 
mons in 1523 and 1524.* Browne Willis owns 
his itiabilily to fix theplacfl w]ii<'lt hcreprcscnt<;<l ;t 
but he coiijeciured it to liave been "either Mid- 
dlesex, where Ife resided, or Lancaster, of which 
dischy he was chancellor." 15ut (liat laborious 
and useful writer would not have mentioned the 
lallcr branch of his allernaiive, nor probably the 
former, if he had known that More was not Chan- 
cellor of the Duchy till two years after his sjjcaker- 
ship. 

B. 

An anecdote in More's chancellorship is con- 
nected will) an Kiiglish phrase, of which the origin 
is not quile saiisfucloriJy explaincid. Aii attorney 
in his court, namod 'I'ubb, gave an account in 
court of a cause in which he was concerned, whicli 
the Chancellor (who with all his gentleness loved 
a joke) thought so rambling and incoherent, that 
he said nt the end of Tu!)b s speech, " This is a 
tale of a tub ;" plainly showing that thw phrase 
was then familiarly known. I'lie learned Mr. 
Douce has informed a friend of mine, that in Se- 
bastian Munsier's Cosmography, there is a cut of 
a ship, to which a whale was coming too close for 
her safety, and of ilie sailors throwing a tub to the 
whale, evidently to play with. The prnciicc of 
throwing a tub or iiarrcl to a large fish, to divert the 
animal from gambols dangerous to a vessel, is also 
mentioned in an old prose translation of The .Ship 
of Fools. These passages satisfactorily ex))liiin 
the common jihrase of (browing a tub to a whatc ; 
bnt they do not account for leaving (jut the whale, 
and introducing the new word " tale." 'l"hc 
transition from the first phrase to the second is a 
coiisiderai)le stride. It is not, at least, dircclly 
explained by Mr. Donee's citations ; and no eX' 
plaualion of it has hiiherlo oci-nrred which can be 
supported by proof It may bo thought probai)le 
that, in process of time, some nautical wag com- 
pared a rami)ling story, which he suspected of 
being lengthened and confused, in order to turn 
hia thoughts from a direction not convenient to the 

• K«I1« of Parliament In Lords' JournalA, vol. i. 
t NotHiB Pailiumcntaria, vol. iii. p. 112. 
11 



story-teller, with the tub which he and his shif • 
males were wont to throw out to divert the what > 
from striking the bark, and perha[)8 said, " Thii 
tale is, like our tub to the whale." 'I'he coin- 
parison might have become popular ; and it might 
gradually liayc been ehorlcued into "a tale of a 
tub," 

C. 

E-VTRACTS FROM THE RECORDS OF THE CITY 
OF LONDON RELATING TO THE APl'OINT.MENT 
OF SIR THOMAS MORE TO BE UNDER-SHERIFF 
OF LONDON, AND SOME Al'POINT.MEN TS OF HIS 
IMMEDIATE PREDECESSORS AND OF HIS SUC- 
CESSOR. 

(A. D. 1496. 27th September.) 

"Commune con.silium tentum die Martij 

Vicesimo Sepiimo die Sepletnbr Anno 

Regni Regis Henr Sepiimi duo deeimo. 

" In isio Comvin Consilio Thomas Sail et 

Thomas Marowe confirmati sunt in Subvic Civi- 

tati ; London p anno sequent, &.c." 

(1497.) ..i:/. 

" Comune Consiliii tent die Lune xxv*" die. 
SepTanno Regni Regs Henr vii. xiij". 
" Isto die Thomas Marowe et Ed* Dudley coa* 
fjimat sunt in Sub Vic Sil" London p anno aeqii.'* 

(1498 &, 1501.) 

Similar entries of the confirmalion of Thomas 
Marowe and Edward Dudley are made in the 
Mih, 15th, ICih, and 17th Henry VII., and at a 
court of aldermen, held on the 

(1502.) 

17lh Nov. 18 Henry 7. the following entry 
appears : — 
" Ad hanc Cur Thomas Marowe uns sub vi<ft 
comitii sponte resignat ofTirn euti." 

And at a Common Council held on iha 

same day, is entered — 

" In isto Communi Consilio Radus adye Gcn- 

tilman elecT est in unii Subvic Civitais Lcuidon 

loco Thome Marwe Gcntilmaii qui illud ofhciu 

sponte rcsignavit, capienct feod' consucT." 

" Coe Consilin tent die Marii.s ilj'' die Sep* 

Icmbris anno Regni Reg* Henrici Oc- 

tavi Sccundo. 

" Eodtn die Thorns More Cent elect est in unii 

Subvic" Civiiats London loc Ric IJroke Gent qui 

nup elocl fuit in Recordator London." 

" Martis viij die Mali f)'" Henry 8. 
" Court of Aldermen. 
" Yt ys agreed that Thomas More Gent con 
of L^ndershcryfes of London which shall go oy 
the Kings AmbasseTin to fllaunders shall occupie 
his Rowme and office by his sufTicient Dcoutfl 
untyll his ciimyng home ageyn" 

" Martis xj die Marcii 7 Henry VIII* 
" Court of Aldermen. 



82 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



" Ye shall sweare that ye shall kepe the Secrets 
of this Courie and not to disclose eny thing ther 
spoken for the coen wellhe ol-ihis citie that myght 
hurt eny psone or brother of the seyd courte pules 
yt be spoken to his brothr or to other which in his 
conscience and discrecon shall thynk yt to be lor 
the coen welihe of this citie. 

So help you God." 

" Jovis xiij die Marcii 7 Henry 8. 
" Court of Aldermen. 
"Itrii ad ista Cur Thomas More and Wills 
Shelley Subvice" Ci" London jur sunt ad articlm 
Bupdcfn spect xj die marcii." 



" Venis 23 July, 10 Henry 8. 
Court of Aldermen. 
" Ad istam Cur Thomas More Gent .in Sul». 
vie Ci" in CompuT PuUetr London libe et spont* 
Surr et resigfi officm pdcm in manu Maioris et 
Aldror." 

" Coie Consiliu tent die Venis xxiij die 

Julii annojegni regis Henrici Ociavi de» 

cimo." 

" Isto die Johes Pakyngton Gent admissus est 

in unu subvic Civitals London loco Thome More 

qui spont et libe resignavit OfTiciu illud in Mali 

Maioris aldror et Cols consilii. Et iur est &r " 



A REFUTATION OF THE CLAIM ON BEHALF 

OF 



KING CHAELES I. 



TO THE AUTHORSHIP OF 



THE EIKaN BASIAIKH.* 



A SUCCESSION of problems or puzzles in the 
htorary and political history of modern times 
has occasionally occupied some ingenious 
writers, and amused many idle readers. 
Those who think nothing useful which does 
not yield some palpable and direct advan- 
tage, have, indeed, scornfully rejected such 
inquiries as frivolous and useless. But their 
disdain has not repressed such discussions : 
and it is fortunate that it has not done so. 
Amusement is itself an advantage. The 
vigour which the understanding derives from 
exercise on every subject is a great advan- 
tage. If there is to be any utility in history, 
th^ latter must be accurate, — which it never 
will be, unless there be a solicitude to ascer- 
tain the truth even of its minutest parts. 
History is read with pleasure, and with moral 
effect, only as far as it engages our feelings 
m the merit or demerit, in the fame or for- 
.une, of historical personages. The breath- 
less anxiety with which the obscure and con- 
flicting evidence on a trial at law is watched 
by the bystander is but a variety of the same 
feeling which prompts the reader to examine 
the proofs against Mary, Queen of Scots, 
with as deep an interest as if she were alive, 
and were now on /iC7- trial. And it is wisely 
ordered that it should be so : for our condi- 
tion would not, upon the whole, be bettered 



• Contributed to the Edinburgh Review (vol. 
xliv. p. 1.) as a review of " Who wrote Kin^t 
B(tTiKiK>iV' by Christopher Wordsworth, D. D., 
Master of Trinity College, Cambridge. London, 
1824. -Ed. 



by our feeling less strongly about each 
other's concerns. 

The question "Who wrote Icon Basilike ?" 
seemed more than once to be finally deter 
mined. Before the publication of the pri- 
vate letters of Bishop Gauden, the majority 
of historical inquirers had pronounced it 
spurious; and the only writers of great 
acuteness who maintained its genuineness — 
Warburton and Hume — spoke in a tone 
which rather indicated an anxious desire that 
others should believe, than a firm belief in 
their ovi-n minds. It is perhaps the only 
matter on which the former ever expressed 
himself with diffidence ; and the case must 
indeed have seemed doubtful, which com- 
pelled the most dogmatical and arrogant of 
disputants to adopt a language almost scep- 
tical. The successive publications of those 
letters in Maty's Review, in the third volume 
of the Clarendon Papers, and lastly, but 
most decisively, by Mr. Todd, seemed to 
have closed the dispute. 

The main questions on which the whole 
dispute hinges are. Whether the acts and 
words of Lord Clarendon, of Lord Bristol, of 
Bishop Morley, of Charles II., and James II., 
do not amount to a distinct acknowledgment 
of Gauden's authorship] and, Whether an 
admission of that claim by these persons be 
not a conclusive evidence of its truth 1 If 
these questions can be answered affirma- 
tively, the other parts of the case will not 
require very long consideration. 

The Icon Basilike was intended to pro- 
duce a favourable efTect during the Kine's 



ICON BASILIKE. 



83 



trial ; but its publication was retarded till 
some days after his death, by the jealous 
and rigorous precautions of the ruling powers. 
The impression made on the public by a 
work which purported to convey the pious 
and eloquent language of a dying King, 
could not fail to be very considerable ; and, 
though its genuineness was from the begin- 
ning doubted or disbelieved by some,* it 
would have been wonderful and unnatural, 
if unbounded faith in it had not become one 
of the fundamental articles of a Ro3'alist's 
creed. t Though much stress, therefore, is 
laid by Dr. Wordsworth on passages in anony- 
mous pamphlets published before the Re- 
storation, we can regiird these as really no 
more than instances of the belief which 
must then have only prevailed among that 
great majority ©f Royalists who had no pe- 
culiar reasons for doubt. Opinion, even 
when it was impartial, of the genuineness 
of a writing given before its authenticity 
was seriously questioned, and when the at- 
fenlion of those who gave the opinion was 
not strongly drawn to the subject, must be 
classed in the lowest species of historical 
evidence. One witness who bears testimony 
to a forgery, when the edge of his discern- 
ment is sharpened by an existing dispute, 
outweighs many whose language only indi- 
cates a passive acquiescence in the unex- 
amined sentiments of their own party. It is 
obvious, indeed, that such testimonies must 
be of exceedingly little value ; for every im- 
posture, in any degree successful, must be 
able to appeal to them. Without them, no 
question oh such a subject could ever be 
raised ; since it would be idle to expose the 
spuriousness of what no one appeared to 
think authentic. 

Dr. Gauden, a divine of considerable ta- 
lents, but of a temporizing and interested 
character, was, at the beginning of the Civil 
War, chaplain to the Earl of Warwick, a 
Presbyterian leader. In November 1640, 
after the close imprisonment of Lord Straf- 
ford, he preached a sermon before the House 
of Commons, so agreeable to that assembl)', 
that it is said they presented him with a 
silver tankard, — a token of their esteem 
M'hich (if the story be true) may seem to be 
the stronger for its singularity and unseemli- 
ness. t This discourse seems to have con- 
tained a warm invective against the eccle- 
siastical policy of the Coult ; and it was 
preached not only at a most critical time, 
but on the solemn occasion of the sacrament 
being first taken by the whole House. As a 
reward for so conspicuous a service to the 
Parliamentary cause, he soon after received 

* Milton, Goodwyn, Lilly, &c. 

t See Wagsiaffe's Vindication of King Charles, 
pp. 77—79. London, 1711. 

X The Journals say nothing of the tankard, 
which was probably the gift of some zealous mem- 
bers, but bear, " That the thanks of this house 
be given to Mr. Gaudy and Mr. Morley for their 
Berinons last Sunday, and ihat they be desired, if 
hey please, to print the same." Vol. ii. p. 40, 



the valuable living of Booking in Essex, 
which he held through all the succeeding 
changes of government, — foibearing, of ne- 
cessity, to use the Liturgy, and complying 
with all the conditions which the law then 
required from the beneficed cleigv- It has 
been disputed whether he took the Cove- 
nant, though his own evasive answers imply 
that he had : but it is certain that he pub- 
lished a Protest* against the trial of the 
King in 1648, though that never could have 
pretended to the same merit with the solemn 
Declaration of the whole Presbyterian clergy 
of London against the same proceeding, 
which, however, did not saye them at the 
Restoration. 

At the moment of the Restoration of 
Charles II., he appears, therefore, to have 
had as little public claim on the favour of 
that prince as any clergyman who had con- 
fiOiTned to the ecclesiastical principles of the 
Parliament and the Protectorate ; and he 
was, accordingly, long after called by a 
zealous Royalist "the false Apostate !"t 
Bishoprics were indeed offered to Baxter, 
who refused, and to Reynolds, who accepted, 
a mitre J but if they had not been, as they 
were, men venerable for every virtue, they 
were the acknowledged leaders of the Pres- 
byterians, whose example might have much 
effect in disposing that powerful body to con- 
formity. No such benefit could be hoped 
from the preferment of Gauden: and tliat his 
public character must have rendered him 
rather the object of disfavour than of patron- 
age to the Court at this critical and jealous 
period, will be obvious to those who are 
conversant with one small, but not insignifi- 
cant circumstance. The Presbj'terian party 
is well known to have predominated in the 
Convention Parliament, especially when it 
first assembled ; and it was the policy of the 
whole assembly to give a Presbyterian, or 
moderate and mediatorial colour, to their 
collective proceedings. On the 25th April 
1660. they chose Mr. Calamy, Dr. Gauden, 
and Mr. Baxter, to preach before them, on 
the fast which they then appointed to be 
held, — thus placing Gauden between two 
eminent divines of the Presbyterian persua- 
sion, on an occasion when they appear stu- 
diously to have avoided the appointment of 
an Episcopalian. It is evident that Gauden 
was then thought nearer in principle to Bax- 
ter than to Juxon. He was sufficiently a 
Presbyterian in party to make him no favour- 
ite with the Court : yet he was not so deci- 
ded a Presbyterian in opinion as to have the 
influence among his brethren which could 
make him worth so high a price as a mitre. 
They who dispute his claim to be the writer 
of the Icon, will be the last to ascribe his 
preferment to transcendent abilities: he is 
not mentioned as having ever shown kind- 
ness to Royalists; there is no trace of his 
correspondence with the exiled Court; he 

* The Religious and Loyal Protestation of John 
Gauden, &,c. London, 1(548. 
t Kennet, Register, p. 773, 



84 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



contribulod nothiiicr to^the recall of the King; 
nor iiidoed had he the power of performing 
such atoning services. 

Let ilie reader then snppose himself to 
be ac(iuainted only with the above circvim- 
stances, and let him pause to consider whe- 
ther, in the summer of 16C0, there could be 
many clergymen of the Established Church 
who had fewer and more scanty pretensions 
to a bishopric than Gauden : yet he was 
appointed Bishop of Exeter on the 3d of 
November following. He received, in a few 
months, 20,000/. in Hues for the renewal of 
leases ;* and yet he had scarcely arrived at 
his epispocal palace when, on the 21st of 
December, he wrote a letter to the Lord 
Chancellor Clarendon,! bitterly complaining 
of the '■'distress," '• infelicity," and " horror'' 
of such a bishopric! — '-a hard fate which" 
(he reminds the Chancellor) " he had before 

deprecated." "I make this complaint," 

(he adds,) "to your Lordship, because you 
chiefly put me on this adventure. Your 
Lordship commanded mee to trust in your 
favour for an honourable maintenance and 
some such additional support as might sup- 
ply the defects of the bishopric." * « * 
^'Nor am I so unconscious to the service I have 
done to the Church and to his Majesty's familij, 
as to beare with patience such a ruinc most un- 
deservedhi put upon mee. Are these the effects 
of his libcrall expressions, who told mee I 
might hare ichat I would desire i * * * 
Yf your Lordship wHl not concern yourselfo 
in my alfaire, I must make my last complaint 
to the King." In live days after (2Gth l")e- 
cember 16G0) he wrote another long letter, 
less angry and more melancholy, to the 
Kime great person, which contains the fol- 
lowing remarkable sentence: — "Dr. Morly 
once offered mee my option, upon account of 
sojne service irhich he thought I hiul done e.r- 
traordinani for the Church and the Boiiall 
Family, of u-hich he told mee your Lordship 
was informed. This made mee modestly 
secure of )-our Lordship's favour; though I 
found your Lordship would never owne your 
consciousnes to mee, as if it would have given 
mee too much confidence of a proportionable 
expectation. * * * I knew your Lord- 
ship knew my service and merit to be no 
way inferior to the best of your friends^ or 
gnemyes.^H 

In these two letters, — more covertly in the 
first, more openly in the second, — Gauden 
apprises Lord Clarendon, that Dr. Morly 
(wno was Clarendon's most intimate frienti) 
had acknowledged some cctraordinary sei'vicc 
done by Gauden to the Royal Family, which 
had been made known to the Chancellor; 
thoMgh that nobleman had avoiiled a direct 
acknowledgment of it to the bishop before 
he left London. Gauden appears soon after 
to have written to Sir E. Nichola.s, Secretary 
of State, a letter of so peculiar a character 

• Biogrnphia Briiannica, article " Gauden." 
t Wordsworth, Documentary Supplement, p. 9. 
I Ibid. pp. 11—13. 



as to have been read by the King; for ati 
answer wa.s sent to him by Nicholas, dated 
on the 19th January KiGl, in which the fol- 
lowing sentence ileserves attention: — -'A."* 
lor your owne particular, he desires you not 
to be ifi.scourageil at the poverty of your 
bishoprick at present ; and if that answer 
not the expectation of what was promised 
you, His Jllajcstii will tal,e you so particularly 
into his care, that he bids me cwsure you, that 
you shall hare )io cause to remember Boiking.''* 
These remarkable woi\ls by no means imply 
that Gauden did not then believe that th6 
nature of his " extraoidinary service" had 
been before known to tlie King. They evi- 
dently show his letter to have consisted of 
a complaint of the poveity of his bishopric, 
with an intelligible allusion to this service, 
probably expressed with more caution aticl 
reserve than in his addresws to the Chan- 
cellor. What was really then first made 
known to the King was not his merits, but 
his poverty. On the 21st January, the im- 
portunate prelate again addressed to Claren- 
ilon a letter, explicitly stating the nature of 
his services, probably rendered necessary 
in his opinion by the continued silence of 
Clarendon, who did not answer his applica- 
tions till the 13th March. From this letter 
the following extract is inserted : — 

" All I desire is an augment of 5007. per annum, 
j'l if cannot lioc nt present had in a cotnineiidam ; 
yet passilile the King's favor to me will not gnulg 
mee this pension out- of tlie first tVuiis ajid tenths 
of this diorosse ; till I bee removed or othcrwayes 
provided for : Nor will y' Lordship startle nt this 
motion, or wave the presenting ol it to hys Ma- 
jesty, yf you please to consider the pretensions 
I may have he>/(>nd any of my adliitg, not as to 
merit, but duty performed to the lioyall Family. 
True, I once presumed y' Lordship had fully 
known that arcanum, forsoe Dr. Morlevtold mee, 
at the King's first coming; when he assured 
mee the greatnes of that service was such, that 
I might have any preferment 1 desired. This 
consciousnes of your Lordship (as I supposed) 
and Dr. IMorley, made mee confident my aHaircs 
would bee carried on to some proportion of what 
I iiad done, and he thought deserved. Hence 
my silence of it to your Lordship : as to the King 
and Duke of York, whom before I came away 
I acquainted with it, when I saw myself not io 
much considered in my present disposition as I 
did hope I should have beene, what trace their 
Royall goodnes hath of it is best expressed by 
themselves ; nor do I doubt but I shall, by yoar 
Lordship's favor, find the fruits as to somthing 
extraordinary, since the service was soe : not as 
to what was known to the world under my name, 
in order to vindicate the Crowne and the Church, 
hut what goes under the late blessed King's name, 
' the •I'jt.ly or portraiture of hys Majesty in hys 
solitudes and sutlVrings.' This book and figure 
was wholy and only my invention, making and 
designc ; in order to vindicate the King's wisdome, 
honor and piety. My wife indeed was conscious 
to it, and had an hand in disguising the letters of 
that copy which I sent to the King in the ile of 
Wight, by favor of the late Marquise of Hartford, 
which was delivered to the King by the now 
Bishop of Winchester :t hys Majesty graciously 
accepted, owned, and adopted it as hys sense and 

• Wordsworth, Documentary Supplement, p. 14. 
t Duppa. 



ICON BASILIKE. 



85 



genius; not only with great approbation, but ad- 
niiraiiuii. lli;e kf.'pt it wiih hym ; and tiiough 
bys ciuul niuriliijiers went on to perlcct hys mar- 
tyrdomc, yet God preserved and prospered this 
book to revive hys honor, and redecine hys Ma- 
jesty's name from that grave of contempt and 
aljiiorreiice or infamy, in whi<;h ihey aymed to 
bury hym. When it eame out, jusi upon the 
King's deaih ; Good (jod ! what shame, rage and 
despiic, lilled iiys murilierers ! What comlori 
hys f/iends ! IIovv many enem3'es did it convert ! 
How many in'arls did it molUfy and melt ! What 
devotions it r;iyseH to hys posierity, as children of 
6ueh a faiher! Wliat preparations it made in all 
men's nniids for tills happy rcstauration, and wliieh 
I liope shall not prove myaQbciionl In a word, 
it was an army, and did vanquish more than any 
sword could. My Lord, every good subject con- 
ceived l!()|)es of resiauraiion ; meditated reveng 
and eci)araiion. Your Lordsliip and all gfwd sub- 
jects with hys Majesty enjoy (he recall and now 
ripofruiies of that plant. O let not mce wither! 
who was the author, and ventured wife, children, 
estate, liberty, liie, and all but my soule, in so 
great an atchievcment, which hath filled England 
and all tbe world with the glory of it. I did laiely 
present tny fayth in it lo the Duke of York, and 
by hym to the King; both of them were pleased 
to give mee credit, and owne it as a rare Msrvice 
in those horrors of limes. True, I played this 
best card in my hind something too late ; el.se I 
might have sped as well as Dr. Reynolds and 
sonn; others; ijut I did not lay it as a ground of 
ambi'ioti, nor use it as a lad<ler. Thinkinir mij- 
selfc secure in the just vale.w of Dr. Morel.y, vilin 
1 v)as sure hiiivj it, and laid mee your Lordfhip 
did soe loo;* who, I believe, intended mee som- 
Ihiiig at least competent, though lesse convenient. 
In this [)ref(rment. All that 1 deeire is, that your 
Lordship would make that good, which I tliink 
you designed ; and which I am confident the 
King will not deny rnee, agreeable to hys royall 
munificence, which promiseth extraordinary re- 
wards to extraordinary services: Certainly this 
service i8 such, for the matter, manner, timing 
and efficacy, as was never exceeded, nor wi|l 
ever he equalled, yf I may credit the judgment 
of tin; best and wisest men that have read it; and 
I know your Lru'dship, who is soe great a master 
of wisdoiue and elocjuence, cannot but esteeme 
the author of that pcice ; and accordingly, make 
rnee to see those elfects which may assure mee 
tbat my loyalty, paincs, care, hr.znrd and silence, 
are accepted by the King and Royall Family, lo 
which your Lordship's is now grafted." 

.The BLshop wrote three letters more to 
Clarcrulon, — on the 25th January, 20th Feb- 
ruary, and Clh of March respectively, to 
which on the ' 13th of the last motith the 
Chancellor isettt a reply containing the fol- 
lowing sentence : — The parliadar which you 
often renewed^ I do confesse was iwpat ted to 
me] under secrecy, and of which I did not take 
myself to he at liberty lo lake notice ; ojid truly 
when it ccclscs to be a sccrctt, I know nobody 
will be gladd of it but Mr. Milton ; I have 
very often wished I liad never been trusted 
with it. 

It is proper here to remark, that all the 
letters of Gauden are still extant, endorsed 



* Tl is not to be inferred from this and the like 
passages, that Ganden d<iubted ihe previous com- 
munication of Morley to Clarendon : he usee 
such language as a reproach to the Chancellor 
lor liis silence. 4,^ 

t Evidently by Morley. 



by Lord Clarendon, or by his eldest son. In 
the c/)urse of three months, then, it appears 
that Gauden, with unusual innportunity and 
confidence, with complaints which were dis- 
guised reproaches, and sometimes with an 
approach to menace?, asserted his claim to 
be richly rewarded, as the author of the Icon. 
He affirms that it was sent to the King by the 
Diike of Someiset, who died about a month 
before his first letter, and delivered to his 
Majesty by Dr. Duppa, Bishop of Winchester, 
who was still alive. He adds, that he had ac- 
quainted Charles II. with the secret through 
the Duke of Yoik, that Motley, then Bishop 
of Worcester, had informed Clarendon of it, 
and that Morley himself had declared the 
value of the service to be such, as to entitle 
Gauden lo choose his own preferment. Gau- 
den thus enabled Clarendon to convict him 
of falsehood, — if his tale was untrue, — in 
three or four circumstances, diflering indeed 
in their impoi tance as to the main question, 
but equally material to his own veracity. A 
single word from Duppa would have over- 
whelmed him with infamy. How easy was 
it for the Cliancellor to ascertain whether 
the information had been given to the King 
and his brother ! Morley was his bosom- 
friend, and the spiritual director of his daugh- 
ter, Anne Duchess of York. How many other 
persons might have been quietly sounded by 
the numerous confidential agents of a great, 
minister, on a transaction which had occur- 
red only twelve years before ! To suppose 
that a .statesman, then at the zenith of his 
greatness, could not discover the tiuth on 
this subject, without a noise like that of a 
judicial inquiry, would betray a singular 
ignoranee of affairs. Did Clarendon relin- 
quish, without a struggle, his belief in a 
book, which had doubtless touched his feel- 
ings when he read it as the woik of his Royal 
Master? Even curiosity might have led 
Charles II., when receiving the blessing of 
Duppa on his deathbed, to ask him a shoit 
confidential question. To how many chances 
of detection did Ganden expose himself? 
How neatly impossible is it that the King, 
the Duke, the Chancellor, and Morley .should 
have abstained from the safest means of in- 
quiry, and, in opposition to their former opi- 
nions and prejudices, yielded at once to 
Gauden's assertion. 

The previous belief of the Ro3-a]ist party 
in the Icon very much magnifies the im- 
probability of such suppositions. The truth 
might have been discovered by the parties 
appealed to. and conveyed to the aucfacioiis 
pretender, without any scandal. There was 
no need of any public exposure: a private 
intimation of the falsehood of one material 
circumstance must have silenced Gauden. 
But what, on the contrary, is the answer of 
Lord Clarendon ? Let any reader consider 
the above cited sentence of his letter, and 
determine for himself whethey it does not 
express such an unhesitating assent to the 
claim as could only have flowed from ii; 
quiry and evidence. By confessing that thts 
H 



86 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



secret was imparted to him. he admits the 
other material part of Gaucien's statement, 
that the information came through Morley. 
Gauden, if his story was true, chose the per- 
sons to whom he imparted it both prudently 
and fairly. He dealt with it as a secret of 
which the disclosure would injure the Royal 
cause ; and he therefore confined his com- 
munications to the King's sons and the Chan- 
cellor, who could not be indisposed to his 
cause by it, and whose knowledge of it was 
necessary to justify his own legitimate claims. 
Had it been false, no choice could have been 
more unfortunate. He appealed to those who, 
for aught he knew, might have in their pos- 
session the means of instantly demonstrating 
that he was guilty of a falsehood so impru- 
dent and perilous, that nothing parallel to it 
has ever been hazarded by a man of sound 
mind. How could Gauden know that the 
King did not possess his father's MS., and 
that Royston the printer was not ready to 
prove that he had received it from Charles I., 
through hands totally unconnected with Gau- 
den 1 How great must have been the risk if 
we suppose, with Dr. Wordsworth, and Mr. 
Wagstaffe, that more than one copy of the 
MS. e.xisted, and that parts of it had been 
seen by many ! It is without any reason that 
Dr. Wordsworth and others represent the 
secrecy of Gauden's communications to Cla- 
rendon as a circumstance of suspicion ;, for 
*he was surely bound, by that sinister honour 
which prevails in the least moral confedera- 
cies, to make no needless disclosures on this 
delicate subject. 

Clarendon's letter is a declaration that he 
was converted from his former opinion about 
the author of the Icon : that of Sir E. Nicho- 
las is a declaration to the same purport on 
his own part, and on that of the King. The 
confession of Clarencfon is more important, 
from being apparently wrung from him, after 
the lapse of a considerable time } in the for- 
mer part of which he evaded acknowledg- 
ment in conversation, while in the latter part 
he incurred the blame of incivility, by de- 
laying to answer letters, — making his ad- 
m.ission at last in the hurried manner of an 
unwilling witness. The decisive words, how- 
ever, were at length extorted from him, 
" If ''hen it cectses to be a secret, I knoio nobody 
will he glad of it, but Mr. Milton:^ Wag&tatTe 
argues this question as if Gauden^s letters 
were to be considered as a man's assertions 
in his own cause ; without appearing ever to 
have observed that they are not offered as 
proof of the facts which they affirm, but as 
a claim which circumstances show to have 
been recognized by the adverse party. 

The course of another year did not abate 
the solicitations of Gauden. In the end of 
1661 and beginning of 1662, the infirmities 
»f Duppa promised a speedy vacancy in the 
groat bishopric of Winchester, to which 
Gauden did not fail to urge his pretensions 
with undiminished confidence, in a letter to 

ne Chancellor (28th December), in a letter to 
the Duke of York (17th January), and in a 
memorial to the King, without a date, but 



written on the same occasion. The two let- 
ters allude to the particulars of former com- 
munications. The memorial, as the nature 
of such a paper required, is fnller and more 
minute: it is expressly founded on "a pri- 
vate service," for the reality of which it 
again appeals to the declarations of Moi- 
ley, to the evidence of Dappa, (-'who,'' 
says Gauden, " encouraged me in that great 
work,") still alive, and visited on his sick- 
bed by the King, and to the testimony of 
the Duke of Somerset.* It also shows that 
Ganden had applied to the King for Win- 
chester as soon as it should become vacant, 
about or before the time of his appointment 
to Kxeter. 

On the 19lh of March, 1662, Ganden was 
complimented at Court as the author of the 
Icon, by George Digby, second Earl of Bris- 
tol, a nobleman of fine geniiis and brilliant 
accomplishments, but remarkable for his in- 
constancy in political and religious opinion. 
The bond of connection between them seem* 
to have been their common principles of 
toleration, w'.ich Bristol was solicitous to ob- 
tain for the Catholics, whom he had secretly 
joined, and which Gaiaden was willing to 
grant, not only to the Old Nonconformists, 
but to the more obnoxious Quakers. On the 
day following Garden writes a letter, 'm 
which it is supposed that " the Grand Arca- 
num" had been disclosed to Bristol '-by tlie 
King or the Royal Duke." In six days after 
he writes again, on the death of Duppa, to 
urge his claim to Winchester. This thircJ 
letter is more important. He observes, with 
justice, that he could not e.xpect "any extra- 
ordinary instance of his Majesty's favour oa 
account of his signal service only, because 
that might put the world chi a ctangerous 
curiosity, if he had been in other respects 
unconspicuous ^" but he adds, in effect, that 
his public services would be a sufficient rea- 
son or pretext for the great preferment to 
which he aspired. He appeals to a new wit- 
ness on the subject of the Icon, — Dr. Shel- 



*Doc. Sup. p. 30. We have no positire proof 
that these two letters were sent, or the memorial 
delivered. It seems (Il)id. p. 27) that there are 
marks O'f the letters having been sealed and broken 
open ; and it is said to be singular that such letters 
should be found among the papers of him who 
wrote them. But as the early history of these 
papers is unknown, it is impossible to expect an 
e.xplanation of every fact. A collector might have 
found them etsewhere, and added them to the 
Gauden papers. An an,Tioijs writer might have 
broken open two important letters, in which he 
was fearful that some expression was indiscreet, 
and afterwards sent corrected duplicates, without 
material variation. Gauden might have received 
information respecting the disposal of Winchester 
and Worcester, or about the state of parties at 
Court, before the letters were dispatched, which 
would render them then unseasonable. What i* 
evident is, that they were written with an inten- 
tion to send them, — that they coincide with iiis 
previous statements, — and that t?ie fleterminnlion 
7tol to send thfm was not occasioned hi/ any donhs 
entertained hy the Chancellor of his veracity ; for 
stick douhts would have ■prevented his preferment to 
the ht.ihnpric of Worcester, — one of the most Cft- 
veied dianities of the Cliurcb. 



ICON BASILIKE. 



8T 



don, then Bishop of London ; — thus, once 
more, if his story were untrue, almost wan- 
tonly adding to the chance of easy, immedi- 
ate, and private detection. His danger would 
have, indeed, been already enhanced by the 
disclosure of the secret to Lord Bristol, who 
was very iatimately acquainted with Charles 
L, and among whose good qualities discretion 
and circumspection cannot be numbered. The 
belief of Bristol must also be considered as 
a proof that Gauden continued to be believed 
by the King and the Duke, from whom Bris- 
tol's information proceeded. A friendly cor- 
responiience, between the Bishop and the 
Earl, continued till near the death of the for- 
mer, in the autumn of 1662. 

In the mean time, the Chancellor gave a 
still more decisive proof of his continued con- 
viction of the justice of Gauden's pretensions, 
by his translation in May to Worcester. The 
Chancellor's personal ascendant over the 
King was perhaps already- somewhat impair- 
ed; but his powel' was still unshaken ; and 
he was assuredly the effective as well as 
formal adviser of the Crown on ecclesiai?tical 
promotions. It would be the grossest injus- 
tice to the memory of Lord Clarendon to be- 
lieve, that if, after two years' op^wrtunity 
for inquiry, any serious doubts of Gauden's 
veracity had remained in his mind, he would 
have still farther honoured and exalted the 
contriver of a falsehood, devised for merce- 
nary purposes, to rob an unhappy and belov- 
ed Sovereign of that power which, by his 
writings, he still exercised over the generous 
feelings of men. It cannot be doubted, and 
ought not to be foi-gotlen, that a false claim 
to the Icon is a crime of a far deeper dye 
than the publication of it under the false ap- 
pearance of a work of the King. To publish 
Buch a book in order to save the King's life, 
was an offence, attended by circumstances 
of much extenuation, in one who believed, 
or perhaps knew, that it substantially con- 
tained the King's sentiments, and who deep- 
ly deprecated the proceedings of the army 
and of the remnant of the House of Commons 
against him. But to usurp the reputation of 
the work so long after the death of the Royal 
Author, for sheer lucre, is an act of baseness 
perhaps without a parallel. That Clarendon 
should wish to leave the more venial decep- 
tion undisturbed, and even shrink from such 
refusals as might lead to its discovery, is not 
Car beyond the limits which good men may 
overstep in very difliult situations: but that 
he should have rewarded the most odious of 
impostors by a second bishopric, would place 
him far lower than a just adversary would 
desire. If these considerations seem of such 
moment at this distant time, what must have 
been their force in the years 1660 and 1662, in 
the minds of Clarendon, and Somerset, and 
Duppa, and Morley, and Sheldon ! It would 
have been easy to avoid the elevation of Gau- 
den to Worcester: he had himself opened ihe 
way for offering him a pension ; and the Chan- 
cellor might have answered almost in Gau- 
den's own words, that farther preferment 
might lead to perilous inquiry. Clarendon, in 



1662, must either have doubted who was the 
author of the Icon, or believed the claim of 
Gauden, or adhered to his original opinion. 
If he believed it to be the work of the King, 
he could not have been so unfaithiul to his 
memory as to raise such an impostor to a 
second bishopric : if he believed it to be the 
production of Gauden, he might have thought 
it an excusable policy to recompense a pious 
fraud, and to silence the possessor of a dan- 
gerous secret : if he had doubts, they would 
have prompted him to investigation, which, 
conducted by him, and relating to tiansac- 
tions so recent, must have terminated in cer- 
tain knowledge. 

Charles II. is well known, at the famous 
conference between the Episcopalians and 
Presbyterians, when the Icon was quoted as 
his father's, to have said, "All that is in that 
book is not gospel." Knowing, as we now 
do, that Gauden's claim was preferreil to him 
in 1660, this answer must be understood to 
have been a familiar way of expressing his 
.scepticism about its authenticity. In this 
view of it, it coincides with his declaration 
to Lord Anglesea twelve years after ] and it 
is natural indeed to suppose, that his opinion 
was that of those whom he then most tuisted 
on such matters, of whom Clarendon was 
certainly one. To suppose, with some late 
writers, that he and his brother looked with 
favour and pleasure on an attempt to weaken 
the general interest in the character of their 
father, merely because the Icon is friendly 
to the Church of England, is a wanton act 
of injustice to them. Charles II. was neither 
a bigot, nor without regard to his kindred; 
the family affections of James were his best 
qualities, — though by a peculiar perverse- 
ness of fortune, they proved the source of 
his sharpest pangs. 

But to return to Lord Clarendon, who sur- 
vived Gauden twelve years, and who, almost 
to the last day of his life, was employed in 
the composition of an historical work, origi- 
nally undertaken at the desire of Charles I., 
and avowed, with honest partiality to be 
destined for the vindication of his character 
and cause. This great work, not intended 
for publication in the age of the writer, was 
not actually published till thirty years after 
his death, and even then not without the 
suppression of important passages, which it 
seems the public was not yet likely to re- 
ceive in a proper temper. Now. neither in 
the original edition, nor in any of the recent- 
ly restored passages,* is there any allusion 
to the supposed work of the King. No rea- 
son of temporary policy can account for 
this extraordinary silence. However the 
statesman might be excused for the mo- 
mentary sacrifice of truth to quiet, the histo- 
rian could have no temptation to make the 
sacrifice perpetual. Had he believed that 
his Royal Master was the writer of the 
only book ever written by a dyinjr monarch 
On his own misfortunes, it would have been 
unjust as an historian, treacherous as a 

* In the Oxford Ediiion of 1826. 



88 



]!^fACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



friend, and unfeeling as a man, to have pas- 
sed over in silence such a memorable and 
affecting circumstance. Merely as a fact, 
his narrative was defective without it. But 
it was a fact of a very touching and interest- 
ing nature, on which his genius would have 
expatiated with affectionate delight. No 
later historian of the Royal party has failed 
to dwell on it. How should he then whom 
it must have most affected be silent, unle.«s 
his pen had been stopped by the knowledge 
of the truth 1 He had even personal induce- 
ments to explain it, at least in those more 
private memoirs of his administration, which 
form part of what is called his "Life." Had 
he believed in the genuineness of the Icon, 
it would have been natural for him in these 
memoirs to have reconciled that belief with 
the successive preferments of the impostor. 
He had good reason to believe that the claims 
of Gaudeu would one day reach the public ; 
ho had himself, in his remarkable letter of 
March 13lh, 1661, spoken of such a disclo- 
sure as likely. This very acknowledgment 
contained in that letter, which he knew to 
be in the possession of Gauden's family, in- 
creased the probability. It was scarcely 
possible that such papers should for ever 
elude the search of curiosity, of historical 
justice, or of party spirit. But besides these 
probabilities, Clarendon, a few months be- 
fore his death, " had learned that ill people en- 
deavoured to persuade the King that his father 
was not llie author of the hook that goes by his 
nnmeJ' This information -\vas conveyed to 
him from Bishop Morley througli Lord Corn- 
bur}', who went to visit his father in France 
in May 1674. On hearing these words, 
Clarendon e.vclaimed, 'Good God ! I thonght 
the Marquis of Hertford had satisfied the King 
i» that matter.'* By this message Clarendon 
was therefore w-arned, that the claim of 
Gauden was on its way to the public, — that 
it was already assented to by the Royal 
Family themselves, and was likely at last to 
appear with the support of the most formida- 
ble authorities. What could he now con- 
clude but that, if undetected and unrefuted, 
or. still more, if uncontradicted in a history 
destined to vindicate the King, the claim 
would- be considered by posterity as estab- 
lished by his silence 1 Clarendon's language 
on this occasion also strengthens very much 
another part of the evidence ; for it proves, 
beyond all doubt, that the authorship of the 
Icon had been discussed by the King iinth the 
Duke of Somerset before that nobleman's death 
in October 1660, — a fact nearly conclusive 
of the whole question. Had the Duke as- 
sured the King that his father was the au- 
thor, what a conclusive answer was reatly to 
Gauden, who asserted that the first had been 
the bearer of the manuscript of the Icon from 
Gauden to Chailesl.! As there had been 



* The first letter of the second Earl of Claren- 
don to Wagstaffe in 1694, about twenty years 
after the event, has not, as far as we know, been 
published. We know only the e.xtrarts in Wag- 
staffe. The second letter written in 1699 is printed 
entire in Wagstaffe's Defence, p. 37. 



such a communication between the King and 
the Duke of Somerset, it is altogether incredi- 
ble that Clarendon should not have recurred 
to the same pure source of information. 
The only admissible meaning of Clarendon's 
words is, that "Lord Hertford (afterwards 
Duke of Somerset) had satisfied the King"' of 
the impropriety of speaking on the subject. 
We must otherwise suppose that the King 
and Clarendon had been " satisfied," or per- 
fectly convinced, that Charles was the writer 
of the Icon; — a supposition which .would 
convert the silence of the Chancellor and 
the levity of the Monarch into heinous of- 
fences. The message of Morley to Claren- 
don demonstrates that they had previous 
conversation on the subject. The answer 
shows that both parties knew of information 
having been given by Somerset to the King, 
before Gauden's nomination to Exeter : but 
Gauden had at that time appealed, in his 
letters, both to Morley and Somerset as his 
witness. That Clarendon therefore knew all 
that Msrley and Somerset conld tell, is no 
longer matter of inference, but is established 
by the positive testimony of the two survi- 
vors in 1674. Wagstaffe did not perceive 
the consequences of the letter which he pub- 
lished, because he had not seen the whole 
correspondence of Gauden. But it is much 
less easy to understand, how those who have 
compared the letters of Gauden with the 
messages between Clarendon and Morley, 
should not have discovered the irresistible 
inference which arises from the comparison. 

The silence of Lord Clarendon, as an his- 
torian, is the strongest moral evidence that 
he believed the pretensions of Bishop Gau- 
den : and his opinion on the question must 
be held to include the testimotiy in point of 
fact, and the judgment in point of opinion, 
of all those men whom he had easy opportu- 
nities and strong inducements to consult. It 
may be added, that however Henry Earl 
of Clarendon chose to express himself, (his 
language is not free from an air of mental 
reservation), neither he nor his brother Lord 
Rochester, when they published their father's 
history in 1702, thought fit, in their preface, 
to attempt any explanation of his silence 
respecting the Icon, though their attention 
must have been called to that subject by the 
controversy respecting it which had been 
carried on a few years before with great zeal 
and activity. Their silence becomes the 
more remarkable, from the strong interest 
taken by Lord Clarendon iti the contioversy. 
He wrote two letters on it to Wagstaffe, in 
1694 and 1699; he was one of the few per- 
sons present at the select consecration of 
Wagstaffe as a nonjuring bishop, in 1693 : yet 
there is no allusion to the Icon in the preface 
to his father's history, published in 1702. 

It cannot be pretended that the final silence 
of Clarendon is agreeable to the rigorons rules 
of historical morality: it is no doubt an in- 
firmity which impairs his credit as an histo- 
rian. But it is a liirht and venial fault com- 
pared with that which must be laid to his 
charge, if we suppose, that, with a convictiou 



ICON BASILIKE. 



89 



of the genuineness of the Icon, and with such 
testimony in support of it as the evidence 
of Somerset and Moiley, — to say nothing of 
others, — he should not have made a single 
effort, in a work destined for posterity, to 
guard from the hands of the impostor the 
most sacred property of his unfortunate mas- 
ter The partiahty of Clarendon to Charles I. 
has never been severely blamed j his silence 
in his history, if he believed Gauden, would 
only be a new instance of that partiality: but 
the same silence, if he believed the King to 
be the author, would be fatal to his character 
as an historian and a man. 

The knowledge of Gauden's secret was 
obtained by Clarendon as a minister; and he 
might deem his duty with respect to secrets 
of state still to be so far in force, as at least 
to excuse him from disturbing one of the 
favourite opinions of his party, and for not 
disclosing what he thought could gratify none 
but regicides and agitators. Even this ex- 
cuse, on the opposite supposition, he wanted. 
That Charles was the author of the Icon 
(if true) was no state secret, but the preva- 
lent and public opinion. He might have 
collected full proofs of its truth, in private 
conversation with his friends. He had only 
to state such proof, and to lament the neces- 
sity which made him once act as if the truth 
were otherwise, rather than excite a contro- 
versy with an unprincipled enemy, danger- 
ous to a new government, and injurious to 
the interests of monarchy. His mere testi- 
mony would have done infinitely more for 
the King's authorship, than all the volumes 
which have been written to maintain it : — 
even that testimony is withheld. If the 
Icon be Gauden's, the silence of Clarendon 
IS a vice to which he had strong temptations: 
if it be the King's, it is a crime without a 
motive. Those who are willing to ascribe 
the lesser fault to the historian, must deter- 
mine against the authenticity of the Icon. 

That good men, of whom Lord Clarendon 
was one, vj'ere, at the period of the Restora- 
tion, ready to use expedients of very dubious 
morality to conceal secrets dangerous to the 
Royal cause, will appear from a fact, which 
seems to have escaped the notice of the 
general historians of England. It is uncer- 
tain, and not worth inquiring, when Charles 
II. threw over his doubts and vices that slight 
and thin vesture of Catholicism, which he 
drew a little closer round him at the sight 
of death :* but we know with certainty, that, 
m the beginning of the year 1659, the Duke 
of Ormonde accidentally discovered the con- 
version, by finding him on his knees at mass 
in a church at Brussels. Ormonde, after it 
was more satisfactorily proved to him, by 
communication with Henry Bennett and 
Lord Bristol.t imparted the secret in Eng- 
land to Clarendon and Southampton, who 
agreed with him in the necessity of prevent- 
ing the enemies of monarchy, or the friends 

* Ills formal reconcilialion probably took place 
at Cologne in 1658, under the direction of Dr. 
Peter Talbot, Caiholic Archbishop of Armagh. 

t Carte, Life of Ormonde, vol. ii. pp. 254 — 256. 



of Popery, from promulgating this fatal se- 
cret. Accordingly, the '^ Act for the better 
security of his Majesty's person and govern- 
ment'''* provided, that to affirm the King to 
be a Papist, should be punishable by ''dis- 
ability to hold any office or promotion, civil, 
military, or ecclesiastical, besides being lia- 
ble to such other punishments as by common 
or statute law might be inflicted." 

As soon as we take our stand on the 
ground, that the acquiescence of all the 
Royalists in the council and court of Charles 
II., and the final silence of Clarendon in his 
history, on a matter so much within his pro- 
vince, and so interesting to his feelings, are 
irreconcilable with the supposition, that they 
believed the Icon to be the work of the King, 
all the other circumstances on both sides not 
only dwindle into insignificance, but assume 
a different colour. Thus, the general credit 
of the book among Royalists before the Re- 
storation serves to show, that the evidence 
which changed the opinion of Clarendon and 
his friends must have been very strong. — 
probably far stronger than what we now pos- 
sess; the firmer we sujipose the previous 
conviction to have been, the more probable 
it becomes, that the proofs then discovered 
were of a more direct nature than those 
which remain. Let it be very especially 
observed, that those who decided the ques- 
tion piractically in 1660 were within twelve 
years of the fact ; while fifty years had pas- 
sed before the greater pait of the tiaditional 
and hearsay stories, raiiged on the opposite 
side, were brought together by Wagstaffe. 

Let us consider, for example, the effect of 
the proceedings of 1660, upon the evidence 
of the witnesses who speak of the Icon aa 
having been actually taken from the King at 
Naseby, and afterwards restored to him by 
the conquerors. Two of the best known are 
the Earl of Manchester and Mr. Prynne. 
Eales, a physician at Welwyn in Hertford- 
shire, certifies, in 1699, that some years be- 
fore the Restoration [i. e. about 1656), he 
heard Lord Manchester declare, that the 
MS. of the Icon was taken at Naseby, and 
that he had seen it in the King's own hand.t 
Jones, at the distance of fifty years, says 
that he had heard from Colonel Stroud that 
Stroud had heard from Prynne in 1649, that 
he, by order of Parliament, had read the 
MS. of the Icon taken at Naseby. I Now it 
is certain that Manchester was taken into 
favour, and Prynne was patronised at the 
Restoration. If this were so, how came 
matters, of which they spoke so publicly, to 
remain unknown to Clarendon and South- 
ampton"? Had the MS. Icon been intrusted 
to Prynne by Parliament, or even by a com- 
mittee, its existence must have been known 
to a body much too laige to allow the sup- 
position of secrecy. The application of the 
same remark dispojies of the mob of second- 
hand witnesses. The very number of the 
witnesses increases the incredibility that 



♦ 13 Car. 2. st. 1. 

t " Who wrote," &c. p. 93. WagstafTe's Via 
dication, p. 19. t Ibid. p. 80. 

h2 



»0 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



their testimony could have escaped notice 
in 16G0. Huistiiiiidon, a i\Iajor in Cronnveirs 
roginu'iit, who abandoned the PaiHamentary 
cause, is a more direct witness. In the year 
1671), he infornieil Dugdale that he had pro- 
cured the MS. Icon taken at Naseby to be 
restored to the Kinij at Hampton, — that it 
was written by Sir E. Walker, but inlerlincd 
by the King, who wrote all the devotions. 
In 1G81, Ongdale pnbhshed The Short View, 
in whieh is the same story, with the varia- 
tion, '-that it was written with the King's 
own hand ;" — a statement wliieh. in the 
summary language of a general narrative, 
can luirilly be s;iid to vary materially from 
the former. Now, JNlajor Ihuitingdon had 
particularly attracted the notice of Claren- 
doti: he is mentioned in the history with 
comni'Midation.* He tendered his services 
to the King before the Kestoratioii ;t and, 
what is most important of all to our present 
purpose, h s testimony regarding the con- 
duct of Berkeley and Ashburiiham, in the 
journey from Hampton Court, is expressly 
mentioned by the historian as being, in 
1660, thought worthy of being weighed even 
against that of Somerset and Southampton. t 
Wlum we thus trace a direct communication 
between him and tire minister, and when we 
remember that it took place at the very time 
of the claim of Gaudeii, and that it related 
to events contemporary with the supposed 
recovery of the Icon, it is scarcely neeessary 
lo ask, whether Clarendon would not have 
sounded him on that subject, and whether 
Huntingdon would not then have boasted 
of such a personal service to the late King. 
It would be contrary to common sense not 
to presume that something then jiassed on 
that subject, and that, if Huntingdon's ac- 
count at that time coinciiled with his sub- 
eeqnent story, it could not have been re- 
jected, unless it was outweiglied by contrary 
evidence.^ He must liave been thought 
either a deceiver or deceived : for the more 
candid of these suppositions there was abun- 
dant scope. It is known that one MS. (not 
the Icon) written by Sir Edwanl Walker 
and corrected by the King, was taken with 
the King's correspondence at Naseby, aiul 
restored lo him by Fairlax through an olii- 
cer at Hampton Court. II This was an ac- 
count of the military ti-ansactions in the 
Civil War, written by Walker, and published 
in his Historical Discourses long after. It 
was natural that the King should be pleased 
at the recovery of this manuscript, which he 



• Vol. V. p. 484. t Ibid. vol. vii. p. 432. 

t Ibid. vol. V. p. 495. 

^ Dr. Wordsworth admits, that if Clarendon 
hnd consultod Duppa, Juxon, Sheldon, Morlcy, 
Kendal, Barwiok, Lei;£re, Herhcri, &c. &-c. ; nay, 
if he had consuWed only Morley alone, he must 
have l)een miiigfitd, — (Dr. Wordsworth, of course, 
Bays for tlio Iviiig.) Now, it is certain, from tiie 
niessa>ie of .Motley to Clarendon in 1674, that pre- 
vious discussion had taken place between them. 
Does not this single fact decide the question on 
Dr. Wordsworth's own admission t 

II Clarendon, vol. v. p. 476 ; and Warburton's 
note. 



soon after sent from Hampton Court to Lord 
Clarendon in Jersey, as a "contribution" 
towards his History, How easily Hunting- 
don, an old soldier little versed in nianu- 
scripls, might, thirty years afterwards, have 
contounded these memorials with the Icon! 
A few prayers in the King's handwriting 
might have formeil a part of the paners re- 
stored. So slight and probable are the only 
suppositions necessary to save the veracity 
of Hnntingilon, and to destroy the value of 
his evidence. 

Sir Thomas Herbert, who wrote his Me- 
moirs thirty years after the event, in the 
seventy-thiiil year of his age, when, as he 
told Antony Wood, '• he was grown old, and 
not in such a capacity as he couKl wish to 
publish it," found a copy of the Icon among 
the books which Charles I. left to him, ami 
thought ''the handwriting was the King's." 
Sir Philip Warwick stales Herbert's testi- 
mony (probably from a conversation more 
full "than the Memoirs) to be, that '-he saw 
the MS. in the King's hand, as he believes; 
but it was in a running character, and not in 
that ii'hich the King xtsuaUij wrote.''* Now, 
more than one copy of the Icon might have 
been sent to Charles; they might have been 
written with some resemblances to his hand- 
writing; but assuredly the original MS. would 
not have been loosely left to Herbert, while 
works on general subjects were bequeathed 
to the King's children. It is equally certain 
that this was not the MS. from which the 
Icon was published a few ilays afterwanls; 
and, above all, it is clear that information 
from Herhertt would naturally be sought, 
and would have been easily procnreil, in 
1660. The ministers of that time perhaps 
examined the ]\1S. ; or if it could not be' 
produced, they might have asked why it 
was not preserveil, — a question to which, on 
the supposition of its being written by the 
King, it seems now impossible to imagine 
a satisfactory answer. The same observa- 
tions are applicable to the story of Levett. a 
page, who s;iid that he had seen the King 
writing the Icon, and had read several chap- 
ters of it, — but more forcibly, from his being 
less likely to be intrusteil, and more liable to 
confusion and niisiecollection ; — to say no- 
thing of onr ignorance of his character for ve- 
racity, and of the interval of forty-two years 
which had passed before his attestation on 
this subject. 

The Naseby copy being the only fragment 
of positive evidence in support of the King's 
authorship, one more observation on it may 
be excused. If the Parliamentary leaders 
thought the Icon so dangerous lo their cause, 
and so likely to make an impression favour- 
able to the King, how came they to restore 
it 60 easily to its author, whom they had 



* Memoirs, p. 69. How much this '•oincidea 
with Gauden's account, that his wife had dis- 
guised the writing of the copy sent to the Isle of 
Wight. 

t He was made a baronet at the Restoration, 
1 for liis personal services to Charles I. 



ic6n basiliki^. 



91 



deeply injured by the publication of his ])ri- 
v:il<! k'llfjrH? 'I'ho a(ivocat(;^4 of lh« Kirij( 
cliarj(<; tliiH publicatio/i on lli<?rn, asan act ol 
gross indelicacy, and at tlin Karm; tirncaKcribe 
to them, in the restoration of the Icon, a 
singular inBlance of Hornewhat wanton gene- 
rosity. 

It may l>« a question whether lawyers are 
justified in allo;,'ether rejecting hijarsay evi- 
dence; but it never can be eupfxjsed, in its 
best state, to be other than secondary. When 
it passes llisttugh many liands, — when it is 
given after a long time, — when it is to be 
found almost solely in on*; party, — when it 
ndales to a subject which deeply interests 
their feelings, we may confidently f)lace it 
at the very bottom of the scale; and without 
being able either to disprove many i)articular 
«tories, or to ascertain the projjortion m which 
each of them is influenced by unconscious 
e.vaggeiation, infLirned zeal, intentional false- 
hood, inaccurate observation, confused r(!- 
coll<!Clion, or eager credulity, we may safely 
treat the far greater part as the natural pro- 
duce of these grand causes of human (\tt\n- 
sion. Among the (;vidr;nce first collected by 
Wagstaffe, one story fortunately refers to 
authoriticis still in our possession, llearne, 
a servant of Sir Philij) Warwick, declanMJ 
that he had hc^ard his master and one Oudart 
often say that they had transcribed the Icon 
from a copy in Charles' handwriting.* Sir 
Phdip Warwick (who is thus .said to have 
cofiied the Icon from the Kinfr's MS.) has 
hims(;lf positively told us, "/ cannot say I 
know thill he vjrote the Icon which c^oes under 
his name ;t and Oudart was secretary to Sir 
PMward Nicholas, who.se letter to Gauden, 
virtually acknowledging his claim, has been 
already quoted ! 

Two persons appear to have been privy to 
the composition of the Icon by Gauden, — 
nis wife, and Walker liis curate. Mrs. Gau- 
den, immediatcdy after her husband's death, 
applied to Lord Bristol for favour, on the 
ground of her knowledge of the secret; ad- 
ding that the bishop was prevented oidy by 
death from writing to him, — surely to the 
same effect. Nine years afterwards she sent 
to one of her sons the papers on this subject, 
to be used " if there be a good occasion to 
make it manifest," among whicdi was an 
epitome "drawn out by the hand of him that 
did hope to have made a fortune by it. "I 
This is followed by her narrative of the whole 
transactions, on which two short remarks 
will suffice. It coincides with Gauden's let- 
ters, in the most material particulars, in ap- 
peals to the same eminent persons said to be 
privy to the secret, who niifihl and must have 
been consulteHl after such appeal : it proves 
also h<!r firm persuasion that her husband 
had been uiijrratefully retjuitr'd, and tfiathi^r 
family had still f)relerisions foundinl on his 
services, which these papers mif^ht one day 
enable them to assert with more effect. 

Walker, the curate, tells us that he had a 



lumd in the business all along. He wrote 
his book, it is true, forty-five years after the 
events: but this circumstance, which 60 
deeply affects the testimony of men who 
speak of words spoken in conversation, and 
reaching them through three or four hands, 
rather explains the inaccuracies, than lessens 
the substantial weight, of one who speaks 
of his own acts^ on the most, and peihaps 
only, remarkable occasion of his life. There 
are two facts in Walker's account which 
seem to be decisive; — namely, that Gauden 
told hirn, about the time of the fabrication, 
that the MS. was sent by the Duke of So- 
merset to the King, and that two chapters of 
it were added by Bishop Duppa. To both 
these witnesses Gauden appealed at the Re- 
storation, and Mrs. Gauden after his death. 
These communications were somewhat in- 
discreet; but, if false, what temptation had 
Gauden at that time to invent them, and to 
communicate them to his curate ? They 
were new means of detecting his imposture. 
But the declaration of Gauden, that the book 
and fijrure was wholly and solely my '-in- 
vention, making, and design," is quoted with 
premature triumph, as if it were incompati- 
ble with the compo-silion of two chapters by 
Duppa;* — as if the contribution or a fev? 
pages to a volume couM affect the authorship 
of the man who had planned the whole, and 
executed all the rest. That he mentioned 
the particular contribution of Duppa at the 
time to Walker, and only appealed in general 
to the same prelate in his applications to 
Clarendon and the King, is a variation, but 
no inconsistency. 

Walker early represented the coincidence 
of some peculiar phrases in the devotions of 
the Icon with Gauden's phraseology, as an 
important fact in the case. That argument 
has recently been presented with much more 
force by Mr. Todd, whose catalojrues of co- 
incidences between the Icon and lh(! avowed 
writings of Gauden is certainly entitled to 
serious consideration.t They are not all of 
equal importance, but some of the phiases 
are certainly very peculiar. It seems very 
unlikely that Charles should have copied pe- 
culiar phrases from the not very conspicuous 
writings of Gauden's early life; and it is 
almost equally improbable that Gauden, in 
his later writings, when he is said to have 
been eager to reap the fruits of lils impo.s- 
ture, should not have carefully shunned those 
modes of expression which were peculiar to 
the Icon. To the list of Mr. Todd, a very 
curious addition bis been made by Mr. Ben- 
jamin Bright, a discerning and liberal col- 
lector, from a manuscript volume of prayers 
by Gauden, t which is of more value than 
the other coincidences, inasmuch as it cor- 
roborates the testimony of Walker, w ho said 
that ho "met with expressions in the devo- 
tional parts of the Icon very frequently used 



• Who wrote, &n. p. 138. t Memoirs, p. 68. 
J Doc. Sup. pp. 42, 48. 



* Who wrote, &,c. p. ISb. 
t Letter to the Archbiahop of Canterbury, pp. 
51—76. 

t Ibid. Appendix, No. 1. 



92 



]MACKINTOSirS MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



by l^i", C;nuli'ii in his prayers!" Without 
layiiijt girut stress on thi'so rosiMublaiitTs. 
thfy art> ivrtainly ot" moiv \vri<iht than tlu" 
ptMK'ial aiiiuniiMits i'onnilcil fithcr on tho in- 
It'iioiity of ClauiliMrs talciitf, (wliich Dr. 
\VoriL«\vorth lamiiiily abaniloiis,) or on the 
iniiuiii' i\\n\ UMOsti'iilatious chaiarter of his 
styK>, wliii'h havo little weight, unU-Ps we 
snpposf h;ni to have hail no power of vary- 
iuii his nianin-r when speaking in the person 
of another man. 

Conclusions Ironi internal evidence have 
po otten been contrail ietetl by experience, 
that pruilent inquirers seKloin rely on them 
\\ hen there are any other nn'ans of forming 
a juilgment. But in such eases as the pre- 
sent, internal eviiience do(>s not so much de- 
penil on the discussion of words, or the dis- 
section of sentences, as on the impression 
niaile by the whole comjiosition, on minds 
long aecnstomeii to t>stnnate and compare 
the writings of ililierent nn-ii in various cir- 
eumstances. A single inilividual can i.\o 
little more than de.si-ribe thai impression ; 
ami he must leave it to be determined by 
experience, how far it agrees with the im- 
pressions made on the minds of the majority 
of other men of similar qualilications. To 
us it seems, as it did to Archbishop Herring, 
that the Icon is greatly more like the work 
of a priest than a king. It has more of di.s- 
sertalion than ellusion. It has more regular 
division and systematic order than agree 
xvitli the habits of the King. Tin^ choice 
and arrangement of words show a degree of 
care and neatness which are seldoni allained 
but by a practised writer. The views of 
men and allairs, too, are rather those of a 
bystaniler than an actor. Thev are chiefly 
rellections, sometiines in themselves obvious, 
but often ingeniously tnrneil, such as the 
surface of events would suggest to a specta- 
tator not too deeply interested. Il betrays 
noiu' of those strong feelings which the most 
vigilant regard to gravity and dignity could 
not have uniformly banished from the com- 
position of an aclor and a sulferer. It has 
no allusion to facts not accessible to any 
nn)d(Mately informeil man ; tlu>ngh the King 
ninst havi> (sometimes rightly) thought that 
his superior knowU>dge of atlairs wouKl en- 
able him to correct vulg;u' mistakes. If it 
be really the private etlusion of a man's 
thoughts on Inmself and his own atlairs. it 
would be the only writing of that sort in the 
worlil in w hich it is im|iossible to select a 
trace of peculiarities and weaknesses, — of 
partialities and dislikes, — of secret opinions, 
— of favourite idioms, and habitual familiari- 
ties of expression : every thing is impcrxoiuil. 
The book consists eutir«>ly of generalities; 
while real writings of this sort never fail to 
be characteri.eed by those minute and cir- 
iunn^taiitial touches, which parties deeply 
interested cannot, if they would,. avoid. It 
is also very observable, that the Icon dwells 
little on tacts, where a mistake might so 
nasily betray its not being the King's, and 
e.vixitiates in reasoning and reflection, of 



which it is impossible to try the genuineness 
by any palpable test. The absence of every 
allusion to those secrets of which it would 
be very hard for the King himself wholly to 
conceal his knowledge, seems, indeed, to 
inilicate the haiul of a w riter w ho was afraid 
of venturing on ground where his ignorance 
might expose him to irretrievable blunders. 
Peiliaps also the want of all the smaller 
strokes of character betra\s a timid and fal- ' 
tering forger, who, though he ventured to 
commit a i»ious fiauil, shrinik fr«m an irreve- 
rent imitation of the Koyal feelings, and was 
willing, after the great purpose was serv»'d, 
so to soften the imposture, as to leave his 
retreat open, and to retain the means, in 
case of positive detection, of representiii<j 
the book to have been published as what 
might be put into the King's month, rather 
than as what was actually spoken by him. 

The section whit-h relatt>s to the civil war 
in Ireland not only exemjilities the above re- 
marks, but closely connects the question 
rt^specting the Icon with the chai-acter of 
Charles for sincerity. It certaiidy was not 
mort> uidawfnl lor him to seek the aid of tho 
Irish Catholics, than it was for his opponents 
to call in the succour of the Scotch Presby- 
terians. The Parliament procured the as- 
sistance of the Scotch army, by the imposi- 
tion of the Covenant in England ; and the 
King might, on the liki> jninciple, purchase 
the help of the Irish, by jiromising to tole- 
rate, and even establish, the Catholic religion 
in Ireland. Warbmlon justly observes, that 
the King was frtu> from blame in his negotia- 
tions with the Irish, ''as a politician, and 
king, and governor of his people ; but tlie 
necessity of his atlairs obliging him at the 
same time to play the Protestant saint and 
coid'es,*or, there was found much disagreo- 
nuMit between his professions and titx-lara- 
tions, and actions in tliis matter.'"* As loncf 
as the disagreement was confined to otncial 
declarations anil to acts of stali\ it niust be 
owned that it is extenuated by the practice 
of politicians, and by the consideration, that 
the concealment of negotiations, which is a 
lawful end. can very often be obtaiiunl by 
no other means than a disavowal of them. 
The rigid moralist may regret this excuse, 
though it be fotmded on that high public 
convenience to which Warburton gives the 
name of ''necessity." Hut all mankind will 
allow, that the express or implied denial of 
real neiiotiations in a private work, — a pic- 
ture of the writer's luind. professing to come 
from the Man and not iVom the King, luixed 
with soleimi appeals and fervid prayers to 
the Deity, is a lar blacker and more aggra 
vated instance of insincerity. It is not. 
therefore, an act of judicious regard to the 
memory of Charles to ascribe to him the 
composition of the twelfth section of the 
Icon. The impression manifestly aimed at 
in that section is. that the imputation of a 
private coimexion with the Irish revolters 

* Clarendon, vol. vii. p. .VJl. 



\d)K BASILIKE. 



93 



vas a more calumny;- and in IIk; only para- 
graph vrhich approaches to [JarliciilarH, it 
expressly connneH his iiitercoiuBe with them 
to th(! ncif^otiatioii for a time throui^'h ()r- 
moii(l(!, and (!(!c!are8 that hie only object 
wa^to save " the j)oor Prol«;slaiit8 of Irelaird 
from their (ieHperat(! eneniies." In the sec- 
tion which reflates to the ])ul)licalion of his 
letters, whiwi tin; Parliament had (ixplicitiy 

•charged him with clandestine negotiations, 
liothin<,' is added on the; suhject. 'J'lii! ^r;ne- 
ra! protestations of innoc(;nc(;, not very spe- 
cihcaily applied (!V(Mi to the first insliii;ation 
of the revolt, are left in that indefinite state; 
in which tlw; candess reader may b(5 hid to 
aj)ply them to all subsecpuMit transactions, 
which are skilfully, — not to say artfully, — 
passed over in silence. Now it is certain 
that the Karl of CJlamor^jan, a Catholic him- 
self, was aulhoris(;d by (Charles to ne;,'oliale 
witli th(! Catholics in 1()'15, indc^penderitly 
of Ormonde, and with powers, into the na- 
ture! of which th(! Lord Lieutenant tliouf^hf 
himself bounil not curiously to pry. It is, 
also, certain that, in the spriuf^ of that year, 
Glamorffan conciud(!d a .secrcit trtiaty with 
the Catholic asserrd)Iy at Kilkenny, by whicii, 
— bi.'sides the rej^.-al of penalties or disabili- 
tie.''. — all tiie churches and Cliurch property 
in Ireland occupied by the Catholics since; 
llie revolt, were continued and secured to 
them;* while they, on their parts, en<j;a<ied 
to send ten thousand troops to the Kin<;'s as- 
sistance in England. Some; corriispondence 
on this subj(!ct was cajjtured at sea, and 
eome; was seized in Indand: both [)()rtions 
were imnuuliatidy piiblished by ihc; Parlia- 
ment, which compedled the Kinf<to imprison 
and disavow Glamorgan. t It is clear that 
these were measures of policy, merely in- 
tended to conceal the truth:!' and thi; King, 
if he was the writer of the; Icon, must have 
deliberately left on the minds of the readers 

, of that book an opinion, of his conncjxion 
with lh(! Irish Catholics, which he knew to 
be false. On the; oIIkm- hand it is to be ob- 
served, that Cauden could noi have known 
the secn^t of the Irish negotiations, and that 
he would naturally avoid a subject of which 
he was ignorant, and confine himself to a 
general disavowal of the instigation of the 
revolt. The silence of the Icon on this sub- 



* Birch, Inquiry, p. 68. Thi; KiriR's warrant, 
on 12ih Miircii, 164.'), rIvcs (Jliimorgan power 
"to treat with (he. Roman Calholict vjion neces- 
tit]/, wherein our Lieutenant cannot so well he 
teen " — p. L'O. 

t Ilarleiaii Misrcllnny, vol. iv. p. 401. 

t Seo a curious Ictior puhii.slind liy Lcland (Elia- 
tory of Ireland, liook v. cliap. 7), wliich clearly 
proves llitit I lie tiundricss of Ormonde was volun- 
tary, and ihal lio was either trusted with the se- 
cret, or discovered it ; niid iliat the iiiiprisonment 
of (Ilaniort^an was, what llic Parliament called it, 
"a eoliiurnhle enmmilmenl.'^ Leiaiid is one of 
llioBC writers wiio deserve more reputation than 
they enjoy : he is not only an elegant writer, but, 
considering,' his time and country, eingularly can- 
did, unprejudiced, and independent. 



ject, if written byGauden, would b(! neilher 
more wonderful nor moie blarnable than 
tliat of Clarendon, who. though he was of 
necessity acrjuainted with tin; negotiations 
of Glamorgan, does not sufier an allusion to 
the tru(! state of them to escape him, either 
in th(! Ili.«tory, or in that apology for Or- 
mondi;'s administration, ^\hi(dl he calls "A 
Short View of lln; Si:ite' of Ireland." Let it 
not be said, (jith'-r by Charl(;s" mistaken 
friends, or by his undistiiigiiishiiig e'nemit;.s, 
that he incurs the .same blame for suffering 
an omission calculated to dcjceivc; to remain 
in the Icon of Gaudeii, as if he; hati himself 
written the book. If the manuscript were 
Sfjiit to him by Gauden in Sc'ptendjer 16-18, 
he may have intench'd to direct an exi)lana- 
tion of the Irish negotiations to be inserted 
in it ; — he may not have finally determined 
on tin; immediate; i)ubli('ation. At all events, 
it would Ih; cruel to reejuire that he should 
have critically examined, and deliberately 
weighed, ev(;ry jiart of a maimsciipt, m hich 
he could only o(;caR;onally snatch a moment 
to read in secret during the last four months 
of his life. In this troubled and dark i)eriod, 
divid(;d betwe(;n great negotiations, violent 
removals, and pre])aration8 for asserting his 
dignity, — if he could not [)reserve his liii;, — 
justice, as much as g(;n(;rosity rcjquires that 
we should not hold him responsible for a 
negative oflenee, howev(;r imijortant, in a 
manuscript whicli he had then only read. 
Hut if he was the author, none of these ex- 
tenuations have any place: he must then 
have composed the woik several years be- 
fore his death ; he was likely lo have f:e- 
(juently examined it; he doubtless read it 
with fresh atl«;ntion, after it was restored to 
him at Hampton Couit; and he afterwards 
added several chapters to it. On that sup- 
position, the fraudulent omission mu,«l have 
oeen a contrivance " aforethought" carried 
on for years, persisted in at the approach of 
death, and left, as the dying declaration of 
a pious monarch, in a state calculated lo im- 
pose a falsehood upon posterity.* 



* After sketching the above, we have been con- 
vinced, by a reperusat of the note of Mr. Lainp on 
tliis subject (History of Scotland, vol. iii. p. 565),- 
that if lie had employed his great abilities as much 
in unfolding facts as in ascertaining them, nothing 
could have been written for tiie Icon, or ouglit to 
have licen written against it, since that decisive 
note. Ilis merit, as a critical inquirer into liisiory, 
an entiglitened coltector of materials, and a saga- 
cious judge of evidence, tias never lieen surpassed. 
If any man lielicves the innocence of Queen Mary, 
after an impartial and dispassionate perusal of Mr. 
Laing's examination of her case, the male of such 
n man's inind would \x^ a subject worthy of much 
consideration by a philosoiihical oliservcr ol hu- 
man nature. In spite of his ardent love of liberty, 
no man has yet presumed to charge him with the 
slightest sacrifice of historical integrity to liis zeal. 
That lie never perfectly attained the art of full, 
clear, and easy narrative was owing to the pecu- 
liar style of iliosc writers who were popular in his 
youth, and may be mentioned as a remarkable 
mstancc of the disproportion of particular talent* 
to a general vigour of mind. 



94 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



DISSERTATION 

ON THE PKOGRESS OF 

ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY, 

CHIEFLY DURING THE 

SEVENTEENTH AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES. 



[OKIQINALLY PREFIXED TO THE SEVENTH EDITION OF THE ENCYCLOPEDIA BKITANNICA.I 



INTRODUCTION. 



The inadequacy of the words of ordinary ' 
language for the purposes of Philosophy, is 
an ancient and frequent complaint ; of which 
the justness will be felt by all who consider 
the state to which some of the most import- 
ant arts would be reduced, if the coarse tools 
of the common labourer were the only in- , 
struments to be employed in the most deli- 
cate operations of manual expertness. The 
watchmaker, the optician, and the surgeon, ' 
are provided with instruments which are 
fitted, by careful ingenuity, to second their 
skill; the philosopher alone is doomed to use 
the rudest tools for the most refined purposes. 
He must reason in words of which the loose- 
ness and vagueness are suitable, and even 
agreeable, in the usual intercourse of life, 
but which are almost as remote from the 
extreme exactness and precision required, 
not only in the conveyance, but in the search 
of truth, as the hammer and the axe would 
be unfit for the finest exertions of skilful 
handiwork : for it is not to be forgotten, that 
he must himself think in these gross words 
as unavoidably as he uses them in speaking 
to others. He is in this respect in a worse 
condition than an astronomer who looked at 
the heavens only with the naked eye, whose 
limited and partial observation, however it 
might lead to error, might not directly, and 
would not necessarily, deceive. He might 
be more justly compared to an arithmetician 
compelled to employ numerals not only cum- 
brous, but used so irregularly to denote dif- 
ferent quantities, that they not only often 
deceive others, but himself. 

The natural philosopher and mathemati- 
cian have in some degree the privilege of 
framing their own terms of art ; though that 
liberty is daily narrowed by the happj' dif- 
fusion of these great branches of knowledge, 
M'hich daily mixes their language with the 
general vocabulary of educated men. The 
cultivator of mental and moral philosophy 
can seldom do more than mend the faults 



of his words by definition ; — a necessary, 
but very inadequate expedient, and one in 
a great measure defeated in practice by the 
unavoidably more frequent recurrence of the 
terms in their Vague, than in their definite 
acceptation. The mind, to which such de- 
finition is faintly, and but occasionallj', pre- 
sent, naturally suffers, in the ordinary state 
of attention, the scientific meaning to disap- 
pear from remembrance, and insensibly as- 
cribes to the word a great part, if not the 
whole, of that popular sense which is so very 
much more familiar even to the most vete- 
ran speculator. The obstacles which stood 
in the way of Lucretius and Cicero, when 
they began to translate the subtile philoso 
phy of Greece into their narrow and barren 
tongue, are always felt by the philosopher 
when he struggles to express, with the neces- 
sary discrimination, his abstruse reasonings 
in words which, though those of his own lan- 
guage, he must take from the mouths of 
those to whom his distinctions woukl be 
without meaning. 

The moral philosopher is in this respect 
subject to peculiar difficulties. His state- 
ments and reasonings often call for nicer dis- 
criminations of language than those which 
are necessary in describing or discussing the 
purely intellectual part of human nature; 
but his freedom in the choice of Mords is 
more circumscribed. As he treats of mat- 
ters on which all men are disposed to form a 
judgment, he can as rarely hazard glaring 
innovations in diction, — at least in an adult 
and mature language like ours, — as the ora- 
tor or the poet. If he deviates from com- 
mon use, he must atone for his deviation by 
hiding it, and can only give a new sense to 
an old word by so skilful a position of it as 
to render the new meaning so quickly un- 
derstood that its novelty is scarcely per 
ceived. Add to this, that in those most 
difficult inquiries for which the utmost cool- 
ness is not more than sufficient, he is often 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



95 



forced to use terms commonly connected 
■with warm feeling, with high praise, with 
severe reproach; — which excite the passions 
of his readers when he most needs their 
calm attention and the undisturbed exer- 
cise of their impartial judgment. There is 
scarcely a neutral term left in Ethics ; so 
quickly are such expressions enlisted on the 
side of Praise or Blame, by the address of 
contending passions. A true philosopher 
must not even desire that men should less 
love Virtue, or hate Vice, in order to lit them 
for a more unprejudiced judgment on his 
speculations. 

There are, perhaps, not many occasions 
where the penury and laxity of language are 
more felt than in entering on the history of 
sciences where the first measure must be to 
mark out the boundary of the whole subject 
with some distinctness. But no exactness 
in these important operations can be ap- 
proached without a new division of human 
knowledge, adapted to the present stage of 
its progress, and a reformation of all those 
barbarous, pedantic, unmeaning, and (what 
is worse) wrong-meaning names which con- 
tinue to be applied to the greater part of its 
branches. Instances are needless where 
nearly all the appellations are faulty. The 
term '-Metaphysics" affords a specimen of 
all the faults which the name of a science 
can combine. To those who know only 
their own language, it must, at their entrance 
on the study, convey no meaning: it points 
their attention to nothing. If they examine 
the language in which its parts are signifi- 
cant, they will be misled into the pernicious 
error of believing that it seeks something 
more than the interpretation of nature. It is 
only by examining the history of. ancient 
philosophy that the probable origin of this 
name will be found, in its application, as the 
running title of several essays of Aristotle, 
placed in a collection of the manuscripts of 
that gieat philosopher, after his treatise on 
Physics. It has the greater fault of an un- 
steady and fluctuating signification ; — deno- 
ting one class of objects in the seventeenth 
century, and another in the eighteenth; — 
even in the nineteenth not quite of the same 
import in the mouth of a German, as in that 
of a French or English philosopher ; to say 
nothing of the farther objection that it con- 
tinues to be a badge of undue pretension 
among some of the followers of the science, 
while it has become a name of reproach and 
derision among those who altogether decry 
it. The modem name of the very modern 
science called "Political Economy," though 
deliberately bestowed on it by its most emi- 
nent teachers, is perhaps a still more notable 
sample of the like faults. It might lead the 
ignorant to confine it to retrenchment in na- 
tional expenditure; and a consideration of 
its etymology alone would lead us into the 
more mischievous error of beheving it to 
teach, that national wealth is best promoted 
by the contrivance and interference of law- 
givers, in opposition to its surest doctrine, 



and the one which it most justly boasts of 
having discovered and enforced. 

It is easy to conceive an exhaustive analy- 
sis of human knowledge, and a consequent 
division of it into parts corresponding to all 
the classes of objects to which it relates : — a 
representation of that vast edifice, contain- 
ing a picture of what is finished, a sketch of 
what is building, and even a conjectural out- 
line of what, though required by complete- 
ness and convenience, as well as symmetry, 
is yet altogether untouched. A system of 
names might also be imagined derived from 
a few roots, indicating the objects of each 
part, and showing the relation of the parts to 
each other. An order and a language some- 
what resembling those by which the objects 
of the sciences of Botany and Chemistry 
have, in the eighteenth century, been ar- 
ranged and denoted, are doubtless capable of 
application to the sciences generally, when 
considered as parts of the system of know- 
ledge. The attempts, however, which have 
hitherto been made to accomplish that ana- 
lytical division of knowledge which must 
necessarily precede a new nomenclature of 
the sciences, have required so prodigious a 
superiority of genius in the single instance 
of approach to success by Bacon, as to dis- 
courage rivalship nearly as much as the fre- 
quent examples of failure in subsequent 
times could do. The nomenclature itself is 
attended with great difficulties, not indeed 
in its conception, but in its adoption and use- 
fulness. In the Continental languages to the 
south of the Rhine, the practice of deriving 
the names of science from the Greek must 
be continued; which would render the new 
names for a while unintelligible to the ma- 
jority of men. Even if successful in Ger- 
many, where a flexible and fertile language 
affords unbounded hberty of derivation and 
composition from native roots or elements, 
and where the newly derived and com- 
pounded words would thus be as clear to the 
mind, and almost as little startling to the ear 
of every man, as the oldest terms in the 
language, yet the whole nomenclature would 
be unintelligible to other nations. But, the 
intercommunity of the technical terms of 
science in Europe having been so far broken 
down by the Germans, the influence of their 
literature and philosophy is so rapidly in- 
creasing in the greater part of the Continent, 
that though a revolution in scientific nomen- 
clature be probably yet far distant, the foun- 
dation of it may be considered as already 
prepared. 

Although so great an undertaking must be 
reserved for a second Bacon and a future 
generation, it is necessary for the historian 
of any branch of knowledge to introduce his 
work by some account of the limits and con- 
tents of the sciences of which he is about to 
trace the progress; and though it will be 
found impossible to trace throughout this 
treatise a distinct line of demarcation, yet a 
general and imperfect sketch of the bounda- 
ries of the whole, and of the parts, of oui 



96 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



present subject, niay be a considerable help 
to the reaJer, as it has been a useful guide 
to the writer. 

There is no distribution of the parts of 
knowledge more ancient than that of them 
into the physical and moral sciences, which 
seems liable to no other objection than that 
it does not exhaust the subject. Even this 
division, however, caiuiot be safely employed, 
without warning the reader that no science 
is entirely insulated, and that the principles 
of one are often o'nly the conclusions and re- 
sults of another. Every branch of know- 
ledge has its root in the theory of the Under- 
standing, from which even the mathemati- 
cian must learn what can be known of his 
magnitude and his numbers; moral science 
is founded on that other, — hitherto unnamed, 
— part of the philosophy of human nature 
(to be constantly and vigilantly distinguished 
from inlcUcclual philosophy), which contem- 
plates the laws of sensibility, of emotion, of 
desire and aversion, of pleasure and pain, of 
happiness and misery : and on which arise 
the august and sacred landmarks that stand 
conspicuous along the frontier between 
Right and Wrong. 

But however multiplied the connections of 
the moral and physical sciences are, it is not 
diliicult to draw a general distinction be- 
tween thorn. The purpose of the physical 
sciences throughout all their provinces, is to 
answer the (piestion JJlmt is? They consist 
only of facts arranged accortling to their like- 
ness, and expressed by general names given 
to every class of similar facts. The purpose 
of the moral sciences is to answer the ques- 
tion I(7ia.' ought to he. ? They aim at ascer- 
taining the rules which ought to govern vo- 
luntary action, and to which those habitual 
disposilioas of mind which are the source of 
voluntary actions ought to be atiapted. 

It is obvious that '-will." "action," "habit," 
"disposition," are terms denoting facts in 
human nature, and that an explanation of 
them must be sought in mental philosophy, 
which, if knowledge be divided into physi- 
cal and moral, must be placed among physi- 
cal sciences, though it essi'ntially differs 
from them all in having for its chief object 
those laws of thought which alone reiuler 
any other sort of knowledge possible. But 
it is equally certain that the word "ought" 
introduces the mind into a new region, to 
which nothing physical corresponds. How- 
ever philosophers may deal with this most 
important of words, it is instantly understood 
by all who do not attempt to define it. No 
civilized speech, perhaps no human lan- 
guage, is without correspondent terms. It 
would be as reasonable to deny that "siiace" 
and ••greenness" are significant words, as to 
alRrmlhat "ought," "right," "'duty, ""vir- 
tue." are sounds witho\it meaning. It would 
be fatal to an ethical theory that it did not 
yxphiin them, and that it did not comprehend 
all the conceptions and emotions which they 
call up. There never yet was a theory 
which did not attempt such an explanation. 



SECTION I. 

PRELI.MIN.\RY OBSERVATIONS. 

There is iio man who, in a case where 
he was a calm bystander, would not look 
with more satisfaction on acts of kindness 
than on acts of crueltj'. No man, after the 
first excitement of his mind has subsided, 
ever whispered to himself with self-appro- 
bation and secret joy that he had been guilty 
of cruelty or baseness. Every criminal is 
strongly impelled to hide these qualities of 
his actions from himself, as he would do 
from others, by clothing his conduct in some 
disguise of duty, or of necessity. There is 
no tribe so rude as to be without a faint 
perception of a difference between Right 
and Wrong. There is no subject on which 
men of all ages and nations coincide in so 
many points as in the general rules of con- 
duct, and in the qualities of the human 
character which deserve esteem. Even the 
grossest deviations from the general consent 
will appear, on close examination, to be not 
so much corruptions of moral feeling, as 
ignorance of facts; or errors with respect to 
the consequences of action ; or cases in 
which the dissentierit party is inconsistent 
with other parts of his own principles, which 
destroys the value of his dissent; or where 
each dissident is condemned by all the other 
dissidents, which immeasurably augments 
the majority against him. In the first three 
cases he may be convinced by argument that 
his moral judgment should be changed on 
principles which he recognises as just ; and 
he can seldom, if ever, be condemned at 
the same time by the body of mankind who 
agree in their moral systems, and by those 
who on some other points dissent from that 
general code, without being also convicted 
of error by inconsistency with himself. The 
tribes who expose new-born infants, condemn 
those who abandon their decrepit parents to 
destruction: those who betray and murder 
strangers, are condemned by the rules of 
faith and humanity which they acknowledge 
in their intercourse with their countrymen. 
I\Ir. Hume, in a dialogue in which he inge- 
niously magnifies the moral heresies of two 
nations so polished as the Athenians and the 
French, has very satisfactorily resolved his 
own difhculties: — "In how many circum- 
stances would an Athenian and a French- 
man of merit certainly resemble each other! 
— Humniiity. fidelity, truth, justice, courage, 
temperance, constancy, dignity of mind." 
"The principlcsnpon which men reason in 
Morals are always the same, though the 
conclusions which they draw are often very 
different."* He might have added, that 
almost every deviation which he imputes to 
I each nation is at variance with some of the 
virtues justly esteemed by both, and thai 



* Philosophical Works, vEdinb. 1826.) vol. it. 
pp. 420, 422. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



97 



the reciprocal condemnation of each other's 
errors which appears in his statement en- 
titles us, Oil those points, to strike out the 
suffrages of both when collecting the general 
judgment of mankind. If we bear in mind 
that the question relates to the coincidence 
of all men in considering the same qualities 
as virtues, and not to the preference of one 
class of virtues by some^ and of a different 
class by others, the exceptions from the 
agreement of mankind, in their system of 

f)ractical morality, will be reduced to abso- 
ute insignificance; and we shall learn to 
view them as no more affecting the harmony 
of our moral faculties, than the resemblance 
of our limbs and features is affected by mon- 
strous conformations, or by the unfortunate 
effects of accident and disease in a very few 
individuals.* 

It ia very remarkable, however, that 
though all men agree that there are acts 
which ought to be done, and acts which 
ought not to be done ; though the far greater 
part of mankind agree in their list of virtues 
and duties, of vices and crimes j and though 
the whole race, as it advances in dther im- 
provements, is as evidently tending towards 
the moral system of the most civilized na- 
tions, as children in their growth tend to the 
opinions, as much as to the experience and 
strength, of adults; yet there are no questions 
in the circle of inquiry to which an.'ewerfe 
more various have been given than — How 
men have thus come to agree in the 'Rule 
of Life V Whence arises their general reve- 
rence for it 1 and, What is meant by affirm- 
ing that it ought to be inviolably observed ? 
It is singular, that where we are most nearly 
agreed respecting rules, we should perhaps 
most widely differ as to the causes of our 
agreement, and as to the reasons which justify 
us for adhering to it. The discussion of these 
subjects composes what is usually called 
the " Theory of Morals" in a sense not in 
all respects coincident with what is usually 
considered as theory in other sciences. 
When we investigate the causes oi our moral 
agreement, the term "theory"' retains its 

* " On convient ie plus souvent de ce.s instincts 
de la conscience. La plus grande et la plus saine 
partie du genre humain leur rend temoignage. 
Les Orientau.x, el les Grecs. et les Romains con- 
viennent en cela ; et il faiidroit cire aussi abruti 
que les sauvages Americans pour approuver leurs 
coutumes, pleiiies d'une cruaute qui passe meme 
celle des betes. CependatU ces memes sauvages 
tenleut bien ce que c'esl que la jualice e?t d'aiitrex 
occasions ; el rjuoique il ii'y ait point de maiivaise 
praiiqiic peut-utre qui ne soit autorisee quclque 
part, il y en a peu pourtant qui ne soient con- 
damnees le p?U3 souvent, et par i« plus grttnde 
panic des homraes." — Leibnitz, CEuvres Philo- 
sophiques, {.Vmst. et Leipz. 1765, 4 to.) p. 49. 
TJiere are some admirable observations on this 
subject in Hartley, especially in the development 
of the 49th Proposition : — " The rule of life drawn 
from the practice and opinions of mankind corrects 
and improves itself perpetually, till at last it de- 
termines entirely for virtue, and excludes all kinds 
and degrees of vice." — Observaliona on Man, 
vol. ii. p. 214. 

13 



ordinary scientific sense ; but when we en- 
deavour to ascertain the reasoiis of it, we 
rather employ the term as importing the 
theory of the rules of an art. In the first 
case, ' theory' denotes, as usual, the most 
general laws to which certain facts can be 
reduced; whereas in the second, it points out 
the efficacy of the observance, in practice, 
of certain rules, for producing the effects 
intended to be produced in (he art. These 
reasons also may be reduced under the ge- 
neral sense by stating the question relating 
to them thus: — What are the causes -why 
the observance of certain rules enables us 
to execute certain purposes ? An account of 
the various answers attempted to be made 
to these inquiries, properly forms the history 
of Ethics. 

The attentive reader may already per- 
ceive, that these momentous inquiries relate 
to at least two perfectly di.stinct subjects : — 

1. The nature of the distinction between 
Right and Wrong in human conduct, and 

2. The nature of those feelings with which 
Right and Wrong are contemplated by hu- 
man beings. The latter constitutes what 
has been called the ' Tlieory of Moral Sen- 
timents j'' the former consists in an investiga- 
tion into the criterion of Morality in action. 
Other most important questions arise in this 
province : but the two problems which have 
been just stated, and the essential distinction 
between them, must be clearly apprehended 
by all who are desirous of understanding 
the controversies which have prevailed on 
ethical subjects. The discrimination has 
seldom been made by moral philosophers; 
the difference between the two problems 
has never been uniformly observed by any 
of them ; and it will appear, in the sequel, 
that they have been not rarely altogether 
confounded by very eminent men, to the 
destruction of all just conception and of all 
correct reasoning in this most important, 
.and, perhaps, most difficult, of sciences. 

It may therefore be allowable to deviate 
so far from historical order, as to illustrate 
the nature, and to prove the importance, of 
the distinction, by an example of the ef- 
fects of neglecting it, taken from the recent 
works of justly celebrated writers; in which 
they discuss questions much agitated in the 
present age, and therefore probably now 
familiar to most readers of this Disserta- 
tion. 

Dr. Paley represents the principle of a 
Moral Sense as being opposed to that of utilt^ 
ty.* Now, it is evident that this represen- 
tation is founded on a confusion of ihe two 
questions which have been started above. 
That we are endued with a Moral Sense, or, 
in other words, a faculty which immediately 
approves what is right, and condemns what 
is wrong, is only a statement of the feelings 
with which we contemplate actions. Bu: 



* Principles of Moral and Political Philoso- 
phy. Compare book i. chap. v. with book ii. 
chap. vi. 



98 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



to affirm that right actions are those which 
coiuluco to the well-being of mankind, is a 

Eroposition concerning the outward effects 
y which right actions themselves may be 
recognised. As these affirmations relate to 
diffe'i-ent subjects, they cannot be opposed to 
each other, any more than the solidity of 
earth is inconsistent with the fluidity of 
water; and a very little reflection will show 
it to be easily conceivable that they may be 
both true. Man may be so constituted as 
instantaneously to approve certain actions 
without any reference to their consequences ; 
and yet Reason may nevertlieless discover, 
that a tendency to produce general happiness 
is the essential characteristic of such actions. 
]\lr. i^LMitham also contrasts the principle of 
Utility with that of Sympathy, of which he 
considers the Moral Sense as being one of 
the forms.* It is needless to repeat, that 
propositions which affirm, or deny, anything 
of different subjects, cannot contradict each 
other. As these celebrated persons have 
thus mferred or implied the non-existence of 
a Moral Sense, from their opinion that the 
morality of actions depends upon their use- 
fulness, so other philosophers of equal name 
liave concluded, that the utility of actions 
cannot be the criterion of their morality, be- 
cause a perception of that utility appears to 
them to form a faint and inconsiderable part 
of our Moral Sentiments, — if indeed it be at 
all tliscoverable in them.t These errors are 
the more remarkable, because the like con- 
fusion of perceptions with their objects, of 
emotions with their causes, or even the omis- 
sion to mark the distinctions, would in every 
other subject be felt to be a most serious 
fault in philosophizing. If, for instance, an 
element were discovered to be common to 
all bodies which our taste perceives to be 
sweet, and to be found in no other bodies, it 
is apparent that this discovery, perhaps im- 
portant in other respects, would neither 
affect our perception of sweetness, nor the 
pleasure which attends it. Both would con- 
tinue to be what they have been since the 
e.vistence of mankind. Every proposition 
concerning that element would relate to 
sweet bodies, and belong to the science of 
Chemistry ; while every proposition respect- 
ing the perception or pleasure of sweetness 
would relate either to the body or mind 
of man, and accordingly belong either to the 
science of Physiology, or to that of Mental 
Philosophy. During the many ages which 
passed before the analysis of the sun's beams 
had proved them to be compounded of differ- 
ent colours, white objects were seen, and 
their whiteness was sometimes felt to be 
beautiful, in the very same manner as since 



* Introduction to the Principles of Morality and 
Le(»islation, chap. ii. 

t Smith, Theory of Moral Sentiments, part iv. 
Even Hume, in the third book of his Treatise of 
Human Nature, the most precise, perhaps, of his 
philosophical writings, uses the following as the 
title of one of the sections : " Moral Distinctions, 
derived from a Moral Sense." 



that discovery. The qualities of h'ght are 
the object of Optics; the nature of beauty 
can be ascertained only by each man's ob- 
servation of his own mind; the changes in 
the living frame which succeed the refrac- 
tion of light in the eye, and precede mental 
operation, will, if they are ever to be known . 
by man, constitute a part of Physiology. 
But no proposition relating to one of these 
orders of phenomena can contradict or sup- 
port a proposition concerning another order. 
The analogy of this latter case will justi- 
fy another preliminary observation. In the 
case of the pleasure derived from beauty, 
the question whether that pleasure be ori- 
ginal, or derived, is of secondary importance. 
It has been often observed that the same 
properties which are admired as beautiful in 
the horse, contribute also to his safety and 
speed ; and they who infer that the admira- 
tion of beauty was originally founded on the 
convenience of fleetness and firmness, if they 
at the same time hold that the idea of useful-s. 
ness is gradually effaced, and that the admi- 
ration of a certain shape at length rises in- 
stantaneously, without reference to any pur- 
pose, may, with perfect consistency, regard 
a sense of beauty as an independent and 
universal principle of human nature. The 
laws of such a feeling of beauty are dis- 
coverable onl)-by self-observation : those of 
the qualities which call it forth are ascer- 
tained by examination of the outward things 
which are called beautiful. But it is of the 
utmost importance to bear in mind, that he 
who contemplates the beautiful proportions 
of a horse, as the signs and proofs of security 
or quickness, and has in view these conveni- 
ent qualities, is properly said to prefer the 
hor.se for his usefulness, not for his beauty; 
though he may choose him from the same 
outward appearance which pleases the ad- 
mirer of the beautiful animal. He alone 
who derives immediate pleasure from the 
appearance itself, without reflection on any 
advantages which it may promise, is truly 
said to feel the beauty. ' The distinction, 
however, manifestly depends, not on the 
origin of the emotion, but on its object and 
nature when completely formed. Many of 
our most important perceptions through the 
eye are universally acknowledged to be ac- 
quired : but they are as general as the ori- 
ginal perceptions of that organ ; they arise as 
independently of our will, and numan nature 
would be quite as imperfect without them. 
The case of an adult who did not immediate- 
ly see the different distances of objects from 
his eye, would be thought by every one to 
be as great a deviation from the ordinary 
state of man, as if he were incapable of dis- 
tinguishing the brightest sunshine from the 
darkest midnight. Acquired perceptions and 
sentiments may therefore be termed natural, 
as much as those which are more common- 
ly so called, if they be as rarely found want- 
ing. Ethical theories can never be satisfac- 
torily discussed by those who do not con- 
stantly bear in mind, that the question 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



99 



concernng the existence of a moral faculty 
in man, which immediately approves or dis- 
approves, without reference to any farther 
object, is perfectly distinct, on the one hand, 
from that which inquires into the qualities 
of actions, thus approved or disapproved • 
and on the other, from an inquiry whether 
that faculty be derived from other parts of 
our mental frame, or be itself one of the 
ultimate constituent principles of human 
nature. 



SECTION IL 

RETROSPECT OF ANCIENT ETHICS. 

Inquiries concernino; the nature of Mind, 
the first principles of Knowledge, the origin 
and government of the world, appear to have 
been among the earliest objects which em- 
ployed the vmderstanding of civilized men. 
Fragments of such speculation are handed 
down from the legendary age of Greek phi- 
"tosophy. In the remaining monuments of 
that more ancient form of civilization which 
sprung up in Asia, we see clearly that the 
Braminical philosopiiers, in times perhaps 
before the dawn of Western history, had run 
round that dark and little circle of systems 
which an unquenchable thirst of knowledge 
has since urged both the speculators of an- 
cient Greece and those of Christendom to 
retrace. The wall of adamant which bounds 
human inquiry in that direction has scarcely 
ever been discovered by any adventurer, 
until he has been roused by th^ shock which 
drove him back. It is otherwise with the 
theory of Morals. No controversy seems to 
have arisen regarding it in Greece (ill the 
rise and conflict of the Stoical and Epicurean 
schools; and the ethical disputes of the 
modern wor"ld originated with the writings 
of Hobbes about the middle of the seven- 
teenth century. Perhaps the longer absti- 
nence from debate on this subject may have 
sprung from reverence for Morality. Per- 
haps also, where the world were unanimous 
in their practical opinions, little need was 
felt of exact theory. The teachers of Morals 
were content with partial or secondary prin- 
ciples, — with the combination of principles 
not always reconcilable, — even with vague 
but specious phrases which in any degree 
explained or seemed to explain the Rules 
of the Art of Life, appearing, as these last 
did, at once too evident to need investiga- 
tion, and too venerable to be approached by 
controversy. 

Perhaps the subtile genius of Greece was 
in part withheld from indulging itself in 
ethical controversy by the influence of So- 
crates, who was much more a teacher of 
virtue than even a searcher after Truth — 

Whom, well inspired, the oracle pronounced 
Wisest of men. 

It was doubtless because he chose that 
better part that he was thus spoken of by 



the man whose commendation is glory, and 
who, from the loftiest eminence of moral 
genius ever reached by a mortal, was per- 
haps alone worthy to place a new crown on 
the brow of the martyr of Virtue. 

Aristippus indeed, a wit and a worldh'ng, 
borrowed nothing from the conversations of 
Socrates but a few maxims for husbanding 
the enjoyments of sense. Antisthenes also, 
a hearer but not a follower, founded a school 
of parade and exaggeration, which caused 
his master to disown him by the ingenious 
rebuke, — -'Isee your vanity through your 
threadbare cloak."* The modest doubts of 
the most sober of moralists, and his indispo- 
sition to fruitless abstractions, were in pro- 
cess of time employed as the foundation of 
a systematic scepticif^m; — the most pre- 
sumptuous, inapplicable, and inconsistent of 
all the results of human meditation. But 
though his lessons were thus distorted by the 
perverse ingenuity of some who heard him, 
the authority of his practical sense may be 
traced in the moral writings of those most 
celebrated philosophers who were directly 
or indirectly his disciples. 

Plato, the most famous of his scholars, the 
most eloquent of Grecian writers, and the 
earliest moral philosopher whose writings 
have come down to us, employed his genius 
in the composition of dialogues, in which 
his master performed the principal part. 
These beautiful conversations would have 
lost their charm of verisimilitude, of dra- 
matic vivacity, and of picturesque represen- 
tation of character, if they had been sub- 
jexiied to the constraint of method. They 
necessarily presuppose much oral instruction. 
They frequently quote, and doubtless oftener 
allude to, the opinions of predecessors and 
contemporaries whose works have perished, 
and of whose doctrines only some fragments 
are preserved. In these circumstances, it 
must be difficult for the most learned and 
philosophical of his commentators to give a 
just representation of his doctrines, even if 
he really framed or adopted a system. The 
moral part of his works is more accessible. t 
The vein of thought which runs through 
them is always visible. The object is to in- 
spire the love of Truth, of Wisdom, of Beauty, 
especially of Goodness — the highest Beauty, 
and of that Supreme and Eternal Mind, 
which contains all Truth and Wisdom, all 
Beauty and Goodness. By the love or de- 
lightful contemplation and pursuit of these 
transcendent aims for their own sake only, 
he represented the mind of man as raised 
from low and perishable objects, and pre- 
pared for those high destinies which are ap- 
pointed for all those who are capable of en- 
joying them. The application to moral quali- 
ties of terms which denote outward beauty, 
though by him perhaps carried to excess, is 

* Diog. Laert. lib. vi. JEWan, lib. i.x. cap. 35. 

t Heyse, Init. Phil. Plat. 1827 ;— a liiihcrto m 
complete work of great per.«picuiiy and elegance, 
in which we must excuse the partiality which be- 
, longs to a labour of love. 



100 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



an illustrative metaphor, as well warranted 
by the poverty of language as any other em- 
ployed to signify the acts or attributes of 
Mind.* The "beautiful'' in his language 
denoted all that of which the mere contem- 
plation is in itself delightful, without any 
admi.xture of organic pleasure, and without 
being reg-arded as the means of attaining any 
farther end. The feeling which belongs to 
it he called " love ;" a word which, as com- 
prehending complacency, benevolence, and 
affection, and reaching from the neighbour- 
hood of the senses to the most sublime of i 
human thoughts, is foreign to the colder and 
more exact language of our philosophy ; but 
which, perhaps, then happily served to lure 
both the lovers of Poetry, and the votaries 
of Superstition, to the schpol of Truth and 
Goodness in the groves of the Academy. He 
enforced these lessons by an inexhaustible 
variety of just and beautiful illustrations, — 
sometimes striking from their familiarity, 
sometimes subduing by their grandeur ; and 
his works are the storehouse from which 
moralists have from age to age borrowed the 
means of rendering moral instruction easier 
and more delightful. Virtue he represented 
as the harmony of the whole soul) — as a 
peace between all its principles and desires, 
assigning to each as much space as they can 
occupy, without encroaching on each other; 
^-as a state of perfect health, in which every 
function was performed with case, pleasure, 
and vigour; — as a well-ordered common- 
wealth, where the obedient passions exe- 
cuted with energy the laws and commands 
of Reason. The vicious mind presented the 
odious character, sometimes of discoid, of 
war; — sometimes of disease; — always of 
passions warring with each other in eternal 
anarchy. Consistent with himself, and at 
peace with his fellows, the good man felt in 
the quiet of his conscience a foretaste of the 
approbation of God. "Oh, what anient love 
would virtue inspire if she could be seen." 
"If the heart of a tyrant could be laid bare, 
we should see how it was cut and torn by 
its own evil passions and by an avenging 
conscience."t 



* The most probable etymology of "xaAoj" 
seems to be from xow> to burn. What burns com- 
monly shines. " Schon," in German, which 
means beautiful, is derived from "scheinen," to 
ehine. The word x<tX3c was used for right, so 
early as the Homeric Poems. Ix. x\\\. 19. In the 
philosophical age it became a technical term, with 
litde other remains of the metaphorical sense than 
what the genius and art of a fine writer might 
eometimes rekindle. " Honcstum" the term by 
which Cicero translates the " xjtxsK," being de- 
rived from outward honours, is a less happy me- 
taphor. In our language, the terms, being from 
foreign roots, contribute nothing to illustrate the 
progress of thought. 

t Let it not be forgotten, that for this terrible 
description, Socrates, to whom it is ascribed by 
Plato (no\. I.) is called " Praestantissimus sapien- 
Mae," by a writer of the most masculine under- 
standing, the least subject to be transported by 
enthusiasm. — Tac. Ann, lib. vi. cap. 6. " Quae 
rulnera!" says Cicero, in alluding to the same 
pMsage.— De Off. lib. iii. cap. 21. 



Perhaps in every one of these illustrations^ 
an eye trained in the history of Ethics may 
discover the germ of the whole or of a part 
of some subsequent theory. But to examine 
it thus would not be to look at it with the 
eye of Plato. His aim was as practical as 
that of Socrates. He employed every topic, 
without regard to its place in a system, or 
even always to its argumentative force, which 
could attract the small portion of the com- 
munity then accessible to cultivation ; who, 
it should not be forgotten, had no moral in- 
istructor but the Philosopher, unaided, if not 
thwarted, by the reigning superstition : for 
Religion nad not then, besides her own dis- 
coveries, brought down the most awful and 
the most beautiful forms of Moral Truth to 
the humblest station in human society.* 

Ethics retained her sober spirit in the 
hands of his great scholar and rival Aristo- 
tle, who, though he certainly surpassed all 
men in acute distinction, in subtile argument, 
in severe method, in the power of analyzing 
what is most compounded, and of reducing 
to simple principles the most various and 
unlike appearances, yet appears to be still 
more raised above his fellows by the prodi- 
gious faculty of laying asiile these extraor- 
dinary endowments whenever his present 
purpose required it; — as in his History of 
Animals, in his treatises on philosophical cri- 
ticism, and in his practical writings, political 
as well as moral. Contrasted as his genius 
was to that of Plato, not only by its logical 
anil metaphysical attributes, but by the re- 
gard to experience and observation of Nature 
which, in him perhaps alone, accompanied 
them; (though the two maybe considered 
as the original representatives of the two 
antagonist tendencies of philosophy — that 
which would ennoble man, and that which 
seeks rather to explain nature ;) yet opposite 
as they are in other respects, the master and 
the scholar combine to guard the Rule of 
Life against the licentious irruptions of the 
Sophists. 

In Ethics alone their systems difTered 
more in words than in things.t That hap- 



* There can hardly be a finer example of Plato's 
practical morals than his observations on the treat- 
ment of slaves. "Genuine humanity and real 
probity," says- he, "are brotight to the test, by 
the beharioirr of a man to slaves, whom he may 
wrong with impunity." iudixKos yaf o ^vm xal 
fAti 7rKia-TZ< a-'iCofy tw ii»xy. fAirZt S\ htct; to ojof.r 

lib. vi. cap. 19. That Plato was considered as 
the fountain of ancient morals, would be suffi- 
ciently evident from Cicero alone : " E.x hoc igitur 
Piatonis, quasi quodam sancto augustoque fonte, 
nostra omnis manabit oratio." — Tusc. Quaest 
lib. V. cap. 12. Perhaps the sober Quintilian 
meant to mingle some censure with the highest 
praise: "Plato, qui eloquendi facultate divina 
quadam et Homerica, mulium supra prosam ora- 
tioncm surgit." De Inst. Orat. lib. x. cap. 1. 

t " Una et consentiensduobus vocabulis philoso- 
phiae forma insiituta est, Academicorum et Peri- 
pateiicorum; qui rebus congruentes nominibua 
differebant," — Cic. Acad, ^uaest. lib i. cap. 4. 
BeyAJTcw {AfiTTtriiJit) ^iTTii ttvou icy «*to piAcs-op/*? 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 101 



piness consisted in virtuous pleasure, chiefly 
dependent on the state of nnind, but not un- 
affected by outward agents, was the doctrine 
of both. Both would with Socrates have 
called happiness " unrepented pleasure." 
Neither distinguished the two elements 
which they represented as constituting the 
Supreme Good from each other; partly, per- 
haps, from fear of appearing to separate 
them. PJato more habitually considered 
happiness as the natural fruit of Virtue; 
Aristotle oftener viewed Virtue as the means 
of allaining happiness. The celebrated doc- 
trine of the Peripatetics, which placed all 
virtues in a medium between opposite vices, 
was probably suggested by the Platonic re- 
presentation of its necessity to keep up har- 
mony between the difl!"erent parts of our na- 
ture. The perfection of a compound machine 
i« attained where all its parts have the fullest 
scope for action. Where one is so far exert- 
ed as to repress others, there is a vice of ex- 
cess: where aiiy one has less activity than 
it might exert without disturbing others, 
th'^re is a vice of defect. The point which 
all reach without collision with each other, 
is the mediocrity in which the Peripatetics 
placed Virtue. 

It was not till near a century after the 
death of Plato that Ethics became the scene 
of philosophical contest between the adverse 
schools of Epicurus and Zeno ; whose errors 
afford an instructive example, that in the 
formation of a theory, partial truth is equi- 
valent to absolute falsehood. As the astro- 
nomer who left either the centripetal or the 
centrifugal force of the planets out of his 
view, would err as completely as he who 
excluded both, so the Epicureans and Stoics, 
who each confined themselves to real but 
not exclusive principles in Morals, departed 
as wideJy from the truth as if they had 
adopted no part of it. Every partial theory 
is indeed directly false, inasmuch as it as- 
cribes to one or few causes what is produced 
by more. As the extreme opinions of one, 
if not of both, of these schools have been 
often revived with variations and refine- 
ments in mode^rn times, and are still not 
Without influence on ethical systems, it may 
be allowable to make some obsei-vations on 
this earliest of moral controversies. 

"All other virtues," said Epicurus, '-'grow 
from prudence, which teaches that we can- 
not live pleasurably without living justly and 
virtuously, nor live justly and virtuously with- 
out living pleasurably."* The illustration 
of this sentence formed the whole moral dis- 
cipline of Epicurus. To him we owe the 
general c-oncurrence of reflecting men in 
succeeding times, in the important truth that 
men cannot be happy without a virtuous 
frame of mind and course of life ; a truth of 
inestimable value, not peculiar to the Epi- 

hiyw rev [xtv Trf.ncriKiv, tiv S'l ^ia>sii7iii',y. icxj rev 
W.pXKrlK'Jv, Tov If i^izc) Kni TzXiriX-'ji' coD it d-iatf>irl- 
»sv, rn Ts pvyiKcv, xa) Koytx.iv. — Diog. Laert. lib. 
v.. ? 28. 
• Dies. Laert. lib. x. § 1.32. 



cureans, but placed by their e.vagge rations 
in a st.'-onger light; — a truth, it must be ad- 
ded; of .'ess importance as a motive to right 
conduct than as completing Moral Theorj-, 
which, however, it is very far from solely 
constituting. With that truth the Epicure- 
ans blended another position, which indeed 
is contained in the first words of the above 
statement ; namely, that because Virtue pro- 
motes happiness, every act of virtue must be 
done in order to promote the happiness of 
the agent. They and their modern follow- 
ers tacitly assume, that the latter position is 
the consequence of the former; as if it were 
an inference from the necessity of food to 
life, that the fear of death should be substi- 
tuted for the appetite of hunger as a motive 
for eating. "Friendship," says Epicurus, 
^ is to be pursued by the wise man only for 
its usefulness, but he will begin ; as he sows 
the field in order to reap."* It is obvious, 
that if these words be confined to outward 
benefits, they may be sometimes true, but 
never can be pertinent; for outward acts 
sometimes show kindness, but never com- 
pose it. If they be applied to kind feeling, 
they would indeed be pertinent, but they 
would be evidently and totally false; for it is 
most certain that no man acquires an afl^ec- 
tion merely from his belief that it would be 
agreeable or advantageous to feel it. Kind- 
ness cannot indeed be pursued on account 
of the pleasure which belongs to it ; for man 
can no more know the pleasure till he has 
felt the affection, than he can form an idea 
of colour without the sense of sight. The 
moral character of Epicurus was excellent; 
no man more enjo)eu the pleasure, or better 
performed the duties of friendship. The let- 
ter of his system was no more indulgent tc 
vice than that of any other moralist, f Al- 
though, therefore, he has the merit of having 
more strongly inculcated the connection of 
Virtue with happiness, perhaps by the faulty 
excess of treating it as an exclusive princi- 
ple ; yet his doctrine was justly charged with 
nidisposing the mind to those exalted and 
generous sentiments, without which no pure, 
elevated, bold, generous, or tender virtues 
can exist. t 

As Epicyrus represented the tendency of 
Virtue, which is a most important truth in 
ethical theory, as the sole inducement to 
virtuous practice; so Zeno_ in his disposition 



* TJiv pyiitv iia. T>Jf Xfil*(. — Dlog. Laert. lib. x. 
^120. "Hie est locus," Gassendi confesses, 
" ob quern Epicurus non parum vexatur, quaiido 
nemo non reprehendit, parari aniiciiiani non sui> 
sed utilitatisgraiia" 

t It is due to hini to observe, tnat he treaied 
humanity towards slaves, as one of the characitr- 
isiics of a wise man. "Out« x(,\qV6/» ciK^Tar, sa5»'- 
trt/v fJiiv TW, X3tj iTiiyyylfAW rm i^tlv tJ/v rTrovfaitn.— 
Diog. Laert. lib. x. $ 118. It is not unworthy of 
remark, that neither Plato nor Epicurus thought 
it necessary to abstain from these topics in a city 
full of slaves, many of whom were men not desti- 
tute of knowledge. 

X " Nil generosum, nil magnificum sapil.'' — Da 
Fin. lib. i. cap. 7. 

l2 



102 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



tou-ards the opposite extreme, was inclined 
to consider the moral sentimentrv, which arc 
the motives of right conduct, as being the 
sole principles of moral science. The con- 
fusion was equally groat in a philosophical 
view, but that of Epicurus was more fatal 
to interests of higher importance than those 
of Philosophy. Had the Stoics been content 
with athrming that Virtue is the source of 
aJl that part oif our happiness which depends 
on ourselves, they would have taken a posi- 
tion from which it would have K^en impos- 
sible to drive them ; thgy would have laid 
down a principle of as great comptehension 
in practice as their wider pretensions; a 
simple and incontrovertible truth, beyond 
which every thing is an object of mere cu- 
riosity to man. Our information, however, 
about the opinions of the more celebrated 
Stoics is very scanty. None of their own 
writings are preserved. We know little of 
them but from Cicero, the translator of Gre- 
cian philosophy, and from the Greek com- 
Eilers of a later age ; authorities which would 
e imperfect in the history of facts, but which 
are of far less value in the history of opinions, 
where a right conception often depends upon 
the minutest distinctions between words. 
We know that Zeno was more simple, and 
that Chr3-sippus, who was accounted the 
prop of the Stoic Porch, abounded more in 
subtile distinction and systematic spirit.* 
His power was attested as much by the an- 
tagonis.ls whom he called forth, as by the 
scholars whom he formed. '-Had there 
been no Chrysippus, there would have been 
no Carneades,'' was the saying of the latter 
philosopher himself; as it might have been 
Kiid in the eighteenth ctnitury, "Had there 
been no Hume, there would have been no 
Kant and no Reid." Cleanthes, when one 
of h-is followers would pay cojut To him by 
laying vices to the charge of his most for- 
midable opponent, Arcesilaus the academic, 
answered with a justice and candour un- 
hapjiily too rare, " Silence, — do not malign 
him; — though he attacks Virtue by his argu- 
ments, he contirms its authority by his life." 
Arcesilaus, whether modestly or churlishly, 
replied, "I do not choose to be flattered." 
Cleanthes, with a superiority of repartee, as 
well as charity, replied, '-Is it llatlery to say 
that you speak one thing and do another ?" 
It would be vain to e.\j>ect that the frag- 
ments of the professors who lectured in the 
Stoic School for live hundred years, should 
be capable of being moulded into one con- 
sistent system; and we see that in Epictetus 
at least, the exaggreration of the sect was 
lowered lo the level of Re;vson, by confining 
the sufliciency of Virtue to those cases oidy 
where happiness is attainable by our volun- 

• " Chrj'sippiis, qt»i fulcire pntatur porticum 
Stoicorum." — Acacl. Qu»st. lib. ii. cap. 24. Else- 
where (De Oral. lib. i. cap. 12. — De Fin. lib. iv. 
cap. 3.), " Aetitissiiii'is, sed in scribcndo e.vitis et 
jcjiinus, scripsit rhetiiricam seu potiiis obniuie- 
Bcendi arteni ;" — nearly as we should speak of a 
School nia'i. 



tary acts. It ought to be added, in e.xtenna* 
tion of a noble error, that the power of habit 
and character to struggle against ontward 
evils has been proved by experience to be 
in st)me instances so prodigious, that no man 
can presume to fix the utmost limit of its 
possible increase. 

The attempt, however, of the Stoics to 
stretch the bounds of their system beyond 
the limits of Nature, doomed them to Huc- 
tuatti between a wild fanaticism on the one 
hand, and, on the other, concessions which 
left their ditlorences from other philosophers 
purely verbal. IMany of their tioclrines ap- 
pear to be modifications of their original 
opinions, introduced as opposition became 
more formidable. In this manner they were 
driven to the necessity of admitting that th« 
objects of our desires and appetites are wor- 
thy of preference, though they are denied to 
be constituents of happiness. It was thus 
tliat they were obliged to invent a doable 
morality; one for mankind at large, from 
whom was expected no more than the xaOri- 
xoiy — which seems principally to have deno- 
ted acts of duty done from inferior or mixed 
motives; and the other (which ihey appear 
to have hoped from their ideal wise man) 
xarot)9u)|Ua, or perfect observance of rectitude, 
— which consisted only in moral acts done 
from mere reverence for IMorality, unaided 
by any feelings; all which (without the e.K- 
ception of pity) they cla.ssed among the ene- 
mies of Reason and the disturbers of the 
human soul. Thus did they shrink from 
their proudest paradoxes into verb.il eva- 
sions. It is remarkable that men so acute 
did not perceive and acknowledge, that if 
pain were not an evil, cruelty would not be 
a vice ; and that, if patience were of power 
to render torture inditierent, Virtue must ex 
pire in the moment of victory. There can 
be no more triumph, when there is no ene- 
my left lo conquer.* 

The inlluence of men's opinions on the 
conduct of their lives is checketl and molli- 
fied by so many causes; it so much depends 
on the strength of conviction, on its habitual 
combination with feelings, on the concur- 
rence or resistance of ititerest, passion, ex- 
ample, and sympathy, — that a wise man is 
not the most forward in attempting to deter- 
mine the power of its single operation over 
human actions. In the case of an individual 
it becomes altogether uncertain. But when 
the experiment is made on a large scale, 
when it is long continued and varied in its 
circumstances, and especially when great 
bodies of men are for ages the subject of it, 
we cannot reasonably reject the considera- 
tion of the infei-ences to which it appears to 
lead. The Roman Patriciate, trained in the 
conquest and government of the civilized 
world, in spite of the tyrannical vices vhicb 
sprung from tliat training, were raised by 

* " Patience, sovereig-n o'er fransmMted ill." 
But ar\ soon a.s the ill was really "transmuted"' 
into good, it is evident ■-hat there was no longei 
,any scope left for the eiercise of patieaee. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



103 



the greatness of their objects to an elevation 
of genius and character unmatched by any 
other aristocracy, ere the period when, after 
preserving their power by a long course of 
wise compromise with the people, they were 
betrayed by the army and the populace into 
the hands of a single tyrant of their own or- 
der — the most accomplished of usurpers, 
and, if Humanity and Justice could for a mo- 
ment be silenced, one of the most illustrious 
of men. There is no scene in history so 
memorable as that in which Caesar mastered 
a nobility of wliich Lucullus and Hortensius, 
Sulpicius and Calulus, Pompey and Cicero. 
Brutus and Cato were members. This re- 
nowned body had from the time of Scipio 
sought the Greek philosophy as an amuse- 
ment or an ornament.. Some few, " in thought 
more elevate," caught the love of Truth, and 
were ambitious of discovering a solid founda- 
tion for the Rule of Life, The influence of 
the Grecian systems was tried, during the 
five centuries between Carneades and Con- 
stantine, by their effect on a body of men of 
the utmost originality, energy, and variety 
of character, in their successive positions of 
rulers of the world, and of slaves under the 
best and under ths worst of uncontrolled 
mifiters. If we had found this influence 
perfectly uniform, we should have justly 
fiuspecled our own love of system of having 
in part bestowed that appearance on it. Had 
there been no trace of such an influence dis- 
coverable in so great an e.vperiment, we must 
have acquiesced in the paradox, that opinion 
does not at all affect conduct. The result is 
the more satisfactory, because it appears to 
illustrate general tendency without excluding 
very remarkable exceptions. Though Cassius 
was an Epicurean, the true representative of 
that school was the accomplished, prudent, 
friendly, good-natured time-server Atticus, 
the pliant slave of every tyrant, who could 
kiss the hand of Antony, imbrued as it was 
in the blood of Cicero. The pure school of 
Plato sent forth Marcus Brutus, the signal 
humanity of whose life was both necessary 
and sufllcient to prove that his daring breach 
of venerable rules flowed oidy from that dire 
necessity which left no other means of up- 
holding the most sacred principles. The Ro- 
man orator, though in speculative questions 
he embraced that mitigated doubt which al- 
lowed most ease and freedom to his genius, 
yet in those moral writings where his heart 
was most deeply interested, followed the se- 
verest sect of Philosophy, and became almost 
a Stoic. If any conclusion may be hazard- 
ed from this trial of systems, — the greatest 
which History has recorded, we must not re- 
fuse our decided, though not undistinguish- 
ing, preference to that noble school which 
preserved great souls untainted at the court 
of dissolute and ferocious tyrants; which ex- 
alted the slave of one of Nero's courtiers to 
be a moral teacher of aftertimes: — which 
for the first, and hitherto for the only time, 
breathed philosophy and justice into those 
••ules of Jaw which govern the ordinary con- 



cerns of every man; and which, above all, 
has contributed; by the examples of Marcus 
Portius Cato and of ISIarcus Aurelius Anto- 
ninus, to raise the dignity of our species, to 
keep alive'a more ardent love of Virtue, and 
a more awful sense of duty throughout all 
generations.* 

The result of this short review of the prac- 
tical philosophy of Greece seems to be. that 
though it was rich in rules for the conduct 
of life, and in exhibitions of the beauty of 
Virtue, and though it contains glimpses of 
just theory and fragments of perhaps every 
moral truth, yet it did not leave behind any 
precise and coherent s) stem ; unless we ex- 
cept that of Epicurus, who purchased con- 
sistency, method, and perspicuity too dearly 
by sacrificing Truth, and by narrowing and 
lowering his views of human nature, so as 
to enfeeble, if not extinguish, all the vigor- 
ous motives to arduous virtue. It is remark- 
able, that while of the eight professors who 
taught in the Porch, from Zeijo to Posido- 
nius, every one either softened or exaggera- 
ted the doctrines of his predecessor; and 
while the beautiful and reverend philosophy 
of Plato had, in his own Academy, degene- 
rated into a .scepticifnn which did not spare 
Morality itself, the system of Epicurus re- 
mained without change ; and his disciples 
continued for ages to show personal honours 
to his memor)', in a manner which may seem 
unaccountable among those who weje taught 
to measure propriety by a calculation of pal- 
pable and outward usefulness. This sleady 
adherence is in part doubtless attributable 
to the portion of truth which the doctrine 
contains; in some degree perhaps to the 
amiable and unboastful character of Epicu- 
rus; not a little, it may be, to the dishonour 
of deserting an unpopular cause ; but pro- 
bably most of all to that mental indolence 
which disposes the mind (o rest in a simple 
system, comprehended at a glance, and easily 
falling in, both with ordinary maxims of dis- 
cretion, and with the vulgar commonplaces 
of satire on human nature.! When all in- 
struction was conveyed by lectures, and 
when one master taught the whole circle of 
the sciences in one school, it was natural 
that the attachment of pupils to a professor 
should be more devoted than when, as in 



* Of all t&siimoniesto ihe character of ilieSioics, 
perhaps the most decisive is the speech of'ihc vile 
sycophant Capilo, in the inooli impeachment of 
Thra.sea Paeius, before a senate of slaves: " Ut 
quondam C. Caesarem ct M. Catonem, ila nunc 
te, Nero, et Thraseam, avida discordiarnm civitas 

loquitur Ista secta Tuberones et Favonios, 

veieri quoque reipublicae ingrata nomina, genutt." 
— Tacit. Ann. lib. xvi. cap. 22. See Appendix, 
Note A. 

t The progress of commonplace satire on sexes 
or professions, and (he might have added) on na- 
tions, has been exquisitely touched by Gray in his 
Retnarkson Lydgaie ; a fiagment containing pas- 
sages as finely thought and written as any in Eng- 
lish prose. General satire on mankind is still 
more absurd ; for no invective can be so nnreasona 
ble as that which is founded on falling short of au 
ideal standard. 



104 



JMACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



our times, he can teach only a small portion 
of a Knowledge spreading towards intinity, 
and even in his own little province finds a 
rival in every good writer who has treated 
the same subject. The superior attachment 
of the Epicureans to their master is not with- 
out some parallel among the followers of 
similar principles in our own age. who have 
also revived some part of that imiitrerence 
to eloquence and poetry which may be im- 
puted to the habit of coutemplatingall things 
in relation to happiness, and to (what seems 
its uniform effect) the egregious miscalcu- 
lation which leaves a multitude of mental 
pleasures out of the account. It may be 
said, indeed, that the Epicurean doctrine has 
continued with little change to the present 
day; at least it is certain that no other ancient 
doctrine has proved so capable of being re- 
stored in the s;\me form among the moderns: 
and it may be added, that Hobbes and Gas- 
sendi; as well as some of our own contem- 
poraries, are as confident in their opinions, 
and as intolerant of scepticism, as the old 
Epicureans. The resemblance of modern to 
ancient opinions, concerning some of those 
questions upon which ethical controversy 
must always hinge, may be a sufhcient ex- 
cuse for a retrospect of the Greek morals, 
which, it is hoped, uill simplify and shorten 
subsequent observation on those more recent 
disputes which form the proper subject of 
this discourse. 

The genius of Greece fell with Liberty. 
The Grecian philosophy received its mortal 
wound in the contests* between scepticism 
and dogmatism which occupieti the Schools 
in the age of Cicero. The Sceptics could only 
perplex, and confute, and destroy. Their oc- 
cupation was gone as soon as ihey succeeded. 
They had nothing to substitute for what they 
overthrew; and they rendered their own art 
of no further use. Tliey were no more than 
venomous animals, who stuirg their victims 
to death, but also breathed their last into the 
wound. 

A third age of Grecian literature indeed 
arose at Alexandria, under the Macedonian 
kings of Egypt; laudably distinguished by 
exposition, criticism, and imitation (some- 
times abused for the purposes of literary 
forgery), and still more honoua^d by some 
learned and highly-cultivated poets, as well 
as by diligent cultivators of History and 
Science ; among whom a few beg-an, about 
the lirst preaching of Christianity, to turn 
their minds once more to that high Philoso- 
phy which seeks for the fundamental prin- 
ciples of human knowledge. Philo, a learned 
and philosophical Hebrew, one of the flour- 
ishing colony of his nation established in 
that citv, endeavoured to reconcile the Pla- 
tonic philosophy with the Mosaic Law and 
the Sacred Biwks of the Old Testament. 
About the end of the second century, when 
the Christians, Hebrews, Pagans, and various 
other sects of semi- or pseudo-Christian Gnos- 
tics appear to have studied in the same 
schools, the almost inevitable tendency of 



doctrines, however discordant, in such cir- 
cumstances to amalgamate, produced its full 
effect under Ammonius Siiccas, a celebrated 
professor, who, by selection from the Greek 
systems, the Hebrew books, and the Oriental 
religions, and by some concession to the ris- 
ing spirit of Christianity, of which the Gnos- 
tics had set the example, composed a very 
mixed system, commonly designated as the 
Eclectic philosophy. The controversies be- 
tween his contemporaries and followers, es- 
pecially those of Clement and Origen, the 
victorious champions of Christianity, with 
Plotinus and Porphyry, who endeavoured to 
preserve Paganism by clothing it in a dis- 
guise of philosophical Theism, are, from the 
efiects towards which they contributed, the 
most memorable in the history cf human 
opinion.* But their connection v.ilh modern 
Ethics is too faint to warrant any observation 
in this place, on the imperfect and partial 
memorials of them which have reached us. 
The death of Boethius in the West, and the 
closing of the Athenian Schools by Justinian, 
may be considered as the last events in the 
history of ancient philosophy .t 



SECTION III. 

KETROSPECT OF SCHOL.ISTIC ETHICS. 

An interval of a thousand years elapsed 
between the close of ancient and the rise of 
modern philosophy ; the most unexplored, 
yet not the least instructive portion of the 
history of European opinion. In that period 
the sources of the institutions, the manners, 
and the characteristic distinctions of modern 
nations, have been traced by a series of 
philosophical inquirers from Montesquieu to 
Haliam ; and there also, it may be added, 
more than among the Ancients, are the well- 
springs of our speculative doctrines and con- 
troversies. Far from being inactive, the hu- 
man mind, during that periotl of exaggerated 
darkness, produced discoveries in Science, 
inventions in Art, and contrivances in Go 



* The change attempied liy Julian, Porphyry, 
and ihcir friends, by which Theism would have 
lieconie the popular Religion, may be estimated 
by the memorable passage of Tacitus on the The- 
ism of the Jews. In the midst of all the obloquy 
and opprobrium with which he loads that people, 
his tone suddenly rises, when he comes to con- 
template them as the only nation who paid re- 
ligious honours to the Supreme and Eternal Mind 
alone, and his style swells at the sight of so sub- 
lime and wonderful a scene. " Summum illud cX 
frtenniiii, neque mutabile, neque inleriturum." 
Hist. lib. v. cap. 5. 

t The punishment of death was inflicted on 
Pagans by a law of Constaniius. " Volumus 
cunetos sacrifii'iis absliiiere : si aliquid hujusmodi 
perpetraverint, gladio iiltore slernnniur." Cod. 
Just. lib. i. lit. xi. ' de Pnganis.' From the au- 
thorities cited by Gibbon, (note, chap, xi ) as weli 
OS from some research, it should seem that the 
edict for the suppression of the Athenian schools 
was not admitted into the vast collection of laws 
enacted or systematized by Justinian. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



105 



Ternment, some of which, perhaps, were 
rather favoured than hindered by the dis- 
orders of society, and by the twilight in 
which men and things were seen. Had 
Boethius, the last of the ancients, foreseen, 
that within four centuries of his death, in the 

Erovince of Britain, then a prey to all the 
orrors of barbaric invasion, a chief of one 
of the fiercest tribes of barbarians* should 
translate into the jargon of his freebooters 
■ the work on The Consolations of Philosophy, 
of which the composition had soothed the 
cruel imprisonment of the philosophic Roman 
himself, he must, even amidst his sufferings, 
have derived some gratification from such 
an as.surance of the recovery of mankind 
from ferocity and ignorance. But had he 
been allowed to revisit the earth in the mid- 
dle of the sixteenth century, with what won- 
der and delight might he have contemplated 
the new and fairer order which was begin- 
ning to disclose its beauty, and to promise 
more than it revealed. He would have seen 
personal slavery nearly extinguished, and 
women, first released from Oriental impri- 
sonment by the Greeks, and raised to a higher 
dignity among the Romans.t at length fast 
approaching to due equality ; — two revolu- 
tions the most signal and beneficial since the 
dawn of civilization. He would have seen 
the discovery of gunpowder, w?iich for ever 
guarded civilized society against barbarians, 
while it transferred military strength from 
the few to the many; of paper and printing, 
which rendered a second destruction of the 
repositories of knowledge impossible, as well 
as opened a way by which it was to be 
finally accessible to all mankind ; of the 
compass, by means of which navigation had 
ascertained the form of the planet, and laid 
open a new continent, more extensive than 
his world. If he had turned to civil institu- 
tions, he might have learned that some 
"nations had preserved an ancient, simple, 
and seemingly rude mode of legal proceed- 
ing, which threw into the hands of the ma- 
jority of men a far larger share of judicial 
power, than was enjoyed by them in any 
ancient democracy. He would have seen 
everywhere the remains of that principle of 
representation, the glory of the Teutonic 
race, by which popular government, an- 
ciently imprisoned in cities, became capa- 
ble of being strengthened by its e.xtension 
over vast countries, to which experience 
cannot even now assign any limits; and 
which, in times still distant, was to exhibit, 
in the newly discovered Continent, a repub- 

* King Alfred. 

t The sleps of this important progress, as far as 
relates lo Athens and Rome, are well remarked 
upon hy one of ihe finest of the Roman writers. 
" Queni enim Romanorum pudet u,\orcm ducere 
ill conviviuni ? aut cujus malerfamilias non primum 
locum tenet jedium, atque in celebrilate versatur ? 
quod mulio fit aliier in Graicia : nam neqiic in con- 
vivium adliibetur, nisi propinqnorum ; neque sedet 
nisi in iiiteriore parte ajdium, qute Gyna-conilis ap- 
pellatiir, quo nemo accedit, nisi propinqua cogna- 
tione conjunctus." Corn. Nep. in Praefat. 
14 



lican confederacy, likely to surpass the Mace- 
donian and Roman empires in extent, great- 
ness, and duration, but gloriously founded on 
the equal rights, not like them on the uni- 
versal subjection, of mankind. In one re- 
spect, indeed, he might have lamented that 
the race of man had made a really retrograde 
movement ; that they had lost the liberty of 
philosophizing; that the open exercise of 
their highest faculties was interdicted. But 
he might also have perceived that this giant 
evil had received a mortal wound from Lu- 
ther, who in his warfare against Rome had 
struck a blow agjiinst all human authority, 
and unconsciously disclosed to mankind that 
they were entitled, or rather bound, to form 
and utter their own opiin'ons, and that mo.st 
certainly on whatever subjects are the most 
deeply interesting : for although this most 
fruitful of moral truths was not yet so re- 
leased from its combination with the wars 
and passions of the age as to assume a dis- 
tinct and visible form, its action was already 
discoverable in the divisions among the Re- 
formers, and in the fears and struggles of 
civil and ecclesiastical oppres.sors. The 
Council of Trent, and the Courts of Paris, 
Madrid, and Rome, had before that time fore- 
boded the emancipation of Reason. 

Though the middle age be chie/ly memo- 
rable as that in which the foundations of a 
new order of society were laid, uniting the 
stability of the Oriental system, without its 
inflexibility, to the activity of the Hellenic 
civilization, without its disorder and incon- 
stancy ; yet it is not unworthy of notice by 
us here, on account of the subterranean cur- 
rent which flows through it, from the specu- 
lations of ancient to those of modern times. 
That dark stream must be uncovered before 
the history of the European Understanding 
can be thoroughly comprehended. It was 
lawful for the emancipators of Reason in their 
first struggles to carry on mortal war against 
the Schoolmen. The necessity has long 
ceased; they are no longer dangerous; and 
it is now felt by philo.sophers that it is time 
to explore and estimate that vast portion of 
the history of Philosophy from which we 
have scornfully turned our eyes.* A few 
sentences only can be allotted to the subject 
in this place. In the very depths of the Mid- 
dle Age, the darkness of Christendom was 



♦ Tennemann, Geschichte der Philosophies 
Cousin, Cours de Philosophic, Paris, 1828. My 
esteem for this last admirable writer encourages 
me to say, that the beauty of his diction has some- 
times the same effect on his thoughts that a sunny 
haze produces on outward objects ; and lo submit 
to his serious consideration, whether the allure- 
ments of Schelling's system have not betrayed 
him into a too frequent forgetfulness that princi- 
ples, equally adapted to all plienoinena, furnish in 
speculation no possible test of tlitir iruih, and lead, 
in practice, to total iiidifTcrence and inactivity re 
specting human affairs. I quote with pleasure 
an excellent observation from this worn : " Le 
moyen age n'est pas autre chose que la formation 
peiiible, lente et sanglante, de tons les elemens de 
la civilisation moderne ; je dis la formation, et noa 
leur developpement." (2nd Lecture, p. 27.) 



106 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



faintlybrokenbya few thinly scatterecllights. 
Even then, Moses Ben Maimon taught philo- 
sophy among the persecuted Hebrews, whose 
ancient schools had never perhaps been 
wholly interrupted ; and a series of distin- 
guished Mahometans, among whom two are 
known to us by the names of Avicenna and 
Averroes, translated the Peripatetic writings 
into their own language, expounded their 
doctrines in no servile spirit to their follow- 
ers, and enabled the European Christians to 
make those versions of them from Arabic 
into Latin, which in the eleventh and twelfth 
centuries gave birth to the scholastic philo- 
sophy. 

The Schoolmen were properly theologians, 
who employed philosophy only to define and 
support that system of Christian belief which 
they and their contemporaries had embraced. 
The founder of that theological system was 
Anrelius Augustinus* (called by us Augus- 
tin), bishop of Hippo, in the province of Af- 
rica; a man of great genius and ardent 
character, who adopted, at different periods 
of his life, the most various, but at all times 
the most decisive and systematic, as well as 
daring and extreme opinions. This extra- 
ordinary man became, after some struggles, 
the chief Doctor, and for ages almost the 
sole oracle, of the Latin church. It hap- 
pened by a singular accident, that the School- 
men of the twelfth century, who adopted his 
theology, instead of borrowing their defen- 
sive weapons from Plato, the favourite of 
their master, had recourse for the exposition 
and maintenance of their doctrines to the 
writings of Aristotle, the least pious of phi- 
losophical theists. The Augustinian doc- 
trines of original sin, predestination, and 
grace, little known to the earlier Christian 
writers, wiio appear indeed to have adopted 
opposite and milder opinions, were espoused 
by Augustin himself in his old age ; when, 
b)' a violent swing from his youthful Mani- 
cheism, which divided the sovereignity of 
the world between two adverse beings, he 
did not shrink, in his pious solicitude for 
tracing the power of God in all events, from 
presenting the most mysterious parts of the 
moral government of the Universe, in their 
darkest colours and their sternest shape, as 
articles of faith, the objects of the habitual 
meditation and practical assent of mankind. 
The principles of his rigorous system, though 
not with all their legitimate consequences, 
were taught in the schools; respectfully pro- 
mulgated rather than much inculcated by 
the Western Church (for in the East these 
opinions seem to have been unknown); 
scarcely perhaps distinctly assented to by 
the majority of the clergy ; and seldom 
heard of by laymen till the systematic ge- 
nius and fervid eloquence of Calvin ren- 
dered them a popular creed in the most 
devout and moral portion of the Christian 
world. Anselm.t the Piedmontese Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury, was the earliest re- 



* See Note B. 



t Born, 1033; died, 1109. 



viver of the Augustinian opinions. Aquinas* 
was their most redoubted champion. To 
them, however, the latter joined others of a 
different spirit. Faith, according to him, 
was a virtue, not in the sense in which it 
denotes the things believed, but in that in 
which it signifies the state of mind which 
leads to right Belief. Goodness he regarded 
as the moving principle of the Divine Gov- 
ernment; Justice, as a modification of Good- 
ness ; and, with all his zeal to magnify the 
Sovereignity of God, he yet taught, that 
though God always wills what is just, no- 
thing is just solely because He wills it. 
Scotus,t the most subtile of doctors, recoils 
from the Augustinian rigour, though he ra- 
ther intimates than avows his doubts. He 
was assailed for his tendency towards the 
Pelagian or Anti-Augustinian doctrines by 
many opponents, of whom the most famous 
in his own time was Thomas Bradwardine,t 
Archbishop of Canterbury, formerly confes- 
sor of Edward III., whose defence of Pre- 
destination was among the most noted works 
of that age. He revived the principles of 
the ancient philosophers, who, from Plato 
to Marcus Aurelius, taught that error of 
judgment, being involuntary, is not the 
proper subject of moral di,5approbation ; 
which indeed is implied in Aquinas' ac- 
count of Faith. § But he appears to have 
been the first whose langarage inclined to- 
wards that most pernicious of moral here- 
sies, which represents Morality to be found- 
ed on Will.ll 

William of Ockham, the most justly cele- 
brated of English Schoolmen, went so far 
beyond this inclination of his master, as to 
affirm, that ''if God had commanded his 
creatures to hate Himself, the hatred of God 
would ever be the duty of man;" — a mon- 
stious hyperbole, into which he was peihaps 
betrayed by his denial of the doctrine of 
general ideas, the pre-existence of which in 
the Eternal Intellect was commonly regarded 
as the foundation of the immutable nature of 
Morality. This doctrine of Ockham, which 
by necessary implication refuses moral attri- 
butes to the Deity, and contratiicts the ex- 
istence of a moral government, is practically 



* Born, 1224 ; died, 1274. See Note C. 

t Born about ISliS ; died at Cologne (where his 
grave is siill sliown) in 1308. Whcihor he was 
a native of Diinston in Nortlnnnberland, or of 
Dunse in Bcrwicksliirc, or ol Down in Ireland, 
was a question long and warmly contested, hut 
which seems to be settled by liis biographer, I.uko 
Wadding, who quotes a passage of Scotus' Com- 
mentary on Aristotle's Metaphysics, where he 
illustrates his author thus: "As in tlie defini- 
tion of St. Francis, or St. Patrick, man is ne- 
cessarily presupposed. " Scott. Op. i. 3. As Sco- 
tus was a Franciscan, the mention of St. Patrick 
seems to show that he was an Irishman. See 
Note D. 

% Born about 1290; died 1349; the contempo- 
rary of Chaucer, and prol>al)ly a fellow-student 
of Wiclifle and Roger Bacon. His principal 
work was entitled, ' Dc Causa Dei contra Pela- 
gium, et de Virtulc Causarum, Lihri trcs.' 

% See Note E. II See Note F. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 107 



equivalent to atheism.* As all devotional 
feelings have moral qualities for their sole 
object ; as no being can inspire love or rever- 
ence otherwise than by those qualities which 
are naturally amiable or venerable, this doc- 
trine would, if men were consistent, extin- 
guish piety, or, in other words, annihilate 
Religion. Yet so astonishing are the contra- 
dictions of human nature, that this most im- 
pious of all opinions probably originated in 
a pious solicitude to magnify the Sovereignty 
of God, and to exalt His authority even above 
His own goodness. Henfe we may under- 
Btand its adoption by John Gerson, the oracle 
of the Council of Constance, and the great 
opponent of the spiritual monarchy of the 
Pope, — a pious mystic, who placed religion 
in devout feeling. t In further explanation, 
it may be added, that Gerson was of the 
sect of the Nominalists, of which Ockham 
was the founder, and that he was the more 
ready to follow his master, because they 
both courageously maintained the indepen- 
dence of the State on the Church, and the 
authority of the Church over the I'ope. The 
general opinion of the schools was, however, 
that of Aquinas, who, from the native sound- 
ness of his own understanding, as well as 
from the excellent example of Aristotle, was 
averse from all rash and extreme dogmas on 
questions which had any relation, however 
distant, to the duties of life. 

It is very remarkable, though hitherto un- 
observed, that Aquinas anticipated those 
controversies respecting perfect disinterest- 
edness in the religious affections which oc- 
cupied the most illustrious members of his 
communiont four hundred years after his 
death; and that he discussed the like ques- 
tion respecting the other affections of human 
nature with a fulness and clearness, an ex- 
actness of distinction, and a justne.ss of 
determination, scarcely surpassed by the 
mo.st acute of modern philosophers. § It 
ought to be added, that, according to the 
most natural and reasonable construction of 
his words, he allowed to. the Church a con- 
trol only over spiritual concerns, and recog- 
nised the supremacy of the civil powers in 
all temporal affairs. II 

It has already been stated that the scho- 
lastic system was a collection of dialectical 
subtikies, contrived for the support of the 



* A passage to this efTect, from Ockham, wiih 
nearly the same remark, has, since the text was 
written, been discovered on a reperusal of Cud- 
worth's liTimutal)le Morality, p. 10 

t " Remiito ad quod Occam de hac materia in 
Lib. Sentent. dicit, in qua explicaiione si rudis 
iudicetur, nescio quid appellabiiur sublilitas." — De 
Vita Spirit. Op. iii. 14. 

t Bossuet and Fenelon. 

^ See Aquinas. — " Utrum Deussit super omnia 
diligendus ex caritaie." — " Uirum in dileciione 
Dei possit haberi respectus ad aliquani nierce- 
dem." — Opera, ix. 322, 325. Same illustrations 
of this memorable anticipation, which has escaped 
the research even of the industrious Tennenian, 
will be found in the Note G. 

II See Note H. 



cornipted Christianity of that age, by a st:ic- 
cession of divines, whose extraordinary pow- 
ers of distinction and reasoning were mor- 
bidly enlarged in the long meditation of the 
Cloister, by the exclusion of every other 
pursuit, and the consequent palsy of every 
other faculty ; — who were cut off from all 
the materials on which the mind can operate, 
and doomed for ever to toil in defence of 
what they must never dare to examine ; — to 
whom their age and their condition denied 
the means of acquiring literature, of observ- 
ing Nature, or of studying mankind. The 
few in whom any portion of imagination and 
sensibility survived this discipline, retired 
from the noise of debate, to the contem- 
plation of pure and beautiful visions. They 
were called Mystics. The greater part, dri- 
ven back on themselves, had no better em- 
ployment than to weave cobwebs out of the 
terms of art which they had vainly, though 
ingeniously, multiplied. The institution of 
clerical celibacy, originating in an enthusi- 
astic pursuit of Purity, promoted by a mis- 
take in moral prudence, which aimed at 
raising religious teachers in the esteem of 
their fellows, and at concentrating their whole 
minds on professional duties, at last encour- 
aged by the ambitious policy of the See of 
Rome, which was desirous of detaching 
them from all ties but her own, had the 
effect of shutting up all the avenues which 
Providence has opened for the entiance of 
social affection and virtuous feeling into the 
human heart. Though this institution per- 
haps prevented Knowdedge from becoming 
once more the exclusive inheritance of a 
sacerdotal caste ; though the rise of innumer- 
able laymen, of the lowest condition, to the 
highest dignities of the Church, was the 
grand democralical principle of the Middle 
Age, and one of the most powerful agents in 
impelling mankind towards a better order; 
yet celibacy must be considered as one of 
the peculiar infelicities of these .secluded 
philosophers; not only as it abridged their 
happiness, nor even solely, though chiefly, as 
it excluded them from the school in which 
the heart is humanized, but also (an inferior 
consideration, but more pertinent to our pre- 
sent purpose) because the extinction of these 
moral feelings was as much a subtraction 
from the moralist's store of facts and means 
of knowledge, as the loss of sight or of touch 
could prove to those of the naturalist. 

Neither let it be thought that to have been 
destitute of Letters was to them no more 
than a want of an ornament and a curtail- 
ment of gratification. Every poem, every 
history, every oration, every picture, every 
statue, is an experiment on human feeling, 
— the grand object of investigation by the 
moralist. Every work of genius in every 
department of ingenious Art and polite Lite- 
rature, in proportion to the extent and dura- 
tion of its sway over the Spirits of men, ia 
a repository of ethical facts, of which the 
moral philosopher cannot be deprived by his 
1 own insensibilitVj or by the uiiquity of the 



108 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



timeSj withovU being robbed of the most pre- 
cious iiisliuineiits ami invaluable materials 
of his scieiioe. Moieover, Letters, whieli 
are closer toluiinaii feeling' than Seieiiee eau 
ever be, have another inllnenee on the sen- 
timents with whieh the sciences are vioweii, 
on the activity with wliieh they are pursued, 
on the siifety with which tht>y are presiMV(Hl, 
and even on the mode and spirit in wiiieh 
they arc cultivated : they are the chaiuiels 
by which ethical science lias a constant in- 
tercourse with general feeling. As the arts 
CJilled useful maintain the popular honour of 
physical knowledge, so polite Letters allure 
the world into the neighbourhood of llie 
eciences of JNlind and of JNlorals. Whenever 
the agreeable vehicles of Literature ilo not 
convey their doctrines to the public, they 
are liable to be interrupted by the dispersion 
of a handful of recluse doctors, ami tlie over- 
throw of th(Mr barren and unlamented se- 
minaries. Nor is this all : these sciences 
themselves suller as much when they are 
tluis released from the curb of common 
sense and natural feeling, as the public loses 
by the want of those aids to right practice 
which moral knowleilge in its sound state is 
qualified to allord. The necessity of being 
intelligible, at least to all persons who join 
superior understanding to habits of retlcc- 
tion, and who are themselves in constant 
communication with the far wider' circle ot 
intellig(Mit and judicious uumi, wliich slowly 
but surely forms general opinion, is the only 
ellectual cheek on the natural proneness of 
metaphysical speculations to degt>uerale into 
g-audy vh earns, or a mere war of words. The 
uisputants who are set free from the whole- 
sonu^ check of sense and feeling, generally car- 
ry their dogmatism so far as to rouse the scep- 
tic, who iVom time to time is provoked to K>ok 
into the tliiusine.^s of their cobw(>bs. and rush- 
es in with his be.som ta sweep them, and their 
eyslem.-*, into oblivion. It is true, that Lite- 
rature, which thus draws forth Moral Science 
from the schools into the world, and recalls 
her from thorny distinctions to her natural 
alliance with the intellect and sentiments of 
mimkind. may, in ages and nations other- 
wise situated, produce the contrary evil of 
rendering Kihics shallow, declamatory, and 
inconsistent. Europe at this moment alfortls, 
in ditferent countrfes, specimens of these 
opjwsito and alike-mischievous extremes. 
But we are now concerned only with the 
temptations and errors of the scholastic ;ige. 
We ought not so much to wonder at the 
mistakes of men so situated, as that they, 
without the restraints of the general nuder- 
etanding, and with the clogs of system and 
establishment, should in so many instances 
have opened questions untouched by the 
more unfettered Ancients, and veins ot spe- 
culation since mistakenly supposed to have 
been lirst explored in more modern times. 
Scarcely any metapliysical controversy agi- 
tatetl among recent philosophers was un- 
known to the Schoolmen, unless we except 
that which relates to Liberty and Necessity, 



and this would be an exception of doubtful 
propriety; for the ilisjiosition to it is cieaily 
discoverable in the liisimtes of the Thouiists 
and Scotisls respecting the Augustiiiian and 
IVIagian iloctrines,* allhougli they were re- 
strained from tlie avowal of legilinuite con- 
secjueiices on either sitle by the tlieological 
authority which botli parties ackiiowleilged. 
The Scotists steadily allirmed the blameless- 
ness of erroneous opinion ; a principle wliich 
is the oidy eJlectnal security for conscien- 
tious inquiry, tor mutual kimlness, and for 
jiublic quiet. 'J'he controversy between the 
Nominalists ami Kealists, treated by some 
modern writers as an example of barbarous 
wrangling, was in truth an anticipation of 
that modern dispute which still divides meta- 
physicians, — Whether the human mind can 
lorm general ideas, or Whether the wortls 
which are supposeti to convey such ideas be 
not terms, representing only a number of 
particular perceptions'? — questions so far 
trom frivolous, that they deeply concern 
both the nature of reasoning and the struc- 
tmv of language ; on which llobbes, Berkeley. 
Hnnu\ Stewart, and Tooke, have followed 
the Nominalist; and Descartes, Locke, Keid, 
and Kant have, with various modilications 
and some inconsistencies, adopted the doc- 
trine of the Realists.! With the Schoolmen 
appears to have originatcil the t'orm. though 
not the substance, of the celebrated maxim, 
which, whether true or false, is pregnant 
with systems, — "There is nothing in the 
Understanding which was not before in the 
Senses." Ockliamt the Nominalist lirst de- 
nied the IVripatelic doctrine of tlie exist- 
ence of certain sjiecies (since the time of 
Descartes called " ideas'") as the direct ob- 
jects of perception and tliought, interpcsed 
between the mind and outward objects; the 
modern opposition to which by Dr. Reid has 
been supposed to justify tlie allotment of so 
high a station to that respectable philosopher. 
He taught also that we know nothing of 
Mind but its acts, of which we are conscious. 
Move inclination towards an independent 
philosophy is to be traced among the Scliool- 
men than might be expected from their cir- 
cumstances. Those who follow two guides 
will sometimes choose for themselves, and 
may preter the subordinate one on some oc- 
casions. Ari.stotle rivalled the Church; and 
the Church herself safely allowed consider- 

* Sec Note I. 

+ Locke speaks on this subject inconsistently ; 
Reid calls iiimself a conccptualist ; Kant uses 
terms so dilVereiii, that lie oiiglit perhaps to be 
eonsidered as of iieiiher parly. Leilmiiz, varying 
in some measure troin tlie general spirit of his 
speeulaiioiis, warmly panegyrizes the Nominalists: 
" Seem Nominaliiim, onniimn inter scholasiicoa 
profumlissinia, et liodieriia; reformats piiilosoph- 
aiidi raiioni congruentissima." — Op. iv. 59. 

} " Ma.ximi vir iiigeiiii. et eniditionis pro illo 
awo suinma\ Wiljulnius Oceam. Anghis." II). tiO. 
The writings of Oekhain, whieh are very rare, I 
liave never seen. I owe my knowledge of liicni 
to 'renneinann. who however quotes the words 
of Ockhain, and of his disciple i3iel. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



109 



able latitude to the philosophical reasonings 
of those who were only heard or read in 
colleges or cloisters, on condition that they 
neither impugned her authority, nor dis- 
sented fiom her worship, nor departed from 
the language of her creeds. Tlie Nominalists 
were a freethinking sect, who, notwithstand- 
ing their defence of kings against the Court 
of Rome, were persecuted by the civil power. 
It should not be forgotten that Luther was a 
Nominalist.* 

If not more remarkable, it is more perti- 
nent to our purpose, that the ethical system 
of the Schoolmen, or, to speak more proper- 
ly, of Aquinas, as the Moral Master of Chris- 
tendom for three centuries, was in its' practi- 
cal part so excellent as to leave little need 
of extensive change, with the inevitable ex- 
ception of the connection of his religious 
opinions with his precepts and counsels. 
His Rule of Life is neither lax nor impracti- 
cable. His grounds of duty are solely laid 
in the nature of man. and in the well-being 
of society. Such an nitrnder as Subtilty sel- 
dom strays into his moral instructions. With 
a most imperfect knowledge of the Peripa- 
tetic writings, he came near the Great Mas- 
ter, by abstaining, in practical philosophy, 
from the unsuitable exercise of that faculty 
of distinction, in which he would probably 
have shown 'that he was little inferior to 
Aristotle, if he had been equally unrestrained. 
His very frequent coincidence with modern 
moralists is doubtless to be ascribed chiefly 
to the nature of the subject ; but in part also 
to that unbroken succession of teachers and 
writers, which preserved the observations 
contained in what had been long the text- 
book of the European Schools, after the books 
themselves had been for ages banished and 
forgotten. The praises bestowed on Aquinas 
by every one of the few great men who ap- 
pear to have examined his writings since the 
downfal of his power, among whom may 
be mentioned Erasmus, Grotius, and Leib- 
nitz, are chiefly, though not solely, referable 
to his ethical works.t 

Though the Schoolmen had thus anticipa- 
ted many modern controversies of a properly 
metaphysical sort, they left untouched most 
of those questions of ethical theory which 
were unknown to, or neglected by, the An- 
cients. They do not appear to have discri- 
minated between the nature of moral senti- 
ments, and the criterion of moral acts; to 
have considered to what faculty of our mind 
moral approbation is referable ; or to have 
inquired whether our Moral Faculty, what- 
ever it may be, is implanted or acquired. 
Those who measure only by palpable results, 
have very consistently regarded the meta- 
physical and theological controversies of the 
Schools as a mere waste of intellectual 

* " In Mariini Lutheri scripiis prioribus amor 
Nominalium satis elucet, donee procedente tem- 
pore erga omnes motiachos tequaliier affectus esse 
CCEpit." — Leibnitz, 0pp. iv. 60. 

t See especially the excellent Preface of Leib- 
• niti to Nizolius, \ 37.— lb. 59. 



power. But the contemplation of the athletic 
vigour and versatile skill manifested by the 
European understandingy at the moment 
when it emerged from this tedious and rug- 
ged discipline, leads, if not to apj)robation, 
yet to more qualified censure. What might 
have been the result of a different combina- 
nation of circumstances, is an inquiry which, 
on a large scale, is beyond human power. 
We may, however, venture to say that no 
abstract science, unconnected with Religion, 
is likely to be respected in a barbarous age j 
and we may be allowed to doubt whether 
any knowledge dependent directly on expe- 
rience and applicable to immediate practice, 
would have so trained the European mind 
as to qualify it for that scries of inventions, 
and discoveries, and institutions, which be- 
gins with the sixteenth century, and of which 
no end can now be foreseen but the extinction 
of the race of man. 

The fifteenth century was occupied by the 
disputes of the Realists with the Nominalists, 
in which the scholastic doctrine expired. 
After its close no Schoolman of note appear- 
ed. The sixteenth may be*considered as 
the age of transition from the scholastic to 
the modern philosophy. The former, indeed, 
retained possession of the Universities, ana 
was long after distinguished by all the en- 
signs of authority. But the mines were al- 
ready prepared : the revolution in Opinion 
had commenced. The moral writings of the 
preceding times had generally been com- 
mentaries on that part of the Summa Theo- 
logiee of Aquinas which relates to Ethics. 
Though these still continued to be published, 
yet the most remarkable moralists of the six- 
teenth century indicated the approach of 
other modes of thinking, by the adoption of 
the more independent titles of '• Treatises on 
Justice" and "Law." These titles were 
suggested, and the spirit, contents, and style 
of the writings themselves were materially 
affected by the improved cultivation of the 
Roman law, by the renewed study of ancient 
literature, and by the revival of various sys- 
tems of Greek philosophy, now studied in the 
original, which at once mitigated and rival- 
led the scholastic doctors, and while they 
rendered philosophy more free, re-opened 
its communications with society and affairs. 
The speculative theology which had arisen 
under the French governments of Paris and 
London in the twelfth century, which flour- 
ished in the thirteenth in Italy in the hands 
of Aquinas, which was advanced in the 
British Islands by Scotus and Ockham in the 
fourteenth, was, in the sixteenth, with una- 
bated acuteness, but with a clearness and 
elegance unknown before the restoration of 
Letters, cultivated by Spain, in that age the 
most powerful and magnificent of the Euro- 
pean nations. 

Many of the.sc writers treated the law of 
war and the practice of hostilities in a juridi- 
cal form.* Francis Victoria, who began t«i 

* Many of the separate dissertations, on points of 
this nature, are contained in the immense coUec* 
K 



110 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



teach at Valladolitl in 1525, is said to have 
first expounded the doctrines of the Schools 
in the language of ihe age of Leo the Tenth. 
Dominic Soto,* a Dominican, the confessor 
of Charles V., and the oracle of the Council 
of Tretil, to whom that assembly were in- 
debted for much of the precision and even 
elegance for which their doctrinal decrees 
are not unjustly commended, dedicated his 
Treatise on Justice and Law to Don Carlos, 
in terms of praise which, useil by a writer 
who is said to have declined the high dig- 
nities of the Church, led us to hope that he 
was unacquainted with the brutish vices of 
that wretched prince. It is a concise and not 
inelegant compound of the Scholastic Ethics, 
which continued to be of considerable au- 
thority for more than a century. t Both he 
and his master Victoria deserve to be had in 
everlasting remembrance, for the part which 
they took on behalf of the natives of America 
and of Africa, against the rapacity and cruelty 
of the Spaniards. Victoria pronounced war 
against the Americans for their vices, or for 
their paganisiTU to be unjust. t Soto was the 
authority chiel^' consulted by Charles V., on 
occasion of the conference held before him 
at Valladolid; in 1542, between Scpulveda, 
an advocate of the Spanish colonists, and Las 
Casas, the champion of the unhappy Ameri- 
cans, of which the result was a very imper- 
fect edict of reformation in 1543. This, 
though it contained little more than a recog- 
nition of the principle of justice, almost ex- 
cited a rebellion in Mexico. Sepulveda. a 
scholar and a reasoner, advanced many max- 
ims which were specious and in themselves 
reasonable, but which practically tended to 
defeat even the scanty and almost illusive 
reform which ensued. Las Casas was a 
passionate missionary, whose zeal, kindled 
by the long and near contemplation of 
cruelty, prompted him to exaggerations of 
fact and argument ;§ yet, with all its errors, 
it afforded the only hope of preserving the 



lion entitled " Tractatua Tractataum," published 
at Venice in 1584, under the patronage of the Ro- 
man See. There are three De Bello ; one by Lu- 
pus of Segovia, when Francis I. was prisoner in 
Spain ; another, more celet)rated, by Francis 
Arias, who, on the 11th June, 1532, discussed he- 
fore the College of Cardinals the iogiiimacy of a 
war by the Emperor against the Pope. 'Ihere 
are two De Pace ; and others De Potestate Re- 
gia, De Poena Mortis, &c. The most ancient and 
scholastic is that of J. de Lignano of Milan, De 
Bello. The above writers are mentioned in the 
prolegomena to Groiius, De Jure Belli. Pieiro 
feeiloni, Counsellor of the Duke of Savoy (De Re 
Militari), treats his subject with the minuteness of 
ft Judge-Advocate, and has more modern exam- 
ples, chiefly Italian, than Groiius. 

• Born, 1491; died, 15G0.— Antonii Bib. Hisp. 
Nov. The opinion of the extent of Soto's know- 
ledge entertained by his contemporaries is express- 
ed ni a jingle, Qui scit Sottim scit latum. 

t See Note It. 

t " Indis non debere auferri imperium, idee quia 
Bunt peccatores, vel ideoquia non sunt Christiani," 
were the words of Victoria. 

4 See Note L. 



natives of America from extirpation. Th« 
opinion of Soto could not fail to be confoim- 
able to his excellent principle, that "theie 
can be no difference between Christians and 
pagans, for the law of nations is equal to all 
nations."* To Soto belongs the signal hon- 
our of being the first writer who condemned 
the African slave-trade. '-It is alRimed," 
says he, "that the unhappy Ethiopians are 
by fraud or force carried aw ay and sold as 
slaves. If this is true, neither those who 
have taken them, nor those who purchased 
them, nor those who hold them in bondage, 
can ever have a quiet conscience till they 
emancipate them, even if no compensation 
should be obtained. "t As the work which 
contains this memorable condemnation of 
man-stealing and slavery was the substance 
of lectures for many years delivered at Sala- 
manca, Philosophy and Religion appear, by 
the hand of their faithful minister, to have 
thus smitten the monsters in their earliest in- 
fancy. It is hard for any man of the present 
age to conceive the praise which is due to the 
excellent monks who courageously asserted 
the rights of those whom they never saw, 
against the prejudices of their order, the 
supposed interest of their religion, the am- 
bition of their government, the avarice and 
pride of their countrymen, and the prevalent 
opinions of their time. 

Francis Suarez,t a Jesuit, whose volumi- 
nous works amount to twenty-four volumes 
in folio, closes the list of writers of his class. 
His work on Laws and on God the Lawgiver, 
may be added to the above treatise of Soto, 
as exhibitmg the most accessible and per- 
spicuous abridgment of the theological j)hi- 
lopophy in its latest form. Grotius, who, 
though he was the most upright and candid 
of men. could not have praised a Spanish 
Jesuit beyond his deserts, calls Suarez the 
most acute of philosophers and divines. § 
On a practical matter, which may be natu- 
rally mentioned here, though in strict method 
it belongs to another subject, the merit of 
Suarez is conspicuous. He first saw that in- 
ternational law was composed not only of 
the simple principles of justice applied to 
the intercourse between states, but of those 
usages, long observed in that intercourse 
by the European race, which have since 
been more exactly distinguished as the con- 
suetudinary law acknowledged by the Chris- 
tian nations of Europe and America.il On 



* " Neque discrcpantia (ut reor) est inter C-hris- 
tianos et infideles, quoiiiam jus gentium cunctis 
gentibus aBqualeest." 

t De Just, et Jure, lib. iv. quaest. ii. art. 2. 

t Born, 1538; died, 1617. 

i " Tantae subtilitatis philosophum et theoloorum, 
ut vix quemquam habeat parem." — Grotii 'Epist. 
apud Anton. Bib. Hisp. Nov. 

II " Nunquam enitn civitates suitt sibi tam suffi- 
cientee quia indigeant mutuo juvamine et socie- 
tate, interdum ad majorem utilitatem, intcrdum 
ob necessitatem moralem. Hac igitur ratione in- 
digent aliquo jure quo dirigantur el recte ordinen- 
tur in hoc genere societatis. Et quamvis mapna 
ex parte hoc fiat per rationem naiuralem, non 



DISSERTATION ON THETROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



Ill 



this important point his views are more clear 
than those of his contemporary Alberico 
Gentili.* It must even be owned, that the 
succeeding intimation of the same general 
doctrine by Grotius is somewhat more dark. 
— perhaps from his excessive pursuit of con- 
cise diction .t 



SECTION IV. 



MODERN ETHICS. 



GROTIUS — HOEBES. 



The introduction to the great work of 
Grotius,t composed in the first years of his 
exile, and published at Paris in 1625, con- 
tains the most clear and authentic statement 
of the general principles of Morals prevalent 
in Christendom after the close of the Schools, 
and before the writings of Hobbes had given 
rise to those ethical controversies which 
more peculiarly belong to modern times. 
That he may lay down the fundamental 
principles of Ethics, he introduces Carneades 
on the stage as denying altogether the reality 
of moral distinctions ; teaching that law and 
morality are contrived by powerful men fo" 
their own interest; that they vary in difl^ - 
ent countries, and change in successive ages; 
that there can be no natural law, since Na- 
ture leads men as well as other animals to 
prefer their own interest to every other ob- 
ject; that, therefore, there is either no jus- 
tice, or if there be, it is another name for the 
height of folly, inasmuch as it is a fond at- 
tempt to persuade a human being to injure 
himself for the unnatural purpose of bene- 
fitting his fellow-men. § To this Grotius an- 
swered, that even inferior animals, under the 
powerful, though transient, impulse of pa- 
rental love, prefer their young to their own 
safety or life; that gleams of compassion, 
and, he might have added, of gratitude and 
indignation, appear in the human infant long 
before the age of moral discipline ; that man 
at the period of maturity is a social animal, 
who delights in the society of his fellow- 
creatures for its own sake, independently of 
the help and accommodation which it yields ; 
that he is a reasonable being, capable of 
framing and pursuing general rules of con- 
duct, of which he discerns that the observ- 
ance contributes to a regular, quiet, and 
happy intercourse between all the members 

tamen sufficienter et immediate quoad omnia, 
ideo(Jue specialia jura poterant usu earundem gen- 
tium inlroduci.^^ — De Leg., lib. ii. cap. ii, 

* Born in the March of Ancona, 1550 ; died at 
London, 1603. 

+ De Jur. Bell., lib. i. cap. i. ^ 14. . 

\ Prolegomena. His letter to VoBsius, of 1st 
August, 1625, determines the exact period of the 
publication of this famous work. — Epist. 74. 

^ The same commonplace paradoxes were. re- 
tailed by the Sophists, whom Socrates is intro- 
duced as chastising in the Dialogues of Plato. 
They were common enough to be put by the 
Historian into the mouth of an ambassador in a 
public speech. ^ Ktifi St tvfiina i) ttoku OfX*i^ ix/'^^V 
6uJiv aMycy 3 ri ^o/x^f/ny. Tiiucyd. lib. vi. cap. 85. 



of the community; and that from these con- 
siderations all the precepts of Morality, and 
all the commands and prohibitions of just 
Law, may be derived by impartial Reason. 
"And these principles." says the pious phi- 
losopher, " would have their weight, even if 
it were to be granted (which could not be 
conceded without the highest impiety) that 
there is no God, or that He exercises no 
moral government over human affairs.'"*— 
•'Natural law is the dictate of right Reason, 
pronouncing that there is in some actions a 
moral obligation, and in other actions a 
moral deformity, arising from their respect- 
ive suitableness or repugnance to the rea- 
sonable and social nature ; and that conse- 
quently such acts are either forbidden or 
enjoined by God, the Authqr of Nature. — 
Actions which are the subject of this exer- 
tion of Reason, are in themselves lawful or 
unlawful, and are therefore, as such, neces- 
sarily commanded or prohibited by God." 

Such was the state of opinion respecting 
the first principles of the moral seiencep, 
when, after an imprisonment of a thousand 
years in the Cloister, they began once more 
to hold intercourse with the general under- 
standing of mankind. It will be seen in the 
laxity and confusion, as well as in the pru- 
dence and purity of this exposition, that 
some part of the method and precision of 
the Schools was lost with their endless sub- 
tilties and their barbarous language. It is 
manifest that the latter paragraph is a pro- 
position, — not, what it affects to be, a defini- 
tion; that as a proposition it contains too 
many terms very necessary to be defined; 
that the purpose of the excellent writer is 
not so much to lay down a first principle of 
Morals, as to exert his unmatched power 
of saying much in few words, in order to 
assemble within the smallest compass the 
most weighty inducements, and the most ef- 
fectual persuasions to w#l-doing. 

This was the condition in which ethical 
theory was found by Hobbes, with whom the 
present Dissertation should have commenced, 
if it had been possible to state modern con- 
troversies in a satisfactory manner, without 
a retrospect of the revolutions in Opinion from 
which they .in some measure flowed. 

HOBBES.t 

Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury may be 
numbered among those eminent persons born 



* " Et haec quidem locum aliquem haberent, 
eiiamsi daretur (quod sine summo scelere dari ne- 
quit) non esse Deum, aut non curari ab eo negotia 
humana." — Proleg. 11. And in another place, 
" Jus naturale est dictaium rectse rationis, indicans 
actui alicui, ex ejus convenientia aut disconvenien- 
tia cum ipsa natura raiionali et sociali, ine»se mora- 
lem turpiiudinem aut necessitaiem, moralem, ac 
consequenier ab auctore naturae Deo talem actum 
aut vetari aut prsccipi." "Actus de quibus taie 
exstat dictatum, debiti sunt aut illiciti perse, at- 
que ideo a Deo necessario prascepti aut vetiti in 
telli^ntur."— De Jur. Dell. lib. i. cap. i. ^ 10. 

t Born," 1588; died 1679. 



112 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



in the lattor lialf of tho sixtt'onth ceiituiy, 
who <j,-avo a now (.'haiai'tfi- to Kiiropi-aii phi- 
losojihy, ill iho succeoiliiij; a-io.* 1K> was 
one of tlie lato writiMs ami lato loanu'is. It 
was not till ho was noarly thiily tluil ho sup- 
plioil tho ilolVots of his oarly oihioation, by 
classical sliulios so suocossfnlly prosooutoii. 
that ho wioto woll in tho Latin thon nsoil by 
his soiontilio. ooiitoinporarios ; aiul niado such 
piotioioiioy in CJiook as, in his oarliosi woik. 
tho Tiaiishition of Tiuioyclidos, imblishoil 
whon ho was forty, to all'oiil a sjiooiiuon of 
aversion still vahioJ for its roniarkablo liilo- 
lity, thovi^^h writton with a stillnoss and ooii- 
stiaint very opposite to the niastorly facility 
of his oriijinal compositions. It was after 
forty that ho loarnod tho first rndimoiits of 
Goomotry (.so inisorably defect ivo was liis 
edncation); but yieldinjj to tho paradoxical 
disposition ant to infect those who begin to 
leiiru alter tne natnral ajio of coninionco- 
ment, ho exposed himself, byabsnid contro- 
versies with tho masters of a Science which 
looks down with scorn on tho sophist. A 
consivlorablo portion of his niatnro aije was 
passed on tho Continent, whore ho travelled 
as tutor to two successive Earls of Devon- 
shire; — a family with whom ho seems to 
have passed near half a century of his loi^ii 
life. la Franco his ropnlation, fomideil at 
that time solely on personal intercourso, be- 
came so siroat, that his observations on the 
meditations of Descartes wore published in 
tho works of that philosopher, tOi>ether with 
those of Gassoiuli and Arnanld.t It was 
about his sixtieth year that he boii-an to pub- 
lish thost> philosophical writiiiii's which con- 
tain his peculiar opinions; — which sot the 
undorstaiidinir of Europe into general mo- 
tion, and stirred up controversies among me- 
taphysicians and moralists, not even yet de- 
termined. At the age of eighty-seven he 
had the boldness to publish metrical ver- 
sions of the Iliad •nd Odyssey, which the 
greatness of his name, and the singularity 
of the undertaking, still render objects of cu- 
riosity, if not of criticism. 

He owed his intlnonce to various causes; 
at the head of which may be placed that ge- 
nius for system, which, thougli it cramps tho 
fjrowth of Knowledge,]; perhaps linally atones 



* Bacon, Descartes, Iloljbes, and Groiius. The 
writings of the first are still nsdelii;liifiil ami won- 
dortul as they over were, and his autiioriiy will 
have no end. Descartes I'ornis an era in liie his- 
tory of Metaphysies, of Physics, of !\[aliieinatics. 
The controversies e.xeiied l>y (Jroiiiis liave lonsj 
censed, hut the poworlul iiiiluenee of iiis works 
will be doubted by those only wlio are unac- 
quainted Willi ihe disputes of the sevenicentli cen- 
tury. 

T The pre\'alencc of freclhinking under Louis 
XIII., to a far creater octree than il was avowed, 
appears not only fron^ the complaints of ISIersenne 
and of Grotins, but tVoni iho disclosures of Guy 
rutin ; who, in his Letters, describes his own con- 
versations -.villi (lassendi and Naude, so as to 
leave no doubt of liieir opinions. 

J "Another error," .«ays the Master of Wisdom, 
'•is llie over-early and peremptory reduction of 
knowledge into arts and methods, from which 



for that mischief, by tho zeal and activity 
which it rt>uses among followers and ojipo- 
nents, who discover truth by acciili>nl, when 
in pursuit of weapons for their warfare. A 
sy.stem which attempts a task so hard as 
that of subjecting vast provinces of human 
knov. lodge to one or two principles, if it pro- 
sents some striking instances of conformity 
to snpoilicial appt>araiices, is sure to delight 
tho tranu'r, aiui, for a time, to subdue and 
captivate tho sIuiKmiI too t-ntin^ly for sober 
rotloclion and rigorous examination. Tho 
<'vil does not, iiuh'od, very lrt>i|iiently recur. 
IVrhaps Aristotle, llobbo.s, and Kant, are the 
only persons who united in the highest de- 
gree the great faculties of comprehension 
and discrimination which compose the (hnius 
of Siistim. Of the three, Aristotle alono 
could throw it oil whore it was glaringly un- 
suitable; and it is deserving of observation, 
that the reign of system seems, from those 
examples, progressivoly to shorten in pro- 
portion as Reason is cultivated and Know- 
ledge advances. Rut. in the lirst instance, 
consistency passes for Truth, ^^■h(-u prin- 
ciples in some instances have proved snlli- 
cient to give an unexpected explanation of 
facts, tho delighted reader is content to ac- 
cept as true all other deductions from the 
principles. Specious promises being assum- 
ed to be true, nothing more can bo required 
than logical interence. Mathematical forms 
pass current as the equivalent of mathema- 
tical certainty. The unwary admirer is 
satisfied with the completeness and symme- 
try of the plan of his house, — nnmiiulfnl of 
tlio need of examining tho lirmness of the 
foundation, and the soundness of the mate- 
rials. The system-maker, like the conque- 
ror, long dazzles and overawes the world; 
but whon their sway is past, the vnlg^ar herd, 
unable to measure their astonishing laculties, 
take revenge by trampling on fallen great- 
ness. 

The dogmatism of Ilobbos was, however 
unjustly, one of tho sources of his fame. The 
founders of systems deliver their novelties 
with the undoubtiiig spirit of discoverers; 
and their followers are apt to he dogmatical, 
because they can see nothing" beyond their 
own ground. It might seem incredible, it it 
were not establishoit by the experience of 
all ages, that those who dilFor most from the 
opinions of their ftdlow-men are most conll- 
dent of the truth of their own. But it com- 
monly requires an overweening conceit of 
'the superiority o( a maiTs own judgment, to 
make him espouse very singular notions; 
and whon he has once embraced them, they 
are endeared to him by the hostility of those 
whom he contemns as the preiudiced vulgiir. 
The temper of llobbes must nave been ori 
ginally haughty. The advanced age at 
which he published his obnoxious opinions, 

time commonly receives small auaimeniaiion."-^^ 
Advancement of Learninir. book i. " .Meihod," 
savs he. "carrying a show of total and perfecv 
knowledge, has a tendency to generate acquies- 
conco," What pregnant words ! 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PmLOSOPIlY. 113 



rendered him more impatient of the acrimo- 
nious opposition which they necessarJiy pro- 
voked ; until at length a Btrong sense of the 
injustice of the punishment impending over 
his head, for the publication of what lie be- 
lieved to be truth, co-operated with the pee- 
vishness and timidity of his years, to render 
him the most imperious and morose of dog- 
matists. His dogmatism has indeed one 
quality more offensive than that of most 
others. Propositions the most adverse to the 
opinions of mankind, and the most abhorrent 
from their feelings, are introduced into the 
course of his argument with mathematical 
coldness. He presents them as demonstrated 
conclusions, without deigning to explain to 
his fellow-creatures how they all happened 
to believe the oppo.site absurdities, and with- 
out even the compliment of once observing 
how widely his discoveries were at variance 
with the most ancient and universal judg- 
ments of the human understanding. The 
same quality in Spinoza indicates a recluse's 
ignorance of the world. In Ilobbes it is the 
arrogance of a man who knows mankind and 
despises them. 

A permanent foundation of his fame re- 
mains in his admirable style, which seems 
to be the very perfection of didactic lan- 
guage. Short, clear, precise, pithy, his Ian- 
gunge never has more than one meaning, 
which it never retjuires a second thought to 
find. By the help of his exact method, it 
tak(js so firm a hold on the mind, that it will 
not allow attention to slacken. His little 
tract on Human Nature has scarcely an am- 
biguous or a needless word. He has so great 
a power of always choosing the most signifi- 
cant term, that he never is reduced to the 
poor expedient of using many in its stead. 
III! had HO thoroughly studied the genius of 
the language, and knew so well how to steer 
between pedantry and vulgarity, that two 
centuries have not supe^rannuated probably 
more than a dozen oi his words. His ex- 
pressions are so luminous, that he is clear 
without the help of illustration. Perhaps no 
writer of any age or nation, on subjects so 
abstruse, has manifested an equal power of 
engraving his thoughts on the mind of his 
readers. He seems never to have taken a 
word for ornament or plea.sure ; and he deals 
with eloquence and poetry as ihe natural 
philosopher who explains the mechanism of 
children's toys, or deigns to contrive them. 
Yet his style so stimulates attention, that it 
never tires; and, to those who are acquainted 
with thf; subject, appears to have as much 
spirit as can be safely blended with Reason. 
He compresses his thoughts so unaffectedly, 
and yet so tersely, as to produce occasionally 
maxims wdiich excite the same agreeable 
surprise with wit, and have become a sort 
of philosophical proverbs; — the success of 
which he j)artly owed to the suitableness of 
Buch forms of expression to his dictatorial 
nature. His words have such an appearance 
of springing from his thoughts, as to impress 
on tne reader a strong opinion of his origi- 
15 



nality. and indeed to prove that he was not 
conscious of borrowing : though conversation 
with Gassendi must have influenced his 
mind ; and it is hard to believe that his coin- 
cidence with Ockham should have been 
purely accidental, on points so important as 
the denial of general ideas, the reference of 
moral distinctions to superior power, and the 
absolute thraldom of Religion under the civil 
power, which he seems to have thought ne- 
cessary, to maintain that independence of 
the State on the Church with which Ockham 
had been contented. 

His philosophical writings might be read 
without reminding any one that the author 
was more than an intellectual machine. They 
never betray a feeling except that insupport- 
able arrogance which looks down on his fel- 
low-men as a lower species of beings ; whose 
almost unanimous hostility is so far from 
eliaking the firmness of his conviction, or 
even ruffling the calmness of his contempt, 
that it appears too petty a circumstance to 
require explanation, or even to merit notice. 
Let it not be forgotten, that part of his re- 
nown depends on the application of his ad- 
mirable powers to expound Truth when he 
meets it. This great merit is conspicuous 
in that part of his treatise of Human Nature 
which relates to the percipient and nasoning 
faculties. It is also very remarkable in 
many of hi? secondary principles on the sub- 
ject of Government and Law, which, while 
the first principles are false and dangerous, 
are as admirable for truth as for his accus- 
tomed and unrivalled propriety of expres- 
sion.* In inany of these observations he 
even shows a disposition to soften his para- 
doxes, and to conform to the common sense 
of mankind.! 

It was with perfect truth observed by my 
excellent friend Mr. Stewart, that '-the ethi- 
cal principles of Hobbes are completely in- 
terwoven with his political system. "t He 
might have said, that the whole of Hobbes' 
system, moral, religious, and in part philo- 
sophical, depended on his political scheme : 
not indeed logically, as conclusions depend 
upon premises, but (if the word may be ex- 
cused) psychologically, as the formation of 
one opinion may be influenced by a disposi- 
tion to adapt it to others previou-sly chcrif-lied. 
The Translation of Thucydides, as he him- 



* See De Corpore Politico, Part i. chap. ii. iii. 
iv. and Leviathan, Part i. chap. xiv. xv. for re- 
marks of this sort, full of sagacity. 

t " The laws of Nature are immutahle and eter- 
nal ; for injustice, infjraiitude, arrogance, pride, 
inifjuity, acception of persons, and the rest, can 
never be made lawful. For it can never be that 
war shsll preserve life, and peace destroy it." — 
Leviathan, Part i. chap. xv.—See also Part ii. chap, 
xxvi. xxviii. on Laws, and on Punishments. 

t See Encyc. Brit. i. 42. The political state of 
England is indeed said by himself to have occa 
sioned his first piiilosophical publication. 
Nasciiur interea scelus execrabile belli. 

Horreo spectans, 

Meque addilcctam confcro Lutetiarii, 
Postque duosannosedo De Give Libellum. 
e2 



114 



MACKINTOSH'S IVnSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



self boasts, was published to show the evils 
of popular government.* Men he repre- 
sented as being originally equal, and having 
an equal right to all things, but as being 
taught by Reason to sacrifice this right for 
the advantages of peace, and to submit to a 
common authority, which can preserve quiet, 
only by being the sole depositary of force, 
and must therefore be absolute and unlimi- 
ted. The supreme authority cannot be suf- 
ficient for its purpose, unless it be wielded 
by a single hand; nor even then, unless his 
absolute nuwer extends over Religion, which 
may prompt men to discord by the fear of an 
evil greater than death. The perfect state 
of a community, according to him, is where 
Law prescribes the religion and morality of 
the people, and where the will of an abso- 
lute sovereign is the sole fountain of law. 
Hooker had inculcated the simple truth, that 
"to live by one man's will is the cause of 
many men's misery:" — Hobbes embraced 
the darinii: parado.x, that to live by one man's 
■will is tha only means of all men's happi- 
ness. Having thus rendered Religion the 
slave of every human tyrant, it was an una- 
voidable consequence, that he should be 
dispr.so'.i to lower her character, and lessen 
herpowti- over men; that he should regard 
atheism as the most effectual instrument of 
preventi'1'T rebellion, — at least that species 
of rebellic;: which prevailed in his time, and 
had excited his alarms. The formidable 
alliance cf Religion with Liberty haunted 
his mind, ar.d urged him to the bold attempt 
of rooting out both these mighty principles; 
which, when combined with interests and 
passions, when debased by impure support, 
and provoked by unjust resistance, have in- 
deed the power of fearfully agitating society; 
but whioh are, nevertheless, in their own 
nature, and as far as they are unmixed and 
undisturbed, the parents of Justice, of Order, 
of Peace, as well as the sources of those 
hopes, and of those glorious aspirations after 
higher excellence, which encourage and e.x- 
alt the Soul in its passage through misery 
and depravity. A Hobbist is the only con- 
sistent persecutor; for he alone considers 
himself as bound, by whatever conscience 
he has remaining, to conform to the religion 
of the sovereign. He claims from others no 
more than he is himself ready to yield to any 
master;! while the religionist who perse- 



cutes a member of another communion, ex- 
acts the sacrifice of conscience and sincerity, 
though professing that rather than make it 
himself, he is prepared to die. 

RE.MARKS. 

The fundamental errors on which the ethi- 
cal system of Hobbes is built are not peculiar 
to him ; though he has stated them with a 
bolder precision, and placed them in a more 
conspicuous station in the van of his main 
force, than any other of those who have 
either frankly avowed, or tacitly assumed, 
them, from the beginning of speculation to 
the present moment. They may be shortly 
stated as follows : 

1. The first and most inveterate of these 
errors is, that he does not disfinguibh thought 
from fceliiig, or i-ather that he in express 
words confounds them. The mere perception 
of an object, according to him, differs from 
the pleasure or pain which tha t perception 
may occasion, no otherwise tiian as they 
afl^'ect different org-ans of the bodilj' frame. 
The action of the mind in perceiving or con- 
ceiving an object is precisely the same with 
that of feeling the agreeable or disagreeable.* 
The necessary result of this original confu- 
sion is, to extend the laws of the intellectual 
part of our nntiire over that other part of it, 
(hitherio without any adequat3 naide,) which 
feels, and desires, and loves, a?:d hopes, and 
wills. In confequence of thie iong confu- 
sion, or want of distinctioi:, it has happened 
that, while the simplest act of the merely 
intellectual part has manj' names (such as 
'•'sensation," "perception," "impression," 
&c.), the correspondent act of the other not 
less important portion of man is not denoted 
by a technical teim in philosophical systems ; 
nor by a corivenient woid in common lan- 
guage. " Sensation" has another more com- 



* The conference between the nvnisters from 
Athens and the Melean chiefs, in the 5th book, 
and the speech of Euphcmus in the 6th book of 
that historian, exhibit an undisguibed Hobbism. 
which \v -J'' -cry dramatically put into the mouth 
of Athenian statesmen at a time when, as we 
learn frcrn Flato and Aristophanes, it was preach- 
ed by the Sophists. 

t Spinoza adopted precisely the same first prin- 
ciple with Hobbes, that all men hive a natural 
rijchtto all iuing.s. — Tract. Theol. Pol. cap. ii. ^ 3. 
He even avows the absurd and detestable maxim, 
that states are not bound to observe their treaties 
longer than the interest or danger which first 
formed the treaties continues. But on the inter- 
nal constitution of slates he embraces opposite 
opinions. Servitutis enim, non pads, interest 



omnern poleslatem ad unuintranfferre. — (Ibid. cap. 
vi. % 4.) Limited monarchy he considers as the 
only tolerable example of that species of govern- 
ment. An aristocracy nearly approaching to the 
Dutch system during the suspension of the Stadt- 
holdership, he seems to prefer. He speaks favour- 
ably of democracy, but the chapter on that sub- 
ject is left unfinished. " Nulla plane teniplaurbi- 
um sutnptibus aedificanda, nee jura de opinionibus 
statuenda." He was the first republican atheist of 
modern times, and probably the earliest irreligious 
opponent of an ecclesiastical establishment. 

* This doctrine is explained in his tract on Hu- 
man Nature, c. vii. "Conception is a motion in 
some internal substance of the head, which pro- 
ceeding to the heart, where it heipeih the motion 
there, is called pleasure; when it weakeneth or 
hindereih the motion, ii is called pain." The 
same matter is handled more curs ri y, agreeably 
to the practical purpose of the work, mi Leviathan, 
part i. chap. vi. These passages a e here referred 
to as proofs of the statement in the text. With 
the materialism of it we have here no concern. 
If the multiplied suppositions were granted, we 
should not advance one step towards understand- 
ing what they profess to explain. The first four 
words are as unmeaning as if one were to say 
that greenness is very loud. It is obvious that 
many motions which promote the motion of the 
heart are extremely painful. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



115 



m 311 sense ; '• Emotion" is too warm for a 
generic term ; " Feeling" has some degree 
of the same fault, besides its liability to con- 
fusion with the sense of touch ] " Pleasure" 
and "Pain" represent only two properties 
of this act, which render its repetition the 
object of desire or aversion ; — which last 
states of mind presuppose the act. Of these 
words, '-'Emotion" seems to be the least 
objectioiiable, since it has no absolute double 
meaning, and does not require so much vigi- 
lance in the choice of the accompanying 
words as would be necessary if we were to 
prefer " Fe^^ling ;" M'hich, however, being a 
more familiar word, may, with due caution, 
be also sometimes employed. Every man 
who attends to the state of his own mind 
will acknowledge, that these words, " Emo- 
tion" and "Feeling," thus used, are per- 
fectly simple, and as incapable of further 
explanation by words as sight and hearing ; 
which may, indeed, be rendered into syno- 
nymous words, but never can be defined by 
any more simple or more clear. Reflection 
will in like manner teach that perception, 
reasoning, and judgment may be conceived 
to exist without being followed by emotion. 
Some men hear music without gratification : 
one may distinguish a taste without being 
pleased or displeased by it ; or at least the 
relish or disrelish is often so slight, without 
lessening the distinctness of the sapid quali- 
ties, that the distinction of it from the per- 
ception cannot be donbted. 

The multiplicity of errors which have flow- 
ed into moral science from this original con- 
fusion is very great. They have spread over 
many schools of philosophy ; and many of 
them are prevalent to this day. Hence the 
laws of the Understanding have been ap- 
plied to the Affections ; virtuous feelings 
have been considered as just reasonings • 
evil passions have been represented as mis- 
taken judgments ; and it has been laid down 
as a principle, that the Will always follows 
the last decision of the Practical Intellect.* 

2. By this great error, Hobbes was led to 
represent all the variety of the desires of 
men, as being only so many instances of 
objects deliberately and solely pursued ; be- 
cause they were the means, and at the time 
perceived to be so, of directly or indirectly 
procuring organic gratification to the indi- 
vidual.t The human passions are described 
as if they reasoned accurately, deliberated 
coolly, and calculated exactly. It is assumed 
that, in performing these operations, there is 
and can be no act of life in which a man does 
not bring distinctly before his eyes the plea- 
sure which is to accrue to himself from the 
act. From this single and simple principle, 
all human conduct may, according to him, 
be explained and even foretold. The true 
laws of this part of our nature (so totally 
different from those of the percipient part) 

* " Voluntas semper sequiturultimum judicium 
intellectas practici.'' — [See Spinozse Cog. Met. 
pars. ii. cap. 12. Ed.l 

t See the passages before quoted. 



were, by this grand mistake, entirely with- 
drawn from notice. Simple as the observa- 
tion is, it seems to have escaped not only 
Hobbes, but many, perhaps most, philoso- 
phers, that our desires seek a great diversity 
of objects ; that the attainment of these ob- 
jects is indeed followed by, or rather called 
" Pleasure ;" but that it could not be so, if 
the objects had not been previously desired. 
Many besides him have really represented 
self as the ultimate object of every action : but 
none ever so hardily thrust forward the selfish 
system in its harshest and coarsest shape. 
The mastery which he shows over other 
metaphysical subjects, forsakes him on this. 
He does not scruple, for the sake of this 
system, to distort facts of which all men are 
conscious, and to do violence to the language 
in which the result of their uniform expe- 
rience is conveyed. "Acknowledgment of 
power is called Honour."* His explana- 
tions are frequently sufficient confutations of 
the doctrine which required them. "Pity 
is the imagination of future calamity to our- 
selves, proceeding from the sense (observa- 
tion) of another man's calamity." " Laugh- 
ter is occasioned by sudden glory in our 
eminence, or in comparison with the infirmity 
of others." Every man who ever wept or 
laughed, may determine whether this be a 
true account of the state of his mind on either 
occasion. "Love is a conception of his 
need of the one person desired ;" — a defini- 
tion of Love, which, as it excludes kindness, 
might perfectly well comprehend the hun- 
ger of a cannibal, provided that it were not 
too ravenous to exclude choice. "Good- 
will, or charity, which containeth the natu- 
ral affection of parents to their children, con- 
sists in a man's conception that he is able 
not only to accomplish his own desires, but 
to assist other men in theirs :" from which 
it follows, as the pride of power is felt in 
destroying as well as in saving men, that 
cruelty and kindness are the same passion.t 
Such were the expedients to which a man 
of the highest class of understanding was 
driven, in order to evade the admission of 
the simple and evident truth, that there are 
in our nature perfectly disinterested pas- 
sions, which seek the well-being of others 
as their object and end, without looking be- 
yond it to self, or pleasure, or happiness. A 
proposition, from which such a man could 
attempt to escape only by such means, may 
be strongly presumed to be true. 

3. Hobbes having thus struck the affec- 
tions out of his map of human nature, and 
having totally misunderstood (as will appear 



* Human Nature, chap. viii. The ridiculous 
explanation of the admiration of personal beauty, 
" as a sign of power generative," shows the diffi- 
cullies to which this extraordinary man was re- 
duced by a false system. 

t Ibid. chap. ix. I forbear to quote the passage 
on Platonic love, which immediately follows : but, 
considering Hobbes' blameless and honourable 
character, that passage is perhaps the most re- 
markable instance of the shifts to which his Belf 
iah system reduced him. 



116 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



in a succeeding part of this Dissertation) the 
nature even of the appetites, it is no wonder 
that we should find in it not a trace of the 
moral sentinnents. Moral Good* he consi- 
ders merely as consisting in the signs of a 
power to produce pleasure ; and repentance 
is no more than regret at having missed the 
way : so that, according to this system, a 
disinterested approbation of, and reverence 
for Virtue, are no more possible than disin- 
terested affections towards our fellow-crea- 
tures. There is no sense of duty, no com- . 
punction for our own offences, no indignation 
against the crimes of others, — unless they 
affect our own safety ; — no secret cheerful- 
ness shed over the heart by the practice of 
well-doing. From his philosophical writings 
it would be impossible to conclude that there 
are in man a set of emotions, desires, and 
aversions, of which the sole and final objects 
are the voluntary actions and habitual dispo- 
sitions of himself and of all other voluntary 
agents; which are properly called "moral 
sentiments;" and which, though they vary 
more in degree, and depend more on culti- 
vation, than some other parts of human na- 
ture, are as seldom as most of them found 
to be entirely wanting. 

4. A theory of Man which comprehends 
in its explanations neither the social affec- 
tions, nor the moral sentiments, must be 
owned to be sufficiently defective. It is a 
consequence, or rather a modification of it, 
that Hobbes should constantly represent the 
deliberate regard to personal advantage, as 
the only possible motive of human action ; 
and that he should altogether disdain to avail 
himself of those refinements of the selfish 
scheme which allow the pleasures of bene- 
volence and of morality, themselves, to be a 
most important part of that interest which 
reasonable beings pursue. 

5. Lastly, though Hobbes does in effect 
acknowledge the necessity of Morals to so- 
ciety, and the general coincidence of indivi- 
dual with public interest — truths so palpable 
that they have never been excluded from 
any ethical system, he betrays his utter want 
of moral sensibility by the coarse and odious 
form in which he has presented the first of 
these great principles ; and his view of both 
leads him most strongly to support that com- 
mon and pernicious error of moral reasoners, 
that a perception of the tendency of good 
actions to preserve the being and promote 
the well-being of the community, and a sense 
of the dependence of our own happiness 
upon the general security, either are essen- 
tial constituents of our moral feelings, or are 
ordinarily mingled with the most effectual 
motives to right conduct. 

The court of Charles 11. were equally 

f)leased with Hobbes' poignant brevity, and 
lis low estimate of human motives. His 
ethical epigrams became the current coin of 



* Which he calls the "pulchrum," for want, as 
lie says, of an English word to express it. — Levia- 
than, part. i. c. vi. 



profligate wits. Sheffield, Duke of Buck- 
inghamshire, who represented the class still 
more perfectly in his morals than in his fa- 
culties, has expressed their opinion in verses^ 
of ^^•hich one line is good enoug'i to be 
quoted : 

" Fame bears no fruit till the vain planter Hies." 

Dryden speaks of the "philosopher ard poet 
(for such is the condescending term employ- 
ed) of Malmesbury," as^ resembling Lucre- 
tius in haughtiness. But Lucretius, though 
he held many of the opinions of Hobbes, 
had the sensibility as well as genius of a 
poet. His dogmatism is full of enthusiasm; 
and his philosophical theory of society dis- 
covers occasionally as much tenderness as 
can be shown without reference to nulivi- 
duals. He was a Hobbist in only half his 
nature. 

The moral and political system of Hobbes 
was a palace of ice, transparent, exactly 
proportioned, majestic, admired by the un- 
wary as a delightful dwelling; but gradually 
undermined by the central warmth of human 
feeling, before it was thawed into muddy 
water by the sunshine of true Philosophy. 

When Leibnitz, in the beginning of the 
eighteenth century, reviewed the moral wri- 
ters of modern times, his penetrating eye 
saw only two who were capable of reducing 
Morals and Jurisprtidence to a science. "So 
great an enterprise," says he, " might have 
been executed by the deep-searching geiiius 
of Hobbes, if he had not set out from evil 
principles; or by the judgment and learning 
of the incomparable Grotius, if his j-owera 
had not been scattered over many subjects, 
and his mind distracted by the cares of an 
agitated life."* Perhaps in this estimate, 
admiration of the various and excellent quali- 
ties of Grotius may have overrated his purely 
philosophical powers, great as they unques- 
tionably were. Certainly the failure of 
Hobbes was owing to no inferiority in stn-ngth 
of intellect. Probably his fundameii^al er- 
rors may be imputed, in part, to the faintness 
of his moral sensibilities, insufficient to make 
him familiar with those sentiments ar.d affec- 
tions which can be known only by being 
felt; — a faintness perfectly compatible with 
his irreproachable life, but which obstructed, 
and at last obliterated, the only channel 
through which the most important materials 
of ethical science enter into the mind. 

Against Hobbes, says Warburton, the 
whole Church militant took up arms. The 
answers to the Leviathan would form a 
library. But the far greater part would have 
followed the fate of all controversial pamph- 
lets. Sir Robert Filmer was jealous of any 
rival theory of servitude : Harrington defend- 
ed Liberty, and Clarendon the Church, agamst 



* " Et tale aliquid potuisset, vel ab incompara- 
bilis Grotii judicio et doctrina, vel a p.ofundo 
Hobbii ingenio praestari; nisi ilium multa distrax 
issent; hie vero prava constituisset principia." — 
Leib. Op. iv. pars. iii. 27C. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 117 



a common enemy. His philosophical antago- 
nists were, Cumberland, Cudworth, Shaftes- 
bury. Clarke, Butler, and Hutcheson. Though 
the last four writers cannot be considered as 
properly polemics, their labours were excited, 
and their doctrines modified, by the stroke 
from a vigorous arm which seemed to shake 
Ethics to its foundation. They lead us far 
into the eighteenth century ; and their works, 
occasioned by the doctrines of Hobbes, 
sowed the seed of the ethical writings of 
Hume, Smith, Price, Kant, and Stewart; in 
a less degree, also, of those of Tucker and 
Paley : — not to mention Mandeville, the buf- 
foon and sophister of the alehouse, or Hel- 
vetius, an ingenious but flimsy writer, the 
low and loose Moralist of the vain, the sel- 
fish, and the sensual. 



SECTION V. 

CONTROVERSIES CONCERNING THE MORAL FA- 
CULTIES AND THE SOCIAL AFFECTIONS. 

C0MEEKLAND — CUDWORTH — CLARKE — SHAFTES- 
BURY^— BOSSUET — FENELON — LEIBNITZ — MALE- 
EKANCHE — EDWARDS BUFFIER. 

. Dr. Richard Cumberland,* raised to the 
See of Peterborough after the Revolution of 
1688, was the only professed answerer of 
Hobbes. His work On the Laws of Nature 
still retains a place on the shelf, though not 
often on the desk. The philosophical epi- 
grams of Hobbes form a contrast to the ver- 
bose, prolix, and languid diction of his an- 
swerer. The forms of scholastic argument 
serve more to encumber his style, than to 
insure his e.\actness. But he has substantial 
merits. He justly observes, that all men 
can only be said to have had originally a right 
to all things, in a sense in which '■'■ right " has 
the same meaning with " power." He shows 
that Hobbes is at variance with himself, inas- 
much as the dictates of Right Reason, which, 
by his own statement, teach men for their 
own safety to forego the exercise of that 
right, and which he calls " laws of Nature," 
are coeval with it; and that mankind per- 
ceive the moral limits of their power as clear- 
ly and as soon as they are conscious of its 
existence. He enlarges the intimations of 
Grotius on the social feelings, which prompt 
men to the pleasures of pacific intercourse, as 
certainly as the apprehension of danger and 
of destruction urges thefh to avoid hostility. 
The fundamental principle of his system of 
Ethics is, that '-the greatest benevolence of 
every rational agent to all others is the hap- 
piest state of each individual, as well as of 
the whole. "t The happiness accruing to 
each man from the observance and cultiva- 
tion of benevolence, he considers as appended 
to it by the Supreine Ruler; through which 

* Born. 1632; died, 1718. 

t De Lpff. Nat. chap. i. % 12, first published in 
London, 1672, and then so popular as to be re- 
printed at Lubeck in 1683. . 



He sanctions it as His law, and reveals it 
to the mind of every reasonable creature. 
From this principle he deduces the rules of 
Morality, which he calls the " laws of Na- 
ture." The surest, or rather the only mark 
that they are the commandments of God. is, 
that their observance promotes the happiness 
of man : for that reason alone could they be 
imposed by that Being whose essence is 
Love. As our moral faculties inust to us be 
the measure of all moral excellence, he in- 
fers that the moral attributes of the Divinity 
must in their nature be only a transcendent 
degree of those qualities which vce most ap- 
prove, love, and revere, in those moral agents 
with whom we are familiar.* He had a mo- 
mentary glimpse of the possibility that some 
human actions might be performed with a 
view to the happiness of others, without any 
consideration of the pleasure reflected back 
on ourselves.f But it is too faint and tran- 
sient to be worthy of observation, otherwise 
than as a new proof how often great truths 
must flit before the Understanding, before 
they can be firmly and finally held in its grasp. 
His only attempt to explain the nature of the 
Moral Faculty, is the substitution of Practi- 
cal Reason (a phrase of the Schoolmen, since 
become celebrated from its renewal by Kant) 
for Right Reason ;j and his definition of the 
first, as that which points out the ends and 
means of action. Throughout his whole 
reasoning, he adheres to the accustomed 
'confusion of the equality which renders ac- 
tions virtuous, with the sentiments excited 
in us by the contemplation of them. His 
language on the identity of general and indi- 
vidual interest is extremely vague ; though 
it be, as he says, the foundation-stone of the 
Temple of Concord among men. 

It is little wonderful that Cumberland 
should not have disembroiled this ancient 
and established confusion, since Leibnitz 
himself, in a passage where he reviews the 
theories of Morals which had gone before 
him, has done his utmost to perpetuate it. 
•'It is a question," says the latter, '• w hether 
the preservation of human society be the first 
principle of the law of Nature. This our 
author denies, in opposition to Grotius, who 
laid down sociability to be so ; — to Hobbes, 
who ascribed that character to mutual fear ; 
and to Cumberland, who held that it was 
mutual benevolence; which are all three 
only diflerent names for the safety and wel- 



* Ibid. cap. V. ^ 19. t Ibid. cap. ii. 5 20. 

\ " Whoever determines his Judgment and liia 
Will by Riglit Reason, must agree wiih alluiliera 
who judge according to Right Reason in the same 
matter." — Ibid. cap. ii. <} 8. Tliis is in one sense 
only a particular instance of the identical propo- 
sition, that two things which agree with a third 
thing must agree' with each other in that, in which 
they agree with the third. But the difficuhy en- 
tirely consists in the particular third thing here in 
troduced, namely, "Right Reason," the nature 
of which not one step is made to explain. The 
position is curious, as coinciding with J' the uni- 
versal categorical imperative," adopted as a first 
principle by Kant. 



118 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



fare of society."* Here the great philoso- 
pher considered benevolence or fear, two 
leelings of the human mind, to be the first 
principles of the law of Nature, in the same 
sense in which the tendency of certain ac- 
tions to the well-being of the community 
may be so regarded. The confusion, how- 
ever, was then common to him with many, 
as it even now is with most. The compre- 
hensive view was his own. He perceived 
the close resemblance of these various, and 
even conflicting opinions, in that important 
point of view in which they relate to the 
eflfects of moral and immoral actions on the 
general interest. The tendency of Virtue to 
preserve amicable intercourse was enforced 
by Grotius; its tendency to prevent injury 
was dwelt on by Hobbes; its tendency to 
promote an interchange of benefits was in- 
culcated by Cumberland. 

CUDWORTH.t 

Cudworth, one of the eminent men educa- 
ted or promoted in the English Universities 
daring the Puritan rule, was one of the most 
distinguished of the Latitudinarian, or Ar- 
minian, party who came forth at the Resto- 
ration, with a love of Liberty imbibed from 
their Calvinistic masters, as well as from the 
writings of anticjuity, yet tempered by the 
experience of their own agitated age; and 
with a spirit of religious toleration more im- 
partial and mature, though less systematic,, 
and professedly comprehensive, than that of 
the Independents, the first sect who preached 
that doctrine. Taught by the errors of their 
time, they considered Religion as consisting, 
not in vain efforts to explain unsearchable 
mysteries, but in purity of heart exalted by 
pious feelings, manifested by virtuous con- 
duct.! The government of the Church w^as 
placed in their hands by the Revolution, and 
their influence was long felt among its rulers 
and luminaries. The first generation of their 
scholars turned their atteniion too much from 
the cultivation of the heart to the mere go- 
vernment of outward action : and in succeed- 
ing times the tolerant spirit, not natural to an 

* Leih). Op. pars. iii. 271. The unnamed work 
which occasioned these remarks (perhaps one of 
Thomasius) appeared in 1699. How long afier 
this Leibnitz's Dissertation was written, does not 
appear. 

t Born 1617; died, 1688. 

t See the I he beautiful account of them by Bur- 
net, (Hist, of His own Time, i. 321. Oxford, 182.3) 
who was himself one of the most distingnislied of 
this excellent body ; with whom may be cinssod, 
notwithstanding some shades of doctrinal difTer- 
ence, his early master, Leighton, Bishop of Dun- 
blane, a beautiful writer, and one of the best of 
men. The earliest account of them is in a curious 
contemporary pamphlet, entitled, " An Account 
of the new Sect of Latitude-men at Cambridge," 
republished in the collection of tracts, entitled 
" Phoenix Britannirus." Jeremy Taylor deserves 
the highest, and perhaps the earliest place among 
them: but Cudsvorth's excellent sermon before 
the House of Commons (31ft March 1647) in the 
year of the publication of Taylor's Liberty of Pro- 
phesying, may be compared even to Taylor in 
charity, piety, and the most liberal toleration. 



establishment, was with difTiculty kepi up 
by a government whose existence depended 
on discouraging intolerant pretensions. No 
sooner had the first sketch of the Hobbian 
philosophy* been privately circulated at 
Paris, than Cudworth seized the earliest 
opportunity of sounding the alarm against 
the most justly odious of the modes of think- 
ing which it cultivates, or forms of expression 
which it would introduce ;t — the prelude to 
a war which occupied the remaining forty 
years of his life. The Intellectual System, 
his great production, is directed against the 
atheistical opinions of Hobbes : it touches 
ethical questions but occasionally and inci- 
dentally. It is a work of stupendous erudi- 
tion, of much more acuteness than at first 
appears, of frequent mastery over diction 
and illustration on subjects where it is most 
rare ; and it is distinguished, perhaps beyond 
any other volume of controversy, by that 
best proof of the deepest conviction of the 
truth of a man's principles, a fearless state- 
ment of the most formidable objections to 
them; — a fairness rarely practised but by 
him who is conscious of his power to answer 
them. In all his writings, it must be own- 
ed, that his learning obscures his reasonings, 
and seems even to repress his powerful in- 
tellect. It is an unfortunate etiect of the 
redundant fulness of his mind, that it over- 
flows in endless digressions, uhich break 
the chain of argument, and turn aside the 
thoughts of the reader from the main object. 
He was educated before usage had limited 
the naturalization of new words from the 
learned languages: before the failure of those 
great men, from Bacon to Milton, who labour- 
ed to follow a Latin oider in their sentences, 
and the success of those men of inferior 
powers, from Cowley to Addison, who were 
content with the order, as well as the words, 
of pure and elegant conversation, had, as it 
were, by a double series of experiments, 
ascertained that the involutions and inver- 
sions of the ancient languages are seldom 
reconcilable with the gen ii< of ours; and 
that they are, unless skilfully, as well as 
sparingly introduced, at variance Avith the 
natural beauties of our prose composition. 
His mind was more that of" an ancient than 
of a modern philosopher. He often indulged 
in that sort of amalgamation of fancy with 
speculation, the delight of the Alexandrian 
doctors, with whom he was most familiarly 
conversant; and the Intellectrial System, 
both in thought and expression, tias an old 
and foreign air, not unlike a translation from 
the work of a later Platonist. Large ethical 
works of this eminent writer are extant in 
manirscript in the British Museum.t One 

~* De Give, 1642. [~ 

t " Dantur boni et" mali rationes Kternae et iak^ 

dispensabiles." Thesis for the desree of B. D. tjb^ 

Cambridge in 1664. — Birch's Life of Cudwortb,:T. 

prefixed to his edition of the Intellectual System, ' 

(Lond. 1743.) i. 7. 

t A curious account of the history of these MSS. 

by Dr. Kippis, is to be found in the Biographia 

Britannica, iv. 549. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



119 



Eosthumous volume on Morals was published 
y Dr. Chandler, Bishop of Durham, entitled 
"A Treatise concerning Eternal and Immut- 
able Morality."* But there is the more rea- 
son to regret (as far as relates to the history 
of Opinion) that the larger treatises are still 
unpublished, because the above volume is 
not so much an ethical treatise as an intro- 
duction to one. Protagoras of old, and Hob- 
bes then alive, having concluded that Right 
and Wrong were unreal, because they were 
not perceived by the senses, and because all 
human knovvieuge consists only in such per- 
ception, Cudworth endeavours to refute them, 
by disproving that part of their premises 
vrhich forms the last-stated proposition. The 
mind has many conceptions {vorj^ia-ta) which 
are not cognizable by the senses ; and though 
they are occasioned by sensible objects, yet 
they cannot be formed but by a faculty su- 
perior to sense. The conceptions of Justice 
and Duty he places among them. The dis- 
tinction of Right from Wrong is discerned by 
Reason; and as soon as these words are de- 
fined, it becomes evident that it would be a 
contradiction in terms to affirm that any 
power, human or Divine, could change their 
nature ; or, in other words, make the same 
act to be just and unjust at the same time. 
They have e.visted eternally in the only mode 
in which truths can be said to be eternal, in 
the Eternal Mind ; and they are indestructi- 
ble and unchangeable like that Supreme In- 
telligence. t Whatever judgment may be 
formed of this reasoning, it is manifest that 
it relates merely to the philosophy of the 
Understanding, and does not attempt any 
explanation of What constitutes the very 
essence of Morality, — its' relation to the Will. 
That we perceive a distinction between 
Right and Wrong, as much as between a tri- 
angle and a square, is indeed true ; and may 
possibly lead to an explanation of the reason 
why men should adhere to the one and avoid 
the other. But it is not that reason. A 
command or a precept is not a proposition : 
it cannot be said that either is true or false. 
Cudworth, p- '""11 as many who succeeded 
him, confounded the mere apprehension by 
the Understanding that Right is different 
from Wrong, with the practical authority of 
these important conceptions, exercised over 
voluntary actions, in a totally distinct pro- 
vince of the human soul. 



* 8vo. Lond. 1731. 

t " There are many objects of our mind which 
we can neiiher see, hear, feel, smell, nor taste, 
and which did never enter into it by any sense ; 
and therefore we can have no sensible pictures or 
ideas of them, drawn by the pencil of that inward 
hmner, or painter, which borrows all his colours 
from sense, wliich vve call ' Fancy :' and if we 
reflect >j) our own cogitations of these things, we 
shall.ii^.vsitjly perceive that they are not phaiitasti- 
cal, but noematical: as, for example, justice, equi- 
ty, duty and obligation, cogitation, opinion, intel- 
lection, volition, memory, verity, falsity, cause, 
effect, genus, species, nullity, contingency, pos- 
sibility, impossibility, and innumerable others." 
— Ibid. 140. We have here an anticipation of 
Kant. 



Though his life was devoted to the asser- 
tion of Divine Providence, and though his 
philosophy was imbued with the religious 
spirit of Platonism,* yet he had placed Chris- 
tianity too purely in the love of God and 
Man to be considered as having much regard 
for those controversies about rights and opi- 
nions with which zealots disturb the world. 
They represented him as having fallen into 
the same heresy Avith Milton and with 
Clarke ;t and some of them even charged 
him with atheism, for no other reason thaa 
that he was not afraid to state the atheistic 
difficulties in their fullest force. As blind 
anger heaps inconsistent accusations on each, 
other, they called him at least '■' an Arian, a 
Socinian, or a Deist. "t The courtiers of 
Charles II., who were delighted with every 
part of Hobbes but his integrity, did their 
utmost to decry his antagonist. They turned 
the railing of the bigots into a sarcasm 
against Religion ; as we learn from him who 
represented them with unfortunate fidelity. 
" He has raised," says Dryden, " such strong 
objections against the being of God, that 
many think he has not answered them ;" — 
" the common fate," as Lord Shaftesbury tells 
us, "of those who dare to appear fair au- 
thors. "§ He had, indeed, earned the hatred 
of some theologians, better than they could 
know from the writings published during his 
life ; for in his posthumous work he classes 
with the ancient atheists those of his con- 
temporaries, (whom he forbears to name,) 
who held " that God may command what is 
contrary to moral rules ; that He has no in- 
clination to the good of His creatures ; that 
He may justly doom an innocent being to 
eternal torments; and that whatever God 
does will, for that reason is just, because He 
wills it."il 

It is an interesting incident in the life of a 
philosopher, that Cudworlh's daughter, Lady 
Masham, had the honour to nurse the in- 
firmities and to watch the last breath of Mr. 
Locke, who was opposed to her father in 
speculative philosophy, but who heartily 



<f«. — (Motto affixed to the sermon above mention- 
ed.) 

t The following doctrine is ascribed to Cud- 
worth by Nelson, a man of good understanding 
and great worth : " Dr. Cudworth maintained that 
the Father, absolutely speaking, is the only Su- 
preme God ; the Son and Spirit being God only 
by his concurrence with them, and iheir subordi 
nation and subjection to him." — Life of Bull, 339. 

t Turner's discourse on the Messiah, 335. 

i Moralists, part ii. ^ 3. 

II Etern. and Immut. Mor. 11. He quotes Ock- 
ham as having formerly maintained the same mon- 
strous positions. To many, if not to most of these 
opinions or expressions, ancient and niodern, re- 
servations are adjoined, which render them Uterallif 
reconcilable with practical Morals. But the dan 
gerous abuse to which the incautious language of 
ethical theories is liable, is well illustrated by tho 
anecdote related in Plutarch's Life of Alexander, 
of the sycophant Anaxarchas consoling that mon- 
arch for the murder of Clitus, by assuring him that 
every act of a ruler must be just, nay ro vfitj^m 
, fl»y im Tou KfXTeZyTot tiiuun. — Op. i. 639. 



120 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



agreed with him in the love of Truth, Li- 
berty, and Virtue. 

CLARKE.* 

Connected with Cudworth by principle, 
though separated by some interval of time, 
was Dr. Samuel Clarke, a man eminent at 
once as a divine, a mathematician, a meta- 
physical philosopher, and a philologer; who, 
as the interpreter of Homer and CjBsar, the 
scholar of Newton, and the antagonist of 
Leibnitz, approved himself not unworthy of 
correspondence with the highest order of 
human Spirits. Roused by the prevalence 
of the doctrines of Spinoza and Hobbes, he 
endeavoured to demonstrate the Being and 
Attributes of God, from a few axioms and 
definitions, in the manner of Geometry. In 
this attempt, with all his powers of argu- 
ment, it must be owned that he is compelled 
sometimes tacitly to assume what the laws 
of reasoning required him to prove ; and that, 
on the whole, his failure may be regarded as 
a proof that such a mode of argument is be- 
yond the faculties of man. t Justly consider- 
ing the Moral Attributes of the Deity as 
what alone render him the object of Reli- 
gion, and to us constitutes the difference be- 
tween Theism and atheism, he laboured 
with the utmost zeal to place the distinc- 
tions of Right and Wrong on a more solid 
foundation, and to explain the conformity of 
Morality to Reason, in a manner calculated 
to give a precise and scientific signification 
to that phraseology which all philosophers 
had, for so many ages, been content to em- 
ploy, without thinking themselves obliged to 
define. 

It is one of the most rarely successful ef- 
forts of the human mind, to place the under- 
standing at the point from which a philoso- 
pher takes the views that compose his sys- 
tem, to recollect constantly his purposes, to 
adopt for a moment his previous opinions and 
prepossessions, to think in his words and to 
see with his eyes; — especially when the wri- 
ter widely dissents from the system which 
he attempts to describe, and after a general 
change in the modes of thinking and in the 
use of terms. Every part of the present Dis- 
sertation requires such an excuse; but per- 
haps it may be more necessary in a case like 
that of Clarke, where the alterations in both 
respects have been so insensible, and in 
some respects appear so limited, that they 
may escape attention, than after those total 



* Born, 1675; died, 1729. 

+ This admirable person had so much candour 
«s in etTect to own his failure, and to recur to 
those other arguments in support of this ereat 
tnith, which have in all ages satisfied the most 
«levated minds. In Proposiiion viii. (Being and 
Attributes of God, 47 ) which affirms that the first 
■cause must be " intelligent" (wherein, as he truly 
fltatea, " Ues the main question between us and 
ihe atheists"), he owns, that the proposition can- 
not be demonstrated strictly and properly a priori. 
—See Note M. 



revolutions in doctrine, where the necessity 
of not measuring other times by our own 
standard must be apparent to the most un- 
distinguishing. ■ 

The sum of his moral doctrine may be 
stated as follows. Man can conceive nothing 
without at the same time conceiving its re- 
lations to other things. He must ascribe the 
same law of perception to every being to 
whom he ascribes thought. He cannot there- 
fore doubt that all the relations of all thingg 
to all must have always been present to the 
Eternal Mind. The relations in this sense 
are eternal, however recent the things may 
be between whom they subsist. The whole 
of these relations constitute Truth: the 
knowledge of them is Omniscience. These 
eternal different relations of things involve a 
consequent eternal fitness or unfitness in the 
application of things, one to another; with a 
regard to which, the will of God always 
chooses, and which ought likewise to deter- 
mine the wills of all subordinate rational 
beings. These eternal differences make it 
fit and reasonable for the creatures so to act; 
they cause it to be their duty, or lay an obli- 
gation on them so to do, separate from the 
will of God.* and antecedent to any pros- 
pect of advantage or reward.! Nay, wilful 
wickedness is the same absurdity and inso- 
lence in Morals, as it would be in natural 
things to pretend to alter the relations of 
numbers, or to take away the properties of 
mathematical figures.! "Morality," says 
one of his most ingenious scholars, " is the 
practice of reason. "§ 

Clarke, like Cudworth, considered such a 
scheme as the only security against Hobb- 
ism, and probably also against the Calvinistic 
theology, from which they were almo^ as 
averse. Not content, with Cumberland, to 
attack Hobbes on ground which was in part 
his own, they thought it necessary to build on 
entirely new foundations. Clarke mOre espe- 
cially, instead of substituting social and ge- 
nerous feeling for the selfish appetites, en- 
deavoured to bestow on Morality the highest 
dignity, by thus deriving it from Reason. He 
made it more than disinterested ; for he 
placed its seat in a region where interest 
irever enters, and passion never disturbs. 
By ranking her principles with the first 
truths of Science, he seemed to render them 
pure and impartial, infallible and unchange- 
able. It might be excusable to regret the 
failure of so noble an attempt, if the indul- 
gence of such regrets did not betray an un- 
worthy apprehension that the same excellent 
ends could only be attained by such frail 



* "Those who found all moral obligp.iion on 
the will of God must recur to the san,f> thing, 
only they do not explain how the nature ariu will 
of God is good and just." — Being and Attributes 
of God, Proposition xii. 

t Evidence of Natural and Revealed Religion, 
p. 4. Lond. 1724. 

} Ibid. p. 42. 

$ Lowman on the Unity and Perfections of 
God, p. 29. Lend. 17'i7. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



121 



means,' and that the dictates of the most 
severe reason would not finally prove recon- 
cilable with the majesty of Virtue. 

REMARKS. 

The adoption of mathematical forms and 
terms was, in England, a prevalent fashion 
amoMg"writers on moral subjects during a 
large part of the eighteenth century. The 
ambition of mathematical certainty, on mat- 
ters concerning which it is not given to man 
to reach it, is a frailty from which the dis- 
ciple of Newton ought in reason to have 
been withheld, but to which he was natu- 
rally tempted by the example of his master. 
Nothing but the extreme difficulty of de- 
taching assent from forms of expression to 
which it has been long wedded, can ex- 
plain the fact, that the incautious expressions 
above cited, into which Clarke was hurried 
by his moral sensibility, did not awaken 
him to a sense of the error into which he 
had fallen. As soon as he had said that "a 
wicked act was as absurd as an attempt to 
take away the properties of a figure," he 
ought to have seen that principles which led 
logically to such a conclusiori were untrue. 
As it is an impossibility to make three and 
three cease to be six, it ought, on his princi- 
ples, to be impossible to do a wicked act. To 
act without regard to the relations of things, — 
as if a man were to choose fire for cooling, or 
ice for heating, — would be the part either 
of a lunatic or an idiot. The murderer who 
poisons by arsenic, acts agreeably to his 
knowledge of the power of that substance to 
kill, which is a relation between two things; 
as much as the physician who employs an 
emetic after the poison, acts upon his belief 
of the tendency of that remedy to preserve 
life, which is another relation between two 
things. All men who seek a good or bad 
end by good or bad means, must alike con- 
form their conduct to some relation between 
their actions as means and their object as an 
end. All the relations of inanimate things to 
each other are undoubtedly observed as much 
by the criminal as by the man of virtue. 

It is therefore singular that Dr. Clarke suf- 
fered himself to be misled into the repre- 
sentation, that Virtue is a conformity with 
the relations of things universally. Vice a 
universal disregard of them, by the certain, 
but here insufficient truth, that the former 
necessarily implied a regard to certain par- 
ticular relations, which were always disre- 
garded by those who chose the latter. The 
distinction between Right and Wrong can, 
therefore, no longer depend on relations as 
such, but on a particular class of relations. 
And it seems evident that no relations are to 
be considered, except those in which a liv- 
ing, intelligent, and voluntary agent is one 
of the beings related. His acts may relate 
to a law, as either observing or infringing it ; 
they may relate to his own moral sentiments 
and those of his fellows, as they are the ob- 
jects of approbation or disapprobation ; they 
16 



may relate to his own welfare, by increasing 
or abating it ; they may relate to the well- 
being of other sentient beings, by contribu- 
ting to promote or obstruct it : but in all 
these, and in all supposable cases, the in- 
quiry of the moral philosopher must be, not 
whether there be a relation, but what the 
relation is ; whether it be that of obedience 
to law, or agreeableness to moral feeling, or 
suitableness to prudence, or coincidence with 
benevolence. The term "relation" itself, on 
which Dr. Clarke's s3-stem rests, being com- 
mon to Right and Wrong, must be struck out 
of the reasoning. He himself incidentally 
drops intimations which are at variance with 
his system. "The Deity," he tells us, "acts 
according to the eternal relations of things, 
in order to the welfare of the whole Uni- 
verse ;" and subordinate moral agents ought 
to be governed by the same rules, " for the 
good of the" public."* No one can fail to ob- 
serve that a new element is here introduced, 
— the well-being of communities of men. and 
the general happiness of the world, — which 
supersedes the consideration of abstract re- 
lations and fitnesses. 

There are other views of this system, 
however, of a more general nature, and of 
much more importance/, because they ex- 
tend in a considerable degree to all systems 
which found moral distinctions or sentiments, 
solely or ultimately, upon Reason. A little 
reflection will ^ discover an extraordinary 
vacuity in this system. Supposing it were al- 
lowed that it satisfactorily accounts for mo- 
ral judgments, there is still an important part 
of our moral sentiments which it passes by 
without an attempt to explain them. Whence, 
on this scheme, the pleasure or pain with 
which we review our own actions or survey 
those of others ? What is the nature of re- 
morse ? Why do we feel shame 1 Whence 
is indignation against injustice? These are 
surely no exercise of Reason. Nor is the 
assent of Reason to any other class of propo- 
sitions followed or accompanied by emotions 
of this nature, by any approaching them, or 
indeed necessarilj'' by any emotion at all. 
It is a fata] objection to a moral theory that 
it contains no means of explaining the most 
conspicuous, if not the moFt essential, parts 
of moral approbation and disapprobation. 

But to rise to a more general considera- 
tion : Perception and Emotion are states of 
mind perfectly distinct, and an emotion of 
pleasure or pain differs much more from a 
mere perception, than the perceptions of one 
sense do from tho.se of another. The per- 
ceptions of all the senses have some quali- 
ties in common. But an emotion has not 
necessarily anything in common with a per- 
ception, but that they are both states of 
mind. We perceive exactly the same quali- 
ties in tlte taste of coffee when we may dis- 
like it, as afterwards when \\f come to like 
it. In other words, the perception remains 
the same when the sensation of pain i* 

♦ Evid. of Nat. and Rev. Rel. p. 4. 
L 



132 



AIACKINTOSirS ftnSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



changed into ihe opposite sensmiion of plea- 
sure. The like change nuiy occur in every 
case whore pleasure or jxiiu (in such in- 
stances called ••seiis;xlions"), enter the niinil 
with perceptions throuyii the t\ve or the ear. 
The prospect or the sound which was ilis- 
ai:;reeable may become agreeable, without 
aiiY alteration in oui idea of the objects. 
AVe can easily imagine a percipient and 
thinking being without a capacity of receiv- 
ina" pleasure tir pain. Such a being might 
perceive what we do ; if we could conceive 
iiitu to reason, he might reason justly; and 
if he were to judge at all. ihore seems no 
reason why he should not judge truly. But 
what could induce such a being to will or to 
act! It seems evident that his existence 
could oidy be a state of passive contempla- 
tion. Reason, as Keasou, can never be a 
motive to action. It is only when we super- 
add to such a being sensibility, or the ca- 
pacity of emotion or sentiment, or (what in 
corporeal cases is called se;is;ition) of desire 
and aversion, that we introduce him into the 
world of aciioa. We then clearly discern 
that, when the conclusion of a process of 
reasoning presents to his mind an object of 
desir'j, or the means of obtaining it, a motive 
of action begins *o operate, and Reason may 
then, but not till then, have a powerful 
though indirect inthience on conduct. Let 
any argument to dissuade a nuiii from im- 
morality be employeil, and the issue of it 
will always appear to bean appeal to a feel- 
ing. You prove that drunkenness will pro- 
bably ruin health: no position founded on 
experience is more certain ; most persons 
with whom you reason mu>t be as much 
convinced of it as you are. i<nt your hope 
of success depends on the drunkard's fear 
of ill health; and he may always silence 
your argumeir by telling you that he loves 
wine more than he dreads sickness. You 
speak in A'aia of the intamy of an act to one 
who disregards the opinion oi" others, or of its 
imprudence to a man of little feeling for his 
own future condition. Yon may truly, but 
vainly tell of the jileasurcs oi frieiuisliip to 
one who has little atlection. If you display 
the delights <>f liberality to a miser, he may 
always stmt your mouth by answering, -'The 
spendthiift may prefer such pleasures; I 
love money more." If you even appeal to 
a man's conscience, he may answer you that 
you have clearly proved t^e immorality of 
the act, and that he himself knew it before; 
but that now when you had rcitewed and 
freshened his conviction, he was obliged to 
own that his love of Yirtue, oven aided by 
the fear of dishonour, remorse, and punish- 
ment, was not so powerful as the desire 
\vhich hurried him into vice. 

Nor is it otherwise, however confusion of 
ideas may cause it to he so deemed, with 
that calm reg-ard to the wellare of the agent, 
to which phdo.-iophers have so grossly mis- 
applied the hardly intelligible appellation of 
'■ self-love." The general tendency of right 
conduct to permanent well-being is indeed 



one of the most evident of all truths. But 
the success of persuasives or dissuasives ad- 
dressed to it, must always be directly pro- 
portioned, not to the cleari-.ess with which 
the truth is discerned, but to the strength of 
the principle addressed, in the mind of the 
individual, and to the degree in which he is 
accustomed to keep an eye on its dictates. 
A strange prejudice prevads, which ascribes 
to what is called " self-love" an invariablo 
superiority over all the other motives of hu- 
man action. If it were to be called by a 
more fit name, such as '> foresight " " pru- 
dence," or, what seems most exactly to de- 
scribe its nature, "a sympathy with the 
future feelings of the agent," it would ap- 
pear to every observer to be one very often 
too languid and inactive, always of late ap- 
pearance, and sometimes so faint as to be 
scarcely perceptible. Almost every luiman 
passion in its turn prevails over self-love. 

It is thus apparent that the niJinence of 
Reason on the AVill is indirect, a;;d arises 
oidy from its being one of the chamiels by 
which the objects of desire or aveision are 
brought near to these spiingsof voluntary 
action. It is only one of these channels. 
There are many other modes of presenting 
to the mind the proper objects et the emo- 
tions which it is intendctl to excin^, whether 
of a calmer or of a more act ve nature ; so that 
they may intlnence conilnct more powerfully 
than when they teach tlu AVill through the 
chainiel of conviction. The distinction be- 
tween conviction and persuasion would in- 
deed be otherwise without a nHaning; to 
teach the mind would be the same thing as 
to move it; and eloquence would be nothing 
but logic, although the greater part of the 
power of the former is displayed in the di- 
rect excitement of feeling; — on condition, 
indeed (for reasons foreign to our present 
purpose), that the orator shall never appear 
to give counsel inconsistent with the duty or 
the lasting welfare of those whom he would 
persuade. In like manner it is to be ob- 
served, that though reasoning be one of the 
instruments of education, yet education ia 
not a process of reasoning, but a wise dis- 
posal of all the circumstances which inllu- 
ence character, and of the means of produ- 
cinsr those habitual dispositions which insure 
well-doing, of which reasoning is but one. 
Yery similar observations are applicable to 
the great arts of legislation and govt"ii!ment; 
which are here only alhuled to as forming a 
strong llustration of the present argument. 

The abused extension of the term •• Reason" 
to the moi-al faculties, one of the predomi- 
nant errors of ancient and modern times, hxis 
arisen from causes wh ch it is not ditlicull 
to discover. Reason does in truth perform 
a great jxirt in every case of moral sentiment. 
To Reason often belong the preliminaries of 
the act ; to Reason altogether belongs the 
choice of the means of execution. The ope- 
rations of Reason, in both cases, are compara- 
tively slow and lasting; ihey are capable of 
being distinctly recalled by memory. The 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPIJY. 



123 



emotion which intervenes between the pre- 
vious aiKl the succeeding exertions of R/;ason 
is of'teti faint, f^enorally transient, and scarcely 
ever capable of being reproduced by an effort 
of the mind. Hence the name of Iteason is 
applied to this mixed state of mind ; more 
especially when the feeling, being of a cold 
and general nature, and scarcely ruffling the 
surface of the wm], — such as that of prudence 
and of ordinary kindness and propriety, — al- 
most passes unnoticed, and is irretrievably 
forgotten. Hence the mind is, in such con- 
ditions, said by moralists to act from reason, 
in contradistinction to its more excited and 
disturbed state, when it is said to act from 
passion. The calmness of Reason gives to 
the whole compound the appearance of un- 
mixed reason. The illusion is further pro- 
moted by a mode of expression used in most 
languages. A man is said to act reasonably, 
when his conduct is such as may be reason- 
ably expected. Amidst the disorders of a 
vicious rniri'l. it is difficult to form a reason- 
able conjecture concerning future conduct; 
but the quiet and well-ordered state of Virtue 
renders the f)robable acts of her fortunate vo- 
taries the object of very rational expectation. 
As faras it is not presumptuous to attempt 
a distinction between modes of thinking for- 
eign to the mitid which makes the attempt, 
and modes of expression scarcely translat- 
able into the only technical language in 
which that mind is wont to think, it seems 
that the systems of Cudworth and Clarke, 
though they appear very similar, are in 
reality different in some important points of 
view. Thi; former, a Platonist, sets out from 
those " bh-as" (a word, in this acceptation 
of it, which has no corresponding term in 
En^lisli), the eternal models of created things, 
which, as the Athenian master taught, pre- 
existed in the Everlasting Intellect, and. of 
right, rule the will of every inferior mind. 
The illustrious scholar of Newton, with a 
manner of thinking more natural to his age 
and .school, considered primarily the very 
relations or things themselves; — conceived 
indeed by the Eternal iVlind, but which, if 
such ina<le(|nate language maybe pardoned, 
are the law of Its will, as well as the model 
of Its works.* 

EARL OF SIIAFTESBURY.t 

Lord Shaftesbury, the author of the Cha- 
racteristics, was the grandson of Sir Antony 

* Mr. Wolla-iton's syBiem, that morality con- 
Bistcd in aciitig accordinif to trulh, seems lo coin- 
cide with ihat of Dr. Clarke. The murder of 
Cicero l)y PopiliiiM Ticna.s, was, according to him, 
a praciicii! falsehood ; fr)r Cicero had been his 
benefacinr, and Popilius acted as if thai were un- 
true. If the truth spoken of be that gratitude is 
due for benefits, the reasoning is evidently a circle. 
If any trulk be meant, indifferently, it is plain that 
the assassin acted in perfect conformity to several 
certain truths ; — such as the malignity of Antony, 
the inirratitude and venality of Fopilius, and the 
probable impunity of his crime, when law was 
suspended, and good men without power. 

tBorn, 1671; died, 1713. 



Ashley Cooper, created Earl of Shaftesbury, 
one of the master spirits of the English na- 
tion, who.se vices, the bitter fiuils of the in- 
security of a troublous tirrje succeeded by 
the coirupting habits of an inconstant, venal, 
and profligate court, liave led an ungrateful 
posterity to overlook hie wisdom and disin- 
terestecl perseverance, in obtaining for his 
country the unspeakable benefits of the 
Habeas Corpus act. The fortune of the 
Characteristics lias been singijlar. For a 
lime the work was admired more undis- 
tinguishingly llian its literary character war- 
rants. In the succeedir.g period it was justly 
criticised, but too severely cor.dfrined. Of 
late, more unjustly than in either of the for- 
mer cases, it has been generally neglected. 
It seemed to have the power of changing the 
temper of its critics. It provoked the ami- 
able Berkeley to a liarshness equally un- 
wonted and unwarranted;* while it softened 
the rugged Warburton so far as to dispose 
the fierce, yet not altojjether ungenerous, 
polemic to praise an enemy in ihe very heat 
of conflict. t 

Leibnitz, the most celebrated of Continental 
phiIo.sopher8, warmly applauded the Charac- 
teristics, and, ^what was a more certain proof, 
of admiration) thouy:h at an ad\aiiced age, 
criticised that work minutely. J Lc Clerc, who 
had assisted the studies of the author, contri- 
buted to spread its reputation by his Journal, 
then the most popular in P'.urope. Locke is 
said to have aided in his education, probably 
rather by counsel than by luilioii. The au- 
thor had indeed been driven from the regu- 
lar studies of his country by the insults with 
which he was loaded at Winchester school, 
when he was only twelve years old, imme- 
diately after the cleath of his grandfather ;§ — 



* See Minute Philosopher, Dialogue iii. ; but 
especially his Theory of Vision Vindicaiod, Lond. 
1733 (not republished in the quai to edition of his 
works), where this most excellent man eiiiks for 
a moment to the level of a ruiling poluniic. 

t It is remarkable that tiie most impure passages 
of Warburton's composition are those in which 
he lets loose his controversial zeal, n' d 'hat be is 
a fine writer principally where he writes from ge- 
nerous feeling. " Of all the virtues v/hich were 
so much in this noble writer's heart, and in his 
writings, ihere was not one he more revered than 
the love of public liberty .... '1 he noble author of 
the Characteristics had many excellent qualities, 
both as a man and a writer : he was temperate, 
chaste, honest, and a lover of his country. In 
his writings he has shown how nnich he has im- 
bibed the deep sense, and ht'W natuiallv be could 
copy the gracious manner ol Plaio. — (Dedication 
to the Freethinkers, prefixed to the Divine Lega- 
tion.) He, however, soon relapses, hut not with- 
out excuse ; for he thought himself vindicating the 
memory of Locke. 

X Op. iii. 39—56. 

^ [With regard to this story, authorised as it ia, 
the Editor cannot help, on behalt of his own 
" nursing mother," throwing out some suspicion 
that the Chancellor's politics must have been 
made use of somewhat as a scapegoat ; rise the 
nature of boys was at that time more excitable 
touching their schoolmates' grandlndiers than it 
is now. There is a rule traditionally observed xh 
College, "that no boy has a right to think till ho 



124 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



a choice of time which seemed not so much 
to indicate anger against the faults of a 
great man, as triumph over the principles 
of liberty, which seemed at that time to have 
fallen for ever. He gave a genuine proof of 
respect for freedom of thought, by prevent- 
ing the expulsion, from Holland, of Bayle, 
(from whom he differs in every moral, poli- 
tical, and, it may be truly added, religious 
opinion) when, it must be owned, the right 
of asylum was, in strict justice, forfeited by 
the secret services which the philosopher 
had rendered to the enemy of Holland and 
of Europe. In the small part of his short 
life which premature infirmities allowed 
him to apply to public affairs, he co-operated 
zealously with the friends of freedom ; but, 
as became a moral philosopher, Jie supported, 
even against them, a law to allow those who 
were accused of treason to make their de- 
fence by counsel, although the parties first 
to benefit from this act of imperfect justice 
were persons conspired together to assassi- 
nate King William, and to re-enslave their 
country. On that occasion it is well known 
with what admirable quickness he took ad- 
vantage of the embarrassment which seized 
him, when he rose to address the House of 
Commons. " If I," said he," who rise only to 
give my opinion on this bill, am so confounded 
that I cannot say what I intended, what must 
the condition of that man be, who, without 
assistance is pleading for his own life!" 
Lord Shaftesbury was the friend of Lord 
Somers ; and the tribute paid to his personal 
character by Warburton, who knew many of 
his contemporaries and some of Jiis friends, 
may be considered as evidence of its excel- 
lence. 

His fine genius and generous spirit shine 
through his writings; but their lustre is often 
dimmed by peculiarities, and, it must be said, 
by aff"ectations,. which, originating in local, 
temporary, or even personal circumstances, 
are particularly fatal to the permanence of 
fame. There is often a charm in the ego- 
tism of an artless writer, or of an actor in 
great scenes : but other laws are imposed on 
the literary artist. Lord Shaftsbury, instead 
of hiding himself behind his work, stands 
forward with too frequent marks of self- 
complacency, as a nobleman of polished 
manners, with a mind adorned by the fine 
arts, and instructed by ancient philosophy ; 
shrinking with a somewhat effeminate fasti- 
diousness from the clamour and prejudices 
of the multitude, whom he neither deigns to 
conciliate, nor puts forth his strength to sub- 
due. The enmity of the majority of church- 
men to the government established at the 
Revolution, was calculated to fill his mind 
with angry feelings; which overflowed too 
often, if not upon Christianity itself, yet upon 
representations of it, closely intertwined with 
those religious feelings to which, in other 
forms, his own philosophy ascribes surpass- 

has forty juniors ;'' upon which rock the cock- 
boat of the embryo metaphysician might have 
loundered.] 



ing worth. His small, and occasional wri- 
tings, of which the main fault is the want of 
an object or a plan, have many passages re- 
markable for the utmost beauty and harmo- 
ny of language. Had he imbibed the sim- 
plicity, as well as copied the expression and 
cadence, of the greater ancients, he would 
have done more justice to his genius ; and 
his works, like theirs, would have been pre- 
served by that first-mentioned quality, with- 
out which but a very few writings, of what- 
ever mental power, have long survived their 
writers. Grace belongs only to natural 
movements; and Lord Shaftesbur)', notwith- 
standing the frequent beauty of his thoughts 
and language, has rarely attained it. He is 
unfortunately prone to pleasantry, which is 
obstinately averse from constraint, and which 
he had no interest in raising to be the test 
of truth. His afl^ectation of liveliness as a 
man of the world, tempts him sometimes to 
overstep the indistinct boundaries which 
separate familiarity from vulgarity. Of his 
two more considerable writings, The Moral- 
ists, on which he evidently most valued him- 
self, and which is spoken of by Leibnitz with 
enthusiasm, is by no means the happiest. — 
Yet perhaps there is scarcely any composi- 
tion in our language more lofty in its moral 
and religious sentiments, and more exqui- 
sitely elegant and musical in its diction, 
than the Platonic representation of the scale 
of beauty and love, in the speech to Pale- 
mon, near the close of the first part.* Many 
passages might be quoted, which in some 
measure justify the entlmsiasm of the sep- 
tuagenarian geometer. Yet it is not to be 
concealed that, as a whole, it is heavy and 
languid. It is a modern antique. The dia- 
logues of Plato are often very lively repre- 
sentations of conversations which might take 
place daily at a great university, full, like 
Athens, of rival professors and eager disci- 
ples, between men of various character, and 
great fame as well as ability. Socrates runs 
through them all. His great abilities, his 
still more venerable virtues, his cruel fate, 
especially when joined to his very character- 
istic peculiarities, — to his grave humour, to 
his homely sense, to his assumed humility, 
to the honest slyness with which he ensnar- 
ed the Sophists, and to the intrepidity with 
which he dragged them to justice, gave unity 
and dramatic interest to these dialogues as a 
whole. But Lord Shaftesbury's dialogue is 
between fictitious personages, and in a tone 
at utter variance with English conversation. 
He had great power of thought and command 
over words; but he had no talent for invent- 
ing character and bestowing life on it. 

The inquiry concerning Virtuet is nearly 
exempt from the faulty peculiarities of the 
author ; the method is perfect, the reasoning 
just, the style precise and clear. The writer 
has no purpose but that of honestly proving 
his principles; he himself altogether disap- 
pears; and he is intent only on earnestly en« 



^3. 



t Characteristics, treatise iv. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



125 



forcing what he truly, conscientiously, and 
reasonably believes. Hence the charm of 
simplicity is revived in this production, which 
is unquestionably entitled to a place in the 
first rank of English tracts on moral philoso- 
Bophy. The point in which it becomes es- 
pecially pertinent to the subject of this Dis- 
sertation is, that it contains more intimations 
of an original and important nature on the 
theory of Ethics than perhaps any preced- 
ing work of modern times.* It is true that 
they are often but intimations, cursory, and 
appearing almost to be casual ; so that many 
of them have escaped the notice of most rea- 
ders, and even writers on these subjects. — 
That the consequences of some of them are 
even yet not unfolded, must be owned to be 
a proof that they are inadequately stated ; 
and may be regarded as a presumption that 
the author did not closely examine the bear- 
ings of his own positions. Among the most 
important of these suggestions is, the exist- 
ence of dispositions in man, by which he 
takes pleasure in the well-being of others, 
without any further view ; — a doctrine, how- 
ever, to all the consequences of which he 
has not been faithful in his other writings.t 
Another is, that goodness consists in the pre- 
valence of love for the system of which we 
are a part, over the passions pointing to our 
individual welfare, — a proposition which 
somewhat confounds the motives of right 
acts with their tendency, and seems to fa- 
vour the melting of all particular affections 
into general benevolence, because the ten- 
dency of these affections is to general good. 
The next, and certainly the most original, as 
well as important, is, that there are certain 
affections of the mind which, being contem- 
plated by the mind itself through what he 
calls •' a reflex sense," become the objects 
of love, or the contrary, according to their 
nature. So approved and loved, they con- 
stitute virtue or merit, as distinguished from 
mere goodness, of which there are traces in 
animals who do not appear to reflect on the 
state of their own minds, and who seem, 
therefore, destitute of what he elsewhere 
calls "a moral sense." These statements 
are, it is true, far too short and vague. He 
nowhere inquires into the origin of the reflex 
sense: what is a much more material defect, 
he makes no attempt to ascertain in what 
state of mind it consists. We discover only 



* I am not wiihout suspicion that I have over- 
looked the claims of Dr. Henry More, who, not- 
withstanding some uncouthness of language, 
seems to have given the first intimations of a dis- 
tinct moral faculty, which he calls " the Boniform 
Faculty :'' a phrase against which an outcry would 
now be raised as German. Happiness,' according 
to hinij consists in a constant satisfaction, tv tui 
dydLSi/iiJu rni •\'V^i. — Enchiridion Ethicum, lib. i. 
cap. ii. 

t " It is the height of wisdom no doubt to be 
rightly selfish." — Charact. i. 121. The observa- 
tion seems to be taken from what Aristotle says of 
^fKuvTia, : Tot fxtv dya-BovJii ^iKAvroM ihau. — Ethics, 
lib. ix. c. viii. The chapter is admirable, and the 
assertion of Aristotle is very capable of a good 
eense. 



by implication, and by the use of the term 
" sense," that he searches for the fountain of 
moral sentiments, not in mere reason, where 
Cudworth and Clarke had vainly sought 
for it, but in the heart, whence the main 
branch of them assuredly flows. It should 
never be forgotten, that we owe to these 
hints the reception, into ethical theory, of 
a moral sense ; which, whatever may be 
thought of its origin, or in whatever words 
it may be described, must always retain its 
place in such theory as a main principle of 
our moral nature. 

His demonstration of the utility of Virtue 
to the individual, far surpasses all other at- 
tempts of the same nature ; behig founded, 
not on a calculation of outward advantages 
or inconveniences, alike uncertain, precari- 
ous, and degrading, but on the unshaken 
foundation of the delight, which is of the 
very essence of social affection and virtuous 
sentiment ; on the dreadful agony inflicted 
by all malevolent passions upon every soul 
that harbours the hellish inmates; on the 
all-important truth, that to love is to be hap- 
py, and to hate is to be miserable, — that af- 
fection is its own reward, and ill-will its own 
punishment ; or, as it has been more simply 
and more affectingly, as well as with more 
sacred authority, taught, that "to give is 
more blessed than to receive," and that to 
love one another is the sum of all human 
virtue. 

The relation of Religion to Morality, aa 
far as it can be discovered by human reason, 
was never more justly or more beautifully 
stated. If he represents the mere hope of 
reward and dread of punishment as selfish, 
and therefore inferior motives to virtue and 
piety, he distinctly owns their efficacy in re- 
claiming from vice, in rousing from lethargy, 
and in guarding a feeble penitence ; in all 
which he coincides with illustrious and zea- 
lous Christian writers. " If by the hope of 
reward be understood the love and desire of 
virtuous enjoyment, or of the very practice 
and exercise of virtue in another life; an 
expectation or hope of this kind is so far 
from being derogatory from virtue, that it is 
an evidence of our loving it the more sin- 
cerely and for its own saA-e."* 

* Inquiry, book i. part iii. ^ 3. So Jeremy 
Taylor; " He that is grown in grace pursues vir- 
tue purely and simply for its own interest. When 
persons come to that height of grace, and love 
God for himself, that is but heaven in another 
sense." — (Sermon on Growth in Grace.) So be- 
fore him the once celebrated Mr. John Smith of 
Cambridge: "The happiness which good men 
shall partake is not distinct from their godlike na- 
ture. Happiness and holiness are but two several 
notions of one thing. Hell is rather a nature than 
a place, and heaven cannot be so well defined by 
any thing without us, as by something wjiVAm us. 
— (Select Discourses, 2d edit. Cambridge, 1673.) 
In accordance with these old authorities is the 
recent language of a most ingenious as well as be- 
nevolent and pious writer. " The holiness of hea- 
ven is still more attractive to the Christian than 
its happiness. The desire of doing that which is 
right for its own sake is a part of his desire afs«i 
l2 



186 



MACKINTOSH'S IMISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



FENELON.*— BOSSUET.t 

As the last question, though strictly speak- 
ing theological, is yet in truth tlepeiulent on 
the more general question, which relates to 
the reality of disinterested atlections in hu- 
man nature, it seems not foreign from the 
5 resent purpose to give a short account of a 
ispute on the subject in France, between 
two of the most eminent persons of their 
time; namely, the controversy between Fe- 
nelon and Bossuet, concerning the possibi- 
lity of men being influenced by ihe pure and 
disinterested love of God. Never were two 
great men more unlike. Fenelon in his 
writings exhibits more of the qualities which 
predispose to religious feelings, than any 
other equally conspicuous person ; a mind 
60 pure as steadily to contemplate supreme 
excellence ; a heart cajxible of being touch- 
ed and aliecletl by the contemplation ; a 
gentle and modest spirit, not elated by the 
privilege, but seeing clearer its own want of 
worth as il came nearer to such brightness, 
and disposed to treat with compassionate 
forbearance those errors in others, of which 
it felt a humbling consciousness. Bossuet 
was rather a great minister in the ecclesias- 
tical commonwealth; employing knowledge, 
eloquence, ar^ri-nent, the energy of his cha- 
racter, the imiuence. and even the authority 
of his station, to van(juish opponents, to ex- 
tirpate re\ oilers, and sometimes with a pa- 
trician firmness, to withstand the dictatorial 
encroachment of the Roman Pontitf on the 
spiritual aristoci-acy of France. Fenelon had 
been appointed tutor to the Duke of Bur- 
gundy. He had all the qualities which tit a 
man to be the preceptor of a prince, and 
which most ( 'sable him to get or to keep 
the office. Even birth, and urbanity, and 
accomplishment, and vivacity, were an in- 
sufficient atonement for his genius and vir- 
tue. Louis XIV. distrusted so fine a spirit, 
and appears to have early suspected, that a 
fancy moved by such benevolence might 
imagine examples for his grandson which the 
world would consider as a satire on his own 
reign. Madame de Maintenon, indeed, fa- 
voured him ; b\it he was generally believed 
to have forfeited her good graces by dis- 

heaven." — (Unconditionnl Freeness of the Gospel, 
by T. Erskine, Esq. Edinlj. 1828, p. 32. 33.) 
See also the Appmdix to Ward's liife of Flenry 
More, Lond. ITto, pp. 247 — 271. This account 
of that ingenivius and amiable philosopher contains 
an interestinj view of iiis opinions, and many 
beautiful pas.siges of his writings, but unfortu- 
nately very ft \' particulars of the man. His let- 
ters on Disinterested Piety (see the Appendix to 
Mr Ward's work), his boundless charity, his 
zeal for the utmost toleration, and his hope of 
general improvement from "a pacific and perspi- 
cacious posterity," place him high in the small 
number of ,iue philosophers who, in their esti- 
mate of men, value dispositions more than opin- 
ions, and in their search for good, more often look 
forward than backward. 

* Born, 1(>'>1 ; died, 1715. 

+ Born, 1627 ; died, 1704. 



con raging her projects for at least a nearer 
approach to a seal on the throne. He oti'end- 
ed her too by obeying her commands, in 
laying before her an acconnt of her faults, 
and some of those of her royal husband, 
which was probably the more jiainl'ully felt 
for its mildnes.s, justice, and refined obser- 
vation.* An opportunity tor driving such an 
intruder from a court prtsenltd itself some- 
what strangely, in the form of a subtile con- 
troversy on one of the most abstruse ques- 
tions of metaphysical theology. JNlolinos, a 
Spanish priest, reviving and perbaps e.xag- 
gerating the maxims of the ancient JMystics, 
had recently taught, that Christian perfection 
consisted in the pure love of God, without 
hope of reward or fear of punishment. This 
offence he expiated by seven years' impri- 
sonment in the dungeons of the Roman In- 
quisition. His opinions were embraced by 
Rladame Guyon, a pious French lady of 
strong feeling and active imagination, who 
appears to have expressed them in a hyper- 
bolical langitnge, not infrequent in devotional 
e.\ercises, especially in those of otherwise 
amiable persons of her sex and character. 
In the feivonr of her zeal, she disregarded 
the usages of the world and the decorum 
imposed on females. She left her family, 
took a part in public conferences, and as- 
sumed an independence scarcely reconcila- 
ble with the more ordinary and more pleas- 
ing virtues of women. Her pious eflhsions 
were examined with the rigour which might 
be excusable if exercised on theological jmo- 
positions. She was falsely charged by Har- 
lay, the dissolute Archbishop of Paris, with 
personal licentiousness. For these crimes 
she was dragged from convent to convent, 
imprisoned for years in the Bastile, and, as 
an act of mercy, confined during ihe latter 
years of her life to a provincial town, as a 
prison at large. A piety thus pure and dis- 
interested could not fail to please Fenelon. 
He published a work in justification of Ma- 
dame Guyon's character, and in explanation 
of the degree in w hich he agreed with her. 
Bossuet, the oracle and champion of the 
Church, took up arms against bim. It would 
be painful to suppose that a man of snch 
great powers was actuated by mean jea- 
lousy ; and it is needless. The union of zeal 
for opinion with the pride of authority, is 
apt to give sternness to the administration 
of controversial bishops; to say nothing of 
the haughty and inflexible character of Bos- 
suet himself. He could not brook the in- 
dependence of him who was hitherto so do- 
cile a scholar and so gentle a friend. He was 
jealous of novelties, and dreaded a fervour 
of piety likely to be ungovernable, and pro- 
ductive of movements of which no man 
could foresee the issue. It must be allowed 
that he had reason to be displeased with the 
indiscretion and turbulence of the innova- 
tors, and might apprehend that, in preaching 
motives to virtue and religion which he 



* Bausset, Histoire de Fenelon, i. 252. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



127 



mought unattainable, the coarser but surer 
foundations of common morality might be 
loosened. A controversy ensued, in which 
he employed the utmost violence of polemi- 
cal or factious contest. Fenelon replied with 
brilliant success, and submitted his book to 
the judgment of Rome. After a long exami- 
nation, the commission of ten Cardinals ap- 
pointed to examine it were equally divided, 
and he seemed in consequence about to be 
acquitted. But Bossuet had in the mean 
time easily gained Louis XIV. Madame de 
Maintenon betrayed Fenelon's confidential 
correspondence ; and he was banished to his 
diocese, and deprived of his pensions and 
oflicial apartments in the palace. Louis 
XIV. regarded the slightest differences from 
the authorities of the French church as re- 
bellion against himself. Though endowed 
with much natural good sense, he was too 
grossly ignorant to be made to comprehend 
one of the terms of the question in dispute. 
He did not,- however, scruple to urge the 
Pope to the condemnation of Fenelon. In- 
nocent XII. (Pignatelli,) an aged and pacific 
PonlifF, was desirous of avoiding such harsh 
measures. He said that "the archbishop of 
Cambray might have erred from excess in 
the love of God, but the bishop of Meaux 
had sinned by a defect of the love of his 
neighbour."* But he was compelled to con- 
demn a series of propositions, of which the 
first was, " There is an habitual state of love 
to God, which is pure from every motive of 
personal interest, and in which neither the 
fear of punishment nor the hope of reward 
has any part ."! Fenelon read the bull which 
condemned him in his own cathedral, and 

{jrofessed as humble a submission as the 
owest of his flock. In some of the writings 
of his advanced years, which have been re- 
cently pubh'shed, we observe with regret 
that, when wearied out by his exile, ambi- 
tious to regain a place at court through the 
Jesuits, or prejudiced against the Calvinising 
doctrines of the Jansenists, the strongest 
anti-papal party among Catholics, or some- 
what detached from a cause of which his 
great antagonist had been the victorious 
leader, he made concessions to the absolute 
monarchy of Rome, which did not become a 
luminary of the Gallican church.* 

Bossuet, in his writings on this occasion, be- 
sides tradition and authorities, relied mainly 
on the supposed principle of philosophy, that 
man must desire his own happiness, and 
cannot desire anything else, otherwise than 
as a means towards it; which renders the 
controversy an incident in the history of 
Ethics. It is immediately connected with 
the preceding part of this Dissertation, by 
the almost liieral coincidence between I3os- 
Buet's foremost objection to the disinterested 
piety contended for by Fenelon, and the fun- 
damental position of a very ingenious and 
once noted divine of the English church, in 

* Baussei, Hi.sfoire de Fenelon, ii. 220, note. 
t CEiivres de Rossiiel, viii. 303. — (Liege, 1767 ) 
t De Sumini Poniificis Aucioritate Dissertatio. 



his attack on the disinterested affections, be- 
lieved by Shaftesbury to be a part of human 
nature.* 

LEIBNITZ.t 

There is a singular contrast between the 
form of Leibnitz's writings a/id the charac- 
ter of his mind.. The latter was systemati- 
cal, even to excess. It was the vice of hia 
prodigious intellect, on every subject of sci- 
ence where it was not bound by geometrical 
chains, to confine his view to ihose most 
general principles, so well called by Bacon 
" merely notional," which render it, indeed, 
easy to build a system, but only because 
they may be alike adapted to every state of 
appearances, and become thereby really in- 
applicable to any. Though his genius was 
thus naturally turned to system, his writings 
were, generall)-, occasional and miscellane- 
ous. The fragments of his doctrines are 
scattered in reviews; or over a voluminous 
literary correspondence ; or in the prefaces 
and introductions to those compilations to 
which this great philosopher was obliged by 
his situation to descend. This defective and 
disorderly mode of publication arose partly 
from the conflicts between business and 
study, inevitable in his course of life ; but 
probably yet more from tlie nature of his 
system, which while it widely deviates from 
the most general principles of former philoso- 
phers, is ready to embrace their particular 
doctrines under its own geuKralities, and 
thus to reconcile them to each other, as well 
as to accommodate itself to popular or esta- 
blished opinions, and compromise with them, 
according to his favourite and oft-repeated 
maxim, "that most received doctrines are 
capable of a good sense ;"| by which last 
words our philosopher meant a sense recon- 
cilable with his own principles. Partial and 
occasional exhibitions of these principles 

* " Haec est naiura voluntatis humaiiae, ut et 
beatitudincm, et ea quorum necessaria connexio 
cum beatitudiiie clare inteiiigitur, neccssario ap- 
petat. . . Nulliia est acus ad qucni revera non im- 
pellimur moiivo beaiiindi.'iis, c.xpliiMte vel impli- 
cite;'' meaning by the latter tliat it may be con- 
cealed from ourselves, as ho says, for a short time, 
by a nearer olijeet. — Qiluvrcs dt Bossuet, viii. SO. 
" The only motive by which individuals ca7i be 
induced to the practice of virtue, must be the feel- 
ini^or the prospect of private liappiness. "-Brown's 
Essays on the Characteristics, p. 159. Lend. 
1752. It mu.st, however, be owned, that the sel- 
fishness of the Warburtonian is more rigid ; making 
no provision for the object of one's own happiness 
slipping out of view for a moment. It is due to 
the very ingenious author of this forgotten book 
to add, that it is full of praise of his adversary, 
which, though just, was in tlie answerer generous ; 
and that it contains an assertion of the unbounded 
right of public discussion, unusual even at the 
tolerant period of its appearance. 

tBorn, lG4f>; died, 1716. 

X " Nonveaux Essais sur I'Entendement Hu 
main," liv. i. chap. ii. 'i'hese Essays, wiiich 
form the greater part of the p\iblicaiion entitled 
" CEuvres Philosophiques," edited by Raspe 
Amst. et Leipz. 1765, are not included inDutctjs' 
edition of Leibnitz's works. 



128 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



suited better that constant negotiafion with 
opinions, establisiinients, and prejudices, to 
which extreme generalities are well adapted, 
than would have a full and methodical state- 
ment of the whole at once. It is the lot of 
every philosopher who attempts to make his 
principles extremely flexible, that they be- 
come like those tools which bend so easily 
as to penetrate nothing. Yet his manner of 
publication perhaps led him to those wide 
intuitions, as comprehensive as those of Ba- 
con, of which he expressed the result as 
briefly and pithily as Hobbes. The frag- 
ment which contains his ethical principles 
is the preface to a collection of documents 
illustrative of international law, published at 
Hanover in 1693* to which he often referred 
as his standard afterwards, especially when 
he speaks of Lord Shaftesbury, or of the' 
controversy between the two great theologi- 
ans of France. "Right," says he, "is mo- 
ral power; obligation, moral necessity. By 
'•' moral" I understand what wilh a good man 
prevails as muoh as if it were physical. A 
good man is he who loves all men as far as 
reason allows. Justice is the benevolence 
of a wise man. To love is to be pleased 
wilh the happiness of another; cr, in other 
words, to convert the happiness of another 
into a part of one's own. Hence is explained 
the possibility of a disinterested love. When 
we are pleased with the happiness of any 
being, his happiness becomes one of our en- 
joyments. Wisdom is the science of hap- 
piness."t 

REMARKS. 

It Is apparent from the above passage, that 
Leibnitz bad touched the truth on the sub- 
ject of disi'Uerested affection; and that he 
was more near clinging to it than any modern 
philosopher, except Lord Shaftesbury. It is 
evident, however, from the latter part of it, 
that, like Shaftesbury, he shrunk from his 
own just conception; under the influence of 
that most ancient and far-spread prejudice 
of the schools, which assumed that such an 
abstraction as "Happiness" could be the 
object of lovp, and that the desire of so faint, 
distant, and refined an object, was the first 
principle of ;..]1 moral nature, and that of it 
every other desire was only a modification 
or a fruit. Both he and Shaftesbury, how- 
ever, when they relapsed into the selfish 
system, embraced it in its most refined form ; 
considering the benevolent affections as valu- 
able parts of. our own happiness, not in con- 
sequence of any of their effects or extrinsic 
advantages, but of that intrinsic delightful- 
ness which was inherent in their very es- 
sence. But Leibnitz considered this refined 
pleasure as ;he object in the view of the be- 
nevolent man ; an absurdity, or rather a con- 
tradiction, which, at least in the Inquiry 



* Codex Juris Gentium Diplomaticus. — Hanov. 
• 695. 

»• See Note N 



concerning Virtue, Shaftesbury avoids. It 
will be seen from Leibnitz's limitation, taken 
together with his definition of Wisdom^ that 
he regarded the distinction of the moral sen- 
timents fiom the social affections, and the 
just subordination of the latter, as entirely 
founded on the tendency of general happi- 
ness to increase that of the agent, not merely 
as being real, but as being present to the 
agent's mind when he acts. In a subsequent 
passage he lowers his tone not a little. "As 
for the sacrifice of life, or the endurance of 
the greatest pain for others, these things are 
rather generously enjoined than solidly de- 
monstrated by philosophers. For iionour, 
glory, and self-congratulation, to which they 
appeal under the name of Virtue, are indeed 
mental pleasures, and of a high degree, but 
not to all, nor outweighing every bitterness 
of suffering ; since all cannot imagine them 
with equal vivacity, and that power is little 
posses.sed by those whom neither education, 
nor situation, nor the doctrines of Religion 
or Philosophy, have taught to value mental 
gratifications."* He concludes very truly, 
that Morality is completed by a belief of 
moral government. But the Inquiry concern- 
ing Virtue, had reached that conclusion by a 
better road. It entirely escaped his sagacity, 
as It has that of oearly all other moralists, 
that the coincidence of Morality with well- 
understood interest in our outward actions, 
is very far from being the most important 
part of the question ; for these actions flow 
from habitual dispositions, from afl'ections 
and sensibilities, which determine their na- 
ture. There may be, and there are many 
immoral acts, which, in the sense in which 
words are commonly used, are advantageous 
to the actor. But the whole sagacity and 
ingenuity of the world may be safely chal- 
lenged to point out a case in which virtuous 
dispositions, habits, and feelings, are not 
conducive in the highest degree to the hap- 
piness of the individual ; or to maintain that 
he is not the happiest, whose moral senti- 
ments and affections are such as to prevent 
the possibility of any unlawful advantage 
being presented to his mind. It would in- 
deed have been impossible to prove to Regu- 
lus that it was his interest to return to a 
death of torture in Africa. But what, if the 
proof had been easy 1 The most thorough 
conviction on such a point would not have 
enabled him to set this example, if he had 
not been supported by his own integrity and 
generosity, by love of his country, and rever- 
ence for his pledged faith. What could the 
conviction add to that greatness of soul, and 
to these glorious attributes'? With such vir- 
tues he could .not act otherwise than he did. 
Would a father affectionately interested in a 
son's happiness, of very lukewarm feelings 
of morality, but of good sense enough to 
weigh gratifications and sufferings exactly, 
be really desirous that his son should have 
these virtues in a less degree than ReguluB^ 

* See Note N 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



129 



merely because they might expose him to 
(he fate which Regulus chose ? On the cold- 
est calculation he would surely perceive, 
that the high and glowing feelings of such a 
mind during life altogether throw into shade 
a few hours of agony in leaving it. And, if 
he himself were so unfortunate that no more 
generous sentiment arose in his mind to si- 
lence such calculations, would it not be a 
reproach to his understanding not to discover. 
that, though in one case out of millions such 
a character might lead a Regulus to torture, 
yet, in the common course of nature, it is the 
source not only of happiness in life, but of 
quiet and honour in death? A case so ex- 
treme as that of Regulus will not perplex us, 
if we bear in mind, that though we cannot 
prove the act of heroic virtue to be conducive 
to the interest of the hero, yet we may per- 
ceive at once, that nothing is so conducive 
to his Interest as to have a mind so formed 
that it could not shrink from it, but must 
rather embrace it with gladness and tri- 
umph. Men of vigorous health are said 
sometimes to suffer most in a pestilence. 
No man was ever so absurd as for that rea- 
son to wish that he were more infirm. The 
distemper might return once in a century: 
if he were then alive, he might escape it; 
and even if he fell, the balance of advantage 
would be in most cases greatly on the side 
of robust health. In estimating beforehand 
the value of a strong bodily frame, a man of 
sense would throw the small chance of a rare 
and short evil entirely out of the account. So 
must the coldest and most selfish moral cal- 
culator, who, if he be sagacious and exact, 
must pronounce, that the inconveniences to 
which a man may be sometimes exposed by 
a pure and sound mind, are no reasons for 
regretting that we do not escape them by 
possessing minds more enfeebled and dis- 
tempered. Other occasions will call our at- 
tention, in the sequel, to this innportant part 
of the subject; but the great name of Leib- 
nitz seemed to require that his degrading 
statement should not be cited without warn- 
ing the reader against its egregious fallacy. 

MALEBRANCHE.* 

This ingenious philosopher and beautiful 
writer is the only celebrated Cartesian who 
has professedly handled the theory of Mo- 
rals.t His theory has in some points of view 
.a conformity to the doctrine of Clarke ; while 
in others it has given occasion to his English 
follower Norrist to saj', that if the Quakers 
understood their own opinion of the illumi- 
nation of all men, they would explain it on 
the principles of Malebranche. "There i.«." 
says he, "one parent virtue, the universal 
virtue, the virtue which renders us just and 

* Born, 1G38; died, 1715. 

t Traiie de Morale. Roiterdatn, 1684. 

t Author of the Theory of the Ideal World, 
who well copied, ihoiigh he did not equal, (he 
clearness and choice of expression which belonged 
to his master. _, 



perfect, the virtue which will one day render 
us happy. It is the only virtue. It is the 
love of the universal order, as it eternally 
existed in the Divine Reason, where every 
created reason contemplates it. This order 
is composed of practical as well as specula- 
tive truth. Reason perceives the moral supe- 
riority of one being over another, as immedi- 
ately as the equality of the radii of the same 
circle. The relative perfection of beings is 
that part of the immovable order to which 
men must conform their minds and their 
conduct. The love of order is the whole 
of virtue, and conformity to order constitutes 
the morality of actions." It is not difficult 
to discover, that in spite of the singular skill 
employed in weaving this web, it answers 
no other purpose than that of hiding the 
whole difficulty. The love of universal order, 
says Malebranche, requires that we should 
value an animal more than a stone, because 
it is more valuable; and love God infinitely 
more than man, because he is infinitely 
better. But without preswpfosing the reality 
of moral distinctions, and the power of moral 
feelings. — the two points to be proved, how 
can either of these propositions be evident, 
or even intelligible'? To say that a love ot 
the Eternal Order will produce the love and 
practice of every virtue, is an assertion un- 
tenable, unless we take Morality for granted, 
and useless, if we do. In his work on Mo- 
rals, all the incidental and secondary remarks 
are equally well considered and well ex- 
pressed. The manner in which he applied 
his principle to the particulars of human 
duty is excellent. He is perhaps the first 
philosopher who has precisely laid down and 
rigidly adhered to the great principle, that 
Virtue consists in pure intentions cmd disposi- 
tions of mind, without which, actions, how- 
ever conformable to rules, are not truly 
moral ; — a truth of the highest importance, 
which, in the theological form, may be said 
to have been the main principle of the first 
Protestant Reformers. The ground of piety, 
according to him, is the conformity of the 
attributes of God to those moral qualities 
which we irresistibly love and revere.* 
"Sovereign princes," says he, "'have no 
right to use their authority without reason. 
Even God has no such miserable right. "t 
His distinction between a religious society 
and an established church, and his assertion 
of the right of the temporal power alone to 
employ coercion, are worthy of notice, as 
instances in which a Catholic, at once philo- 
sophical and orthodox, could thus speak, not 
only of the nature of God, but of the rights 
of the Church. 



* " II faut aimer I'Eire infiniment parfait, et non 
pas un fantoiiie epouvanlable, un Dieu irjusie, ab- 
solu, puissant, mais sans bonte et sans sapesse. 
S'il y avoit un tel Dieu, le vrai Dieu nous defen- 
droit de I'adorer et de I'ainier. 11 y a pcut-etre 
plus de danger d'offenser Dieu lorsqu'on lui don- 
ne une forme si horrible, quo de mepriser son fan 
tome." — Traite de Morale, chap. viii. 

t Ibid. chap. xxii. 



130 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



JONATHAN EDWARDS.* 

This remarkable man, the metaphysician 
of America, was formed among the Calvi- 
nists of New Englaiul, when their stern doc- 
trine retained its rigorous authority. t His 
power of subtile argument, perhaps unmatch- 
ed, certainly unsurpassed among men, was 
joined, as in some of the ancient Mystics, 
with a character which raised his piety to 
fervour. He embraced their doctrine, pro- 
bably without knowing it to be theirs. " True 
religion," says he, "in a great measure con- 
sists in holy affections. A love of divine 
things, for the beauty and sweetness of their 
moral excellency, is the spring of all holy 
affections. "t Had he suffered this noble 
principle to take the right road to all its fair 
consequences, he would have entirely con- 
curred with Plato, with Shaftesbury, and 
Malebranche, in devotion to " the first good, 
first perfect, and first fair." But he thought 
it necessary afterwards to limit his doctrine 
to his own persuasion, by denying that .such 
moral excellence could be discovered in 
divine things by those Christians who did 
not take the same view as he did of their 
religion. All others, and some who hold his 
doctrines with a more enlarged spirit, may 
adopt his principle without any limitation. 
His ethical theory is contained in his Disser- 
tation on the Nature of True Virtue ; and in 
another, On God's chief End in the Creation, 
published in London thirty years after his 
death. True virtue, accoiding to him, con- 
sists in benevolence, or love to " being in 
general," which he afterwards limits to "in- 
telligent being," though "sentient" would 
have involved a more reasonable limitation. 
This good-will is felt towards a particular 
being, first in proportion to his degree of ex- 
istence, (for, says he, " that which is great 
has more existence, and is farther from no- 
thing, than that which is little;") and second- 
Ij', 1)1. proportion to the degree in zvJiich that 
particular being feels benevolence to others. 
Thus God, having infinitely more existence 
and benevolence than man, ought to be in- 
finitel}- more loved ; and for the same reason, 
God must love himself infinitely more than 
he does all other beings.§ He can act only 
from regard to Himself, and His end in crea- 
tion can only be to manifest His whole na- 
ture, which is called acting for His own glory. 

As far as Edwards confines himself to 
created beings, and while his theory is per- 
fectly intelligible, it coincides with that of 
universal benevolence, hereafter to be con- 



* Bern in 1703, at Windsor in Connecticut; 
died in 17.58, at Princeton in New Jersey. 

t See Note O. 

t On Religious Afleclions, pp. 4, 187. 

^ The coincidence of Malcbrnnche with this part 
of Edwards, is remarkable. Speaking of the 
Supreme Beinw, he savs, " II s'aime invinciblc- 
ment." He adds another more startling expres- 
sion, " Certainement Dieu ne pent agir que pour 
lui-meme : i! n'a point d'autrc motifqiie son amour 
propre." — Traite de Morale, chap. xvii. 



sidered. The term "being" is a mere en« 
cumbrance, which serves indeed to give it a 
mysterious outside, but brings with it from 
the schools nothing except their obscurity. 
He was betrayed into it, by the aloat which 
it threw over his really unmeaning assertion 
or assumption, that there are degrees of ex- 
istence ; without which that part of his sys- 
tem which relates to the Deity would have 
appeared to be as baseless as it really is. 
When we try such a phrase by applying it 
to matters within the sphere of onr experi- 
ence, we see that it means nothing but de- 
grees of certain faculties and powers. But . 
the very application of the term "being" to 
all things, shows that the least perfect has 
as much being as the most perfect ; or rather 
that there can be no difference, so far as that 
word is concerned, between two tilings to 
which it is alike applicable. The justness 
of the compound proportion on which human 
virtue is made to depend, is capable of being 
tried by an easy test. If we suppose the 
greatest of evil spirits to have a hundred 
times the bad passions of Marcus Aurelius, 
and at the same time a hundred times his 
faculties, or, in Edwards' language, a hundred 
times his quantity of " being," it follows from 
this moral theory, that we ought to esteem 
and love the devil exactly in the same de- 
gree as we esleern and love Rlarcus Aurelius. 
The chief circumstance which justifies so 
much being said on the last two writers, is 
their concurrence in a point fowards which 
ethical philosophy had been slowly approach- 
ing from the time of the controversies raised 
up by Hobbes. They both indicate the in- 
crease of this tendency, by introducing an 
element into their theory, foreign from those 
cold systems of ethical abstraction, with 
which they continued in other respects to Jt 
have much in common. Malebranche makes ^ 
virtue consist in the love of " order," Ed- 
wards in the love of "being." In this lan- 
guage we perceive a step beyond the repre- 
sentation of Clarke, which made it a con- 
formity to the relations of things; but a 
step which cannot be made without passing 
into a new province ; — without confessing, by 
the use of the word " love," that not only 
perception and reason, but emotion and sen- 
timent, are among the fundamental princi- 
ples of Blorals. They still, however, were 
so wedded to scholastic prejudice, as to 
choose two of the most aerial abstractions 
which can be introduced into argument, — 
"being" and "order," — to be the objects of 
those strong active feelings which were to 
govern the human mind. 

BUFFIER.* 

The same strange disposition to fix on ab- 
stractions as the objects of our primitive 
feelings, and the end sought by our warmest 
desires, manifests itself in the ingenious 
writer with whom this part of the Disserta- 

• Born, 1C|1 ; died, 1737. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



131 



tion closes, under a form of less dignity than 
that which it assumes in the hands of Male- 
braiiche and. Clarke. Buffier, the only Jesuit 
whose name has a place in the history of 
abstract philosophy, hixs no peculiar opinions 
which would have required any mention of 
him as a moralist, were it not for the just 
reputation of his Treatise on First Truths, 
with which Dr, Reid so remarkably, though 
unaware of its existence, coinci<les, even in 
the misapplication of so practical a term as 
"common sense" to denote the faculty which 
recognises the truth of fir.st principles. His 
philosophical writings* are remarkable for 
that perfect -clearness of expression, which, 
since the great examples of Descartes and 
Pascal, has been so generally diffused, as to 
have become one of the enviable peculiari- 
ties of French philosophical style, and almost 
of the French language. His ethical doctrine 
is that most commonly received among phi- 
losophers, from Aristotle to Paley and Ben- 
tham : " I desire to be happy ; but as I live 
with otiier men, I cannot be happy without 
•consulting- their happiness:" a proposition 
perfectly true irwleed, but far too narrow ; as 
inferring, that in the most benevolent acts a 
man must pursue only his own interest, from 
the fact that the practice of benevolence 
does increase his happiness, and that because 
a virtuous mind is likely to be the happiest, 
our observation of that jjroperty of Virtue is 
tiie cause of our love and reverence for it. 



SECTION VI. 

FOUNDATIONS OF A MORE JUST THEORY OF 
ETHICS, 

BUTLEK — HUTCHESON — BERKELEY — IIUJIE — SMITH 
— PRICE — HARTLFY — TUCKER — TALEY — BEN- 
TIIAM — STEWAKT — BROWN. 

From the beginning of ethical controversy 
to the eighteenth century, it thus appears, 
that the care of the individual for himself, 
and his regard for the things which regard 
self, were thought to form the first, and, in 
the opinion of most, the earliest of all prin- 
ciples which prompt men and other animals 
to activity • that nearly all philosophers re- 
garded the appetites and desires, which look 
only to self-gratification, as modifications of 
this primary principle of self-love ; and that 
a very numerous body considered even the 
.social affections themselves as nothing more 
than the produce of a more latent and sub- 
tile operation of the deeire of interest, and 
the pursuit of pleasure. It is tnie lliat they 
often spoke otherwise; but it was rather 
from the looseness and fluctuation of their 
language, than from distrust in their doctrine. 
It is true, also, that perhaps all represent- 
ed the gratifications of Virtue as more un- 
mingled. more secure, more frequent, and 
more lasting, than other pleasures; without 
which they could neither have retained a 

* Cours de Sciences. Paris, 1732. 



hold on the assent of mankind, nor recon- 
ciled the principles of their systems with the 
testimony of their hearts. We have seen 
how some began to be roused from a lazy 
acquiescence in this ancient hypothesis, by 
the monstrous consequences which Hobbts 
had legitimately deduced from it. A few, 
of pure minds and great intellect, laboured 
to render Morality disinterested!, by tracing 
it to Reason as its source; without consider- 
ing that Reason, elevated indeed far above 
interest, is also separated by an impassable 
gulf, from feeling, affection, and passion. 
At length it was perceived by more than 
one, that through wliatever length of reason- 
ing the mind may pass in its advances to- 
wards action^ there is jjlaced at the end of 
any avenue through which it can advance, 
some principle wholly unlike mere Reason, 
— some emotion or sentiment which must be 
touched, before the springs of Will and Action 
can be set m motion. Had Lord Shaftesbury 
steadily adhered to his own princij)les, — had 
Leibnitz not recoiled from his statement, the 
truth might have been regarded as pro- 
mulg«d, though not unfolded. The writings 
of both prove, at least to us, enlightened as 
we are by what followed, that they were 
skilful in sounding, ami that their lead had 
touched the bottom. But it was reserved 
for another moral philosopher to determine 
this hitherto unfathomed depth.* 

BUTLER.t 

Butler, who was the son of a Presbyterian 
trader, early gave such promise, as to induce 
his father to fit him, by a proper education, 
for being a minister of that persuasion. He 
was educated at one of their seminaries un- 
der Mr. Jones of Gloucester, where Seeker, 
afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury was his 
fellow-student. Though many of the dis- 
senters had then begun to relinquish Calvin- 
ism, the uniform effect of that doctrine, in 
disposing its adherents to metaph)-sical spe- 
culation, long survived the opinions which 
caused it, and cannot be doubted to have in- 
fluenced the mind of Butler. When a stu- 
dent at the academy at Gloucester, he wrote 

* The doctrine of the Stoics is thus put by Ci- 
cero into the mouth of Cato : " Placet iiis, inquit, 
quorum ratio mihi probatur, simu! ntque natum 
sit animal (hinc enim est ordiendum), ipsum eibi 
conciliari et commendari ad se conscrvaiidum, et 
ad suum statum, et ad ea, qiux con&ervaiiiia sunt 
ejus status, diligenda ; alicnari nuiem ah interitu, 
iisque rebus quae iiiteritum videantur aflerre. Id 
ita esse sic probant, quod, antequam vohipias aut 
dolor attigerit, salutaria appelant parvi, asperncn- 
turque contraria : quod non fieret, nisi staium su- 
um diligerent, interiium timerent : fieri auicm 
non posset, ut appeterent aliquid, nisi sensum lia- 
berent sui, eoque se et sua diligerent. E.\ quo 
intelligi debet, principium ductum esse a se dili- 
geiidi sui." — De Fin. lib. iii. cap. v. We are told 
that diligendo is the reading of an ancient MS. 
Perhaps the omission of " a " would be the eni-icsl 
and most reasonable emendation. 'J'lie atiove pas- 
sage is perhaps the fullest and plainesi staicnicn' 
of the doctrines prevalent till the time of Butler. 

t Born, 1692; died, 1752. 



132 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Erivate letlors to Dr. Clarke on his celebrated 
demonstration, supnfostinij objections which 
were really insuperable, and which are mark- 
ed by an acuteness which neither himself 
nor any other ever surpassed. Clarke, whose 
heart was as well schooled as his head, pub- 
lished the letters, with hi.s own answers, in 
the next edition of his work, and, by his 
pood oiKces with his friend and follower, Sir 
Joseph .lekyll, obtained for the young phi- 
losopher an early opportunity of making his 
abilities and ophiions known, by the appoint- 
ment of preacher at the Chapel of the Master 
of the llolls. He was afterwards raised to 
one of the highest seats on the episcopal 
bench, through the philosophical taste of 
Queen Caroline, and her influence over the 
mind of her husband, which continued long 
after her death. " He was wafted," says 
Horace VValpoIe, "to the See of Durham, on 
a cloud of Metaphysics."* Even in the 
fourteenth year of his widowhood, George II. 
was desirous of inserting the name of the 
Queen's metaphysical favourite in the Re- 
gency Bill of 1751. 

His great work on the Analogy of Religion 
to the Covirse of Nature, though only a com- 
mentary on the singularly original and preg- 
nent passage of Origen,t which is so honestly 
prefixed to it as a motto, is, notwithstanding, 
the most original and profound work extant 
in any language on the philosophy of religion. 
It is entirely beyond our prestMit scope. His 
ethical discussions are contained m those 
deep and sometimes dark dissertations which 
ho preached at the Chapel of the Rolls, and 
afterwards published under the name of 
"Sermons," while he was yet fresh from the 
schools, and full of that courage with which 
youth often delights to exercise its strength 
in abstract reasoning, and to push its facul- 
ties into the recesses of abstruse speculation. 
But his youth was that of a sober and ma- 
ture mind, early taught by Nature to discern 
the boundaries of Knowledge, and to abstain 
from fruitless efforts to reach inaccessible 
ground. In these Sermons,!: he has taught 
truths more capable of being exactly dis- 
tinguished from the doctrines of his prede- 
cessors, more satisfactorily established, more 
comprehensively applied to particulars, more 
rationally connected with each other, and 
therefore more worthy of the name of " dis- 
covery," than any with which we are ac- 
quainted ; — if we ought not, with some hesi- 
tation, to except the first steps of the Grecian 
philosophers towards a theory of Morals. It 
is a niHniliar hardship, that the extreme am- 
biguity of language, an obstacle which it is 
one of the chief merits of an ethical philoso- 



• Memoirs of Geo. II., i. 129. 

t " Eiiis (analogin) vis est ; ut id quod dnhium 
est ad nliquid simile de quo non quieritur, referot ; 
«t inceria ceriis probrt." 

t Sec Sermons i. ii. iii. On [luninn Nature; v. 
On Compassion; viii. On Resentment; ix. On 
Forgiveness; xi. and xii. On the Love of Our 
Neiglibour; and xiii. On the Love of God; to- 
jelher with the excellent Preface. 



pher to vanquish, is one of the circrnnsfancen 
which prevent men from seeing the justice? 
of applying to him so ambitious a term as 
"discoverer." He owed more to Lord Shaftes- 
bury than to all other writers besides. He 
is just and generous towards that philoso- 
pher; yet, whoever carefully compares their 
writings, will without difiicnlty distinguish 
the two buiklers, and the larger as well as 
more regular and laboured part of the edifice, 
which is the work of Butler. 

Mankind have various principles of action , 
some leading directly to the good of the in- 
dividual, some immediately to the good of 
the community. But the former are not in- 
stances of self-love, or of any form of it ; for 
self-love is the desire of a man's own hap- 
piness, whereas the object of an appetite or 
passion is some outward thing. Self-love 
seeks things as means of happiness; the pri- 
vate appetites seek things, not as means, but 
as ends. A man eats from hunger, and 
drinks from thirst; and thovigh he knows 
that these acts are necessary to life, that 
knowledge is not the motive of his conduct. 
No gratification can indeed be imagined 
without a previous desire. If all the par- 
ticular desires did not exist independently, 
self-love woukl have no object to employ 
itself about ; for there would in that ease be 
no happiness, which, by the very supposi- 
tion of the opponents, is made up of the 
gratifications of various desires. No pur- 
suit could be selfish or interested, if there 
were not satisfactions to be gained by appe- 
tites which seek their own outward objects 
without regard to self. These satisfactions 
in the mass compose what is called a man's 
interest. 

In contending, therefore, that the benevo- 
lent affections are disinterested, no more is 
claimed for them than must be granted to 
mere animal appetites and to malevolent 
passions. Each of these principles alike 
seeks its own object, for the sake simply of 
obtaining it. Pleasure is the result of the 
attainment, but no separate part of the aim 
of the agent. The desire that another per- 
son may be gratified, seeks that outward ob- 
ject alone, according to the general course 
of human desire. Resentment is as disinte- 
rested as gratitude or pity, but not more so. 
Hunger or thirst may be, as much as the 
purest benevolence, at variance with self- 
love. A regard to our own general happi- 
ness is not a vice, but in itself an excellent 
quality. It were well if it prevailed more 
generally over craving and short-sighted ap- 
petites. The weakness of the social affec- 
tions, and the strength of the private desires, 
properly constitute selfishness; a vice utterly 
at variance with the happiness of him who 
harbours it, and as such, condemned by self- 
love. There are as few who attain the great- 
est satisfaction to themselves, as who do the 
greatest good to others. It is absurd to say 
with some, that the pleasure of benevolence 
is selfish because it is felt by self. Under- 
, standing and reasoning are acts of self, lor 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



133 



no man can think b}'^ proxy; but no one ever 
called them seljixli. Why > Evi(l(!ntly be- 
causu tliey do not rep^ard self. Preci.sely 
the same reason applies to benevolence. 
Such an arj^uinent is a gross confusion of 
"self," as it is a subject of feeling or thought, 
with "s(!lf" considered as the object oi 
either. It is no more just to refer the pri- 
vate appetites to self-love bccausfi they com- 
monly promote happiness, than it would be. 
to refer them to self-hatred in those frerpKMit 
cas(.'S where their gratification obstructs it. 

Jiijt, besides the private or public desires, 
and besiihis the calm regard to our own gene- 
ral widfare, there is a principle in man, in 
its nature supreme over all others. This 
natural supremacy belongs to the faculty 
which surveys, aj)prove8, or disajjproves tlu; 
several affections of our minds and actions 
of our lives. As self-love is superior to the 
private passions, so Conscience is supcMior to 
the whole of man. Passion implies nothing 
but an inclination to follow an objcjct, and in 
that rcispcct passions differ only in forc<!: but 
IK) n(jtion can he formed of the princi[)le of 
rellcjction, or Consf.ience, which does not 
comprehend judgment, direction, superin- 
ten((ency ; authority over all other princi- 
ples of action is a constituent part of the 
idea of it, and cannot bo separated from it. 
Had it strength as it has right, it would govern 
the world. The passions would have their 
power, but according to their nature, which 
IS to be subject to Conscience. Hence we 
may understand the purpose at which the 
ancients, perhaps confusedly, aimed when 
they laid it down "that Virtue consisted in 
following Nature." It is neither easy, nor, 
for the main object of the moralist, import- 
ant, to render the doctrines of the ancients 
by rmjdcrn language. If Buth^r rciturns to 
this phrase too often, it was rather from the 
remains of undistinguishing r(!verence for 
anticjuity, than because Ik; could deem its 
employment important to his own opinions. 

The tie which holds togethcsr Religion and 
Morality is, in the system of Buthu-, some- 
what different from the common representa- 
tions of it, but not less close. Conscience, 
or the faculty of approving or disapproving, 
necessarily constitutes the bond of union. 
Setting out from the belief of Theism, and 
combining it, as he had entitled himself to 
do. with the reality of Conscience, he could 
not avoid discovering that the being who 
possessed the highest moral ([ualities, is the 
object of the high(!.st moral affections. He 
contemplates the Deity through the moral 
nature of man. In the case of a being who 
is to be perfectly loved, "goodness must be 
the simple actuating principle within him, 
this being the moral quality which is the 
immediate object of love." "The highest, 
the adequate object of this affection, is per- 
fect goodness, which, th(M(!fore, wo are to 
love wilhall our heart, withal! our soul, and 
with all our strength." " We should refer 
ourselves implicitly to him. and cast our- 
selves entirely upon him. The whole air 



tention of life should be to obey his com- 
mands."* Moral distinctions are thus pre- 
supposed before a sttjp can be made towards 
Ridigion : Virtue leads to piety ; Cod is to be 
loved, b(.'cause goodness is the object of love; 
and it is oidy after the mind rises through 
human morality to divine perfection, that all 
the virtues and duties are seen to hang from 
the throne of God.t 



REMARKS. 

There do not apptrar to be any errors m 
the ethical principles of Hutler: the follow- 
ing remarks are intended to point out some 
defects in his scheme. And even thai at- 
tempt is made with the uideigned humility 
of one who rejoices in an opportunity of 
doing justice to that part of the writings of a 
great philoso[)her which has not been so 
clearly understood nor so justly estimated 
by the generality as his other works. 

1. It is a considerable defect, though per- 
haps unavoidable in a sermon, that he omits 
all infjuiry into the nature and origin of the 
private appetites^ which first appear in hu- 
man nature. It is implied, but it is not e.v- 
prcssed in his reasonings, tiiat thine is a 
time before the child can be called selfish, 
any more than social, when these appetites 
seem as it were separately to j)ursue their 
distinct objects, and that this is long antece- 
dent to that slate of mind in which their 
gratificatioji is regarded as forming the mass 
called "happiness." It is Innice that they 
are likened to instincts distinct as these lat- 
ter subse(|uently become. t 

2. Butler shows admirably well, that un- 
less there were, principles of action inde- 
I)endent of self, there could be no pleasures 
and no happini^ss for self-love to watch over. 
A step failh(!r would have led him to per- 
ceive that s(!lf-love isallog<Mher a secontiary 
formation, the result of the joint oiieration of 
Reason and habit upon the primary princi- 
ples. It could not have existed witJiout pre- 
supposing original appetites and organic 
gratifications. Had he considered this part 
of the subject, he would have strengthened 
his case by showing that self-love is as truly 
a derived jjrinciple, not only as any of the 
social affections, but as any of the most con- 
fessedly acquired passions. It would ajjpcar 
clear, that as self-love is not divested of its 
self-regarding character by considciring it as 
acquired, so the social aflections do not lose 
any part of their disinterested character, if 
they be considered as formed from simpler 
elements. Nothing would more tend to root 
out the old prejudice which treats a regard 



* Sermon xiii. — " On ih<; f^ove of God." 
t " 'I'lic part in wliicli I liiink I have (lono most 
Sfirvire is that in which I liavfi cndoiivotircd to (<lip 
in a foundalioii uiidc-r I'liilcr'H doctrine of liic cu- 
preinacy of ("onHcieiicc, wliicli he led liaselosM." — 
Sir James MackinlOHli to I'rore«.«or Niipicr. — f'^D. 
t 'I'hc very al>le work nficrilx'd to Mr. Hazliit, 
entitled " Kesay on the Principles of Human Ac- 
lion," Lond. 1805, contains driglrial views on thia 
eubject. 

M 



134 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



to self as analogons to a self-evident princi- 
ple, than the proof that self-love is itself 
formed from certain original elements, and 
that a living being long subsists before its 
appearance.* 

3. It mtist be owned that those parts of 
Butler's discourses which relate to the so- 
cial affections are more satisfactory than 
those which handle the question concerning 
the moral sentiments. It is not that the real 
existence of the latter is not as well made 
out as that of the former. In both cases he 
occupies the unassailable ground of an ap- 
]^>eal to consciousness. All men feven the 
worst), feel that they have a conscience and 
disinterested affections. But he betrays a 
sense of the greater vagueness of his notions 
on this subject : he falters as he approaches 
it. He makes no attempt to determine in 
what state of mind the action of Conscience 
consists. He does not venture steadily to 
denote it by a name ; he fluctuates between 
difierent appellations, and multiplies the 
metaphors of authority and command, with- 
out a simple expo>sition of that mental opera- 
tion which these metaphors should only have 
illustrated. It commands other principles: 
but the question recurs, Why, or How? 

Some of bis own hints and some fainter 
intimations of Shaftesbury, might have led 
him to what appears to be the true sohition, 
which, perhaps from its extreme simplicity, 
has escaped him and his successors. The 
truth seems to be, that the moral sentiments 
in their mature state, are a class of feelings 
iuhich have no other object but the menial dis- 
positions leading Jp voluntary action, and the 
voluntary actions which Jlow from these rfis- 
fositions. We are pleased with some dis- 
positions and actions, and displeased with 
othei-s, in ourselves and our fellows. We 
desire to cultivate the dispositions and to 
perform tfie actions, which we contemplate 
with satisfaction. The.se objects, like all 
those of human appetite or desire, are sought 
for their own sake. The peculiarity of these 
desires is, that their gratification requires the 
vse of no means ; nothing (unless it be a vo- 
lition) is interposed between the desire and 
the voluntary act. It is impossible, there- 
fore, that these passions should undergo any 
change by transfer from being the end to 
being the means, as is the case with other 
practical principles. On the other hand, as 
soon as they are fixed on these ends, they 
cannot regard any further object. When 
another passion prevails over them, the end 
of the moral faculty is converted into a 
means of gratification. But volitions and 
actions are not themselves the end or last 
object in view, of any other desire or aver- 
sion. Nothing stands between the moyal 
sentiments and their object ; they are, as it 
were, in contact with the Will. It is this 
eort of mental position, if the expression may 

* Compnre this statement with the Stoical doc- 
trine explained by Cicero in the book De Finibtis, 
quoted above, of which it is the direct opposite. 



be pardoned, that explains or seems fo ex- 
plain those characteristic properties which 
true philosophers ascribe to them, and which 
all reflecting men feel to belong to them. 
Being the only desires, aversions, sentiments, 
or emotions which regard dispositions ana 
actions, they necessarily extend to the whole 
character and conduct. Among motives to 
action, they alone are justly considered as 
universal. They may and do stand between 
any other practical principle and its object, 
while it is absolutely impossible that another 
shall intercept their connexion with the Will. 
Be it observed, that though many passions 
prevail over them, no other can act beyond 
its own appointed and limited sphere; and 
that such prevalence itself, leaving the natu- 
ral order disturbed in no other part of the 
mind, is perceived to be a disorder, when- 
ever seen in another, and felt to be so by 
the very mind disordered, when the disor- 
der subsides. Conscience may forbid the 
Will to contribute to the gratification of a 
desire : no desire ever forbids the Will to 
obey Conscience. 

This result of the peculiar relation of Con- 
science to the Will, justifies those metapho- 
rical expressions which ascribe to it "au- 
thority" and the right of "universal com- 
mand." It is immutable ; for, by the law 
which regulates all feelings, it must rest on 
action, which is its object, and beyond which 
it cannot look ; and as it employs no incans^ 
it never can be transferred to nearer objects^ 
in the way in which he who first desires an 
object as a means of gratification, may come 
to seek it as his end. Another remarkable 
peculiarity is bestowed on the moral feel- 
ings by the nature of their object. As the 
objects of all other desires are outward, the 
satisfaction of them may be frustrated by 
outward causes: the moral sentiments may 
always be gratified, because voluntary ac- 
tions and moral dispositions spring frorrs 
within. No external circumstance affeots 
them ; — hence their independence. As the 
moral sentiment needs no means, and the 
desire is instantaneously followed by the 
volition, it seems to be either that which 
first suggests the relation between command 
and obedience, ornt least that which affords the 
simplest instance of it. It is therefore with 
the most rigorous precision that authority 
and universality are ascribed to them. Their 
only unfortunate property is. their too fre- 
quent weakness; but it is apparent that it is 
from that circumstance alone that their fail- 
ure arises. Thus considered, the language 
of Butler concerning Conscience, that, " had 
it strength, as it has right, it would govern 
the world," which may seem to be only ait 
effusion of generous feeling, proves to be u 
just statement of the nature and action ol 
the highest of human faculties. The union 
of universality, immutability, and independ- 
ence, with direct action on the Will, which 
distinguishes the Moral Sense from every 
other part of our practical nature, renders it 
scarcely metaphorical language to ascribe to 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



135 



it unbounded sovereignty and awful author- ] 
ity over the whole of the world within; — 
snows that attributes? well denoted by terms 
Bignificant of command and control, are, in 
fact; inseparable from it, or rather constitute 
its very essence; and justifies'those ancient 
moralists who represent it as alone securing, 
if not forming the moral liberty of man. 
When afterwards the religious principle is 
evolved, Conscience is clothed with the su- 
blime character of representing the divine 
purity and majesty in the human soul. Its 
title is not impaired by any number of 
defeats; for every defeat necessarily dis- 
poses the disinterested and dispassionate 
by-stander to wish that its force were 
8trengthene<l : and though it may be doubt- 
ed whether, consistently with the present 
constitution of human nature, it could be so 
invigorated as to be the only motive to ac- 
tion, yet every such by-stander rejoices at 
all accessions to its force; and would own, 
that man becomes happier, more excellent, 
more estimable, more venerable, in jiropor- 
tion as it acrjuires a power of banishing 
malevolent passions, of strongly curbing all 
the private*^ appetites, and of influencing 
and guiding the benevolent affections them- 
selves. 

Let it be carefully considered whether the 
same observations could be made with truth, 
or with plausibility, on any other part or ele- 
ment of the nature of man. They are en- 
tirely independent of the question, whether 
Conscience be an inherent, or an acquired 
principle. If it be inherent, that circum- 
stance is, according to the common modes 
of thinking, a sufficient proof of its title to 
veneration. But if provision be made in the 
constitution and circumstances of all men, 
for uniformly producing if, by processes simi- 
lar to those which produce other acquired 
sentiments, may not our reverence be aug- 
mented by admiration of that Supreme Wis- 
dom which; in such mental contrivances, yet 
more brightly than in the lower world of mat- 
ter, accomplishes mighty purposes by instru- 
ments so .simple 1 Should these speculations 
be thought to have any solidity by those who 
are accustomed to such subject.s, it would be 
easy to unfold and apply them so fully, that 
they may be thoroughly apprehended by 
every intelligent person. 

4, The most palpable defect of Butler's 
scheme is, that it affords no answer to the 
question, "What ie the distinguishing quality 
common to all right actions?'' If it were 
answered, "Their criterion is, that they are 
approved and commanded by Conscience." 
the answerer would find that he was involved 
in a vicious circle; for Conscience itself 
could be no otherwise defined than as the 
faculty which approves and commands right 
actions. 

There are few circumstances more re- 
markable than the small number of Butler's 
followers in Ethics; and it is perhaps still 
more observable, that his opinions were not 
1^ much ifcjected as overlooked. It is an in- 



stance of the importance of style. No thinker 
vo great was ever so bad a w riter. Indeed, 
the ingenious apologies which have been 
lately attempted for this defect, amount to 
no more than that his power of thought was 
too much for his skill in language. How 
general must the reception have been of 
truths so certain and momentous as those 
contained in Butler's discourses, — with how 
much more clearness must they have ap- 
peared to his own great understanding, if he 
had pos.se.ssed the strength and distinctness 
with which Hobbes enforces odious false- 
hood, or the unspeakable charm of that trans- 
parent diction which clothed the unfiuitful 
paradoxes of Berkeley ! 

HUTCHESON.* 

This ingenious writer began to try his own 
strength by private letters, written in his 
early youth to Dr. Clarke, the metaphysical 
patriarch of his time ; on whom young phi- 
losophers seem to have considered them- 
selves as possessing a claim, which he had 
too much goodness to reject. His corres- 
pondence with Hutcheson is lost; but we 
may judge of its spirit by his an.swers to 
Butler, and by one to Mr. Henry Home,t 
afterwards Lord Kames, then a young ad- 
venturer in the prevalent speculations. Near- 
ly at the .same period with Butler's first pub- 
lication,}: the writings of Hutcheson began to 
show coincidences with him. indicative of 
the tendency of moral theory to assume a 
new form, by virtue of an impulse received 
from Shaftesbury, and quickened to greater 
activity by the adverse system of Clarke. 
Lord Moleswonh, the friend of Shaftesbury, 
patroni-sed Hutche.'^on, and even ciiticised his 
manuscript; and though a Presbyterian, he 
was befriended by King, Archbishop of Dub- 
lin, himself a metaph) sician ; and'aitled by 
Mr. Synge, afterwards also a bishop, to whom 
speculations somewhat similar to his own 
had occurred. 

Butler and Hutcheson coincided in the two 
important positions, that disinterested affec- 
tions, and a di.stinct moral faculty, are essen- 
tial parts of human nature. Hutcheson is a 
chaste and simple writer, who imbibed the 
opinions, without the literary faults of his 
master, Shaftesbury. He has a clearness of 
expression, and fulness of illustration, which 
are wanting in Butler. But he is inferior to 
both these writers in the appearance at least 
of originality, and to Butler especially in that 

* Born in Ireland, lf;91 ; died at Glasgow, 1747. 

t Woodhoiisclee's Life of Lord Kames, vol. i. 
Append. No. 3. 

t The first edition of Butler's Sermons was 
published in 1726. in which year also appeared ihe 
second edition of Hnirheson's Inquiry into lU'iiutjr 
and Virtue. The Sermons had been preached 
some J-cars before, ilioiigli there is lio likelihood 
that the contents cotild have reached a young 
teacher at Dublin. 'I'lie place of Hniclieson's 
birih is not mentioned in any account known to 
me. Ireland may be truly said to be " iitcurioBa 
iuorum." 



136 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



philosophical courage which, when it disco- 
vers the fountains of truth and falsehood, 
leaves others to follow the streams. He 
states us stronjrly as Butler, that "the same 
cause which determines us to pursue hap- 
piness for ourselves, determines us both to 
esteem and benevolence on their proper oc- 
casions — even the very frame of our na- 
ture.''* It is in vain, as he justly observes, 
for the patrons of a relined seltishness to pre- 
tend that we pursue the happiness of others 
for ihe sake of the pleasure which we derive 
from it; since it is apparent that there could 
be no siu'h pleasure if there had been no 
previous alleetion. "Hail we no affection 
distinct from self-love, nothing could raise a 
desire of the happiness of others, but when 
viewed as a mean of our owu."t He seems 
to have been the lirst who entertained just 
notions of the formation of the secondary 
desires, which had been overlooked by But- 
ler. "There must arise, in consequence of 
our original desires, secondary desires of 
every thing useful to gratify the primary de- 
sire. Thus, as soon as we apprehend the 
use of wealth, or power, to gratify our origi- 
nal desires, we also desire them. From their 
universality as means arises the general pre- 
valenca of these desires of wealth and 
power."! Proceeding farther in his zeal 
against the selfish system than Lord Shaftes- 
bury, who seems ultimately to rest the rea- 
sonableness of benevolence on its subser- 
viency to the happiness of the individual, he 
represents the moral faculty to be, as well 
as self-love and benevolence, a calm general 
impulse, which may and does impel a good 
man to sacrifice not only happines.s, but even 
life itself, to Virtue. 

As Mr. Locke had spoken of "an internal 
sensation ;" Lord Shaftesbury once or twice 
of " a reflex sen.'ie," and once of " a moral 
sense;" Ilutcheson, who had a steadier, if 
not a clearer view of the nature of Con- 
science than Bntler, calls it " a moral sense ;" 
a name which quickly became pojnilar, and 
continues to bo a p;irt of philosophical lan- 
guage. By "sense" he understood a capa- 
city of receiving ideas, together with plea- 
sures and pains, from a class of objects: the 
term " moral" was used to describe the par- 
ticular class in question. It implied only 
that Conscience was a separate element in 
our nature, and that it was not a state or act 
of the Understanding. According to him, it 
also implied that it was an original and im- 

f)lanted principle; but every other part of 
lis theory miglit be embraced by those who 
hoUl it to be derivative. 

The object of moral approbation, acooixl- 
ing to him, is general benevolence; and he 
carries this generous error so far as to deny 
that prudence, as long as it regards ourselves, 
c-iin be morally approvt\l ; — an assertion con- 
tradicted by every man's feelings, ami to 
which we owe the Dissertation on the Na. 



* Inquiry, p. 152. 

t Essay on the Passions, p. 17. 



t Ibid. p. 8. 



lure of Virtue, which But.er annexed to his 
Analogy. By proving that all virtuous ac- 
tions produce general good, he fancied that 
he had proved the necessity of regarding the 
general good in every act of virtue ; — an in- 
stance of that confusion of the theory of 
moral sentiments with the criterion of moral 
actions, against which the reader was warned 
at the opening of this Dissertation, as fatal 
to ethical philosophy. He is chargeable, like 
Butler, with a vicious circle, in describing 
virtuous acts as those which are approved 
by the moral sense, while he at the same 
time describes the moral sense as the faculty 
which perceives and feels the morality of 
actions. 

Hntcheson was the father of the modern 
school of speculative philosophy in Scotland } 
for though in the beginning of the .sixteenth 
century the Scotch are said to have been 
known throughout Europe by their unmea- 
sured passion for dialectical subtiltie.s,* and' 
though this metaphjfeical taste was nourish- 
ed by the controversies which followed the 
Reformation, yet it Jangnished, with every 
other intellectual taste and talent, from the 
Restoration, — first silenced by civil tli.sorders, 
and afterwards repressed by'^n exemplary, 
but uidettered clergy, — till the jihilosophy 
of Shaftesbury was brought by Ihitchesou 
from Ireland. We are told by the writer of 
his Life (a fine piece of philosophical biogra- 
phy) that "he had a remarkable tlegree of 
rational enthusia.sm for learning, liberty. Re- 
ligion, Virtue, and human happiness ;"t that 
he taught in public with persuasive elo- 
quence; that his instructive conversation 
was at once lively and modest ; and that he 
united pure manners with a kind disposition. 
What wonder that snch a man should have 
sjjread the love of Knowledge and Virtue 
around him, and should have rekindled in 
his adopted country a relish for the sciences 
which he cultivated ! To hun may also be 
ascribed that proneness to multiply ultimate 
and original principles in human nature, 
which characterized the Scottish school till 
the second extinction of a passion for nieta- 

* The character given of the Scotch by the fa- 
mous and unfortunate Servetns (edition of Ptole- 
my. 1533.) is in many respects curious: "Gallia 
nniicis.^imi, Anjolorumque rei^i nia.\ime infesti.*** 
Subiia ingenia, et in ultioiiem prona, forociaque.*** 
In bello fortes; inedia;, vigilia?, algoris paticntissi- 
mi ; decenii forma scd culiu negligentiori ; invidi 
natnra, et cfrteronun morlalium eontemptores; 
oslentnnt phis7iimioiiohililatemsiinm, et in mtmma 
eliain efrrsttale suum ecnus ad rescinn* slirpem re- 
feruiil ; wee wow diahxticis argutiis sihi hhtndi' 
itnlnr.'" " Subiia ingenia" is an e.Npression equi- 
valent to the " Prajfervidum Scotorum ingenium" 
of Buchanan. Churchill almost agrees in words 
with Servetus : 

" Whose lineage springs 
From great and glorious, though forgotten kings." 
The strong antipathy of the late King George III. 
to what lie called " iscotch Metaphysics," proves 
the permanency of the last part of the national 
chii racier. 

t liife by Dr. Lccchman, prefi.xed to the Sys- 
tem of Moral Philosophy. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



13" 



physical speculation in Scotland. A careful 
perusal of the writings of this now little stu- 
died philosopher w^ill satisfy tiie well-quali- 
fied reader, that Dr. Adam Smith's ethical 
ppeculatioiis are not so unsuggested as they 
are beautiful. 

BERKELEY.* 

This great metaphysician was so little a 
moralist, that it requires the attraction of his 
name to excuse its introduction here. His 
Theory of Vision contains a great discovery 
in mental philosophy. His immaterialism 
is chiefly valuable as a touchstone of meta- 
physical sagacity ; showing those to be alto- 
gether without it, who, like Johnson and 
Beattie, believed that his speculations were 
sceptical, that they implied any distrust in 
the senses, or that they had the smallest 
tendency to disturb reasoning or alter con- 
duct. Ancient learning, exact science, po- 
lished society, modern literature, and the 
fine arts, contributed to adorn and enrich the 
mind of this accomplished man. All his 
contemporaries agreed with the satirist in 
ascribing 

" To Berkeley every virtue under heaven. "t 
Adverse factions and hostile wits concurred 
only in loving, admiring, and contributing to 
advance him. The severe sense of Swift 
endured his visions; the modest Addison en- 
deavoured to reconcile Clarke to his ambi- 
tious speculations. His character converted 
the satire of Pope into fervid praise ; even 
the discerning, fastidious, and tuibult^nt At- 
terbury said, after an interview with him, 
"So much understanding, so much know- 
ledge, so much innocence, and such humili- 
ty, I did not think had been the portion of 
any but angels, till I saw this gentleman."]: 
Lord Bathurst told me, that the members 
of the Scriblerus Club being met at his house 
at dinner, they agreed to mlly Berkeley, 
who was also his guest, on his scheme at 
Bermudas. Berkeley, having listened to 
the many lively things they had to say, beg- 
ged to be heard in his turn, and displayed 
his plan with such an astonishing and ani- 
mating force of eloquence and enthusiasm, 
that they were struck dumb, and after some 
pause, rose all up together, with earnestness 
exclaiming, 'Let us set out with him imme- 
diately.' "§ It was when thus beloved and 
celebrated that he conceived, at the age of 
forty-five, the design of devoting his life to 
reclaim and convert the natives of North 
America; and he employed as much influ- 
ence and solicitation as common men do for 
their most prized objects, in obtaining leave 
to resign his dignities and revenues, to quit 
his accomplished and artectionate friends, 
and to bury himself in what must have 
seemed an intellectual desert. After four 



* Born near Tlioinastown, in Ireland, 1G84 ; 
died at Oxford, 1753. 

t Epilogue lo Pope's Satires, dialogue 2. 
} Duncombe's Letters, pp. 106, 107. 
$ Wharton on Pope, i. 199. 
18 



years' residence at Newport, in Rhode Is- 
lan"*. he was compelled, by the refusal of go- 
vern -.lent to furnish him with funds for his 
College, to forego his work of heroic, or rather 
godlike benevolence; though not without 
some consoling forethought of the fortune of 
the country where he had sojourned. 

Westward the course of empire takes its way, 

The first four acts already past, 
A fifth shall close the drama with the day, 

Time's noblest offspring is its last. 

Thus disappointed in his ambition of keep- 
ing a school for savage children, at a salary 
of a hundred pounds by the year, he was re- 
ceived, on his return, with open arms by the 
philosophical queen, at whose metaphysical 
parties he made one with Sherlock, who, as 
well as Smal ridge, was his supporter, and 
withHoadley, who, following Clarke, was his 
antagonist. By her influence, he was made 
bishop of Cloyne. It is one of his highest 
boasts, that though of English extraction, he 
was a true Irishman, and the first eminent 
Protestant, after the unhappy contest at the 
Revolution, who avowed his love for all his 
countrymen. He asked, "Whether their 
habitations and furniture were not more sor- 
did than those of the savage Americans?"* 
"Whether a scheme for the welfare of this 
nation should not take in the whole inhabit- 
ants?" and "Whether it was a vain attempt, 
to project the flourishing of our Protestant 
gentry, exclusive of the bulk of the natives?"? 
He proceeds to promote the reformation sug- 
gested in this pregnant question by a series 
of Queries, intimating with the utmost skill 
and address, every reason that proves the 
necessity, and the safety, and the wisest 
mode of adoptinc his suggestion. He con- 
tributed, by a truly Christian address to the 
Roman Catholics of his diocese, to their 
perfect quiet during the rebellion of 1745 ; 
and soon after published a letter to the 
clergy of that persuasion, beseeching them 
to inculcate indiftitry among their flocks, 
for which he received their thanks. He 
tells them that it was a saying among the 
negro slaves, " if negro were not negro, 
Irishman would be negro." It is difficult 
to read these proofs of benevolence and 
foresight without emotion, at the moment 
when, after a lapse of near a century, his 
suggestions have been at length, at the close 
of a struggle of twenty-five years, adopted, 
by the admission of the whole Irish nation 
to the privileges of the British constitution.!: 
The patriotism of Berkeley was not, like 
that of Swift, tainted by disappointed ambi 
tion, nor was it, like Swift's, confined to a 
colony of English Protestants. Perhaps the 
Querist contains more hints, then original, 
and still unapplied in legislation and political 
economy, than are to be found in any other 
equal space. From the writings of his ad- 
vanced years, when he chose a medical 
tracts to be the vehicle of his philosophical 



* See his Querist, 358; published in 1735. 
t Il)id.,2.W. t April. 1829. 

^ Siris, or Reflections on 'i'ar Water. 
M 2 



138 



MACKINTOSH'S MSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



reflections, though it cannot be said that he 
rehnquished his early opinions, it is at least 
apparent that his mind had received a new- 
bent, and was habitually turned from reason- 
ing towards contemplation. His immaterial- 
ism indeed modestly appears, but only to 
purify and elevate our thoughts, and to fix 
them on Mind, the paramount and primeval 
principle of all things. "Perhaps," says he, 
'•'the truth about innate ideas may be, that 
there are pro[)erly no ideas, or passive objects, 
in the mind but what are derived from sense, 
but that there are also, besides these, her 
own acts and operations, — such are notions;" 
a statement which seems once more to admit 
general conceptions, and which might have 
served, as well as the parallel passage of 
Leibnitz, as the basis of the modern piiiloso- 
phy of Germany. From these compositions 
of his old age. he appears then to have recur- 
red with fondness to Plato and the later Plato- 
nists ; writers from whose mere reasonings 
an intellect so acute could hardly hope for 
an argumentative satisfaction of all its diffi- 
culties, and whom he probably rather studied 
as a means of inuring his mind to objects 
beyond the "visible diurnal sphere," and of 
attaching it, through frequent meditation, to 
that perfect and transcendent goodness to 
which his moral feelings always pointed, 
and which they incessantly strove to grasp. 
His mind, enlarging as it rose, at length re- 
ceives every theist, however imperfect his 
belief, to a communion in its philosophic 
piety. " Truth," he beautifully concludes, 
" is the cry of all, but the game of a few. 
Certainly, where it is the chief passion, it 
does not give way to vulgar cares, nor is it 
contented with a little ardour in the early 
time of life; active perhaps to pursue, but 
not so fit to weigh and revise. He that would 
make a real progress in ktiowledge, must 
dedicate his age as well as youth, the later 
growth as well as first fruits, at the altar 
of Truth." So did Berkeley, and such were 
almost his latest words. 

His goneral principles of Ethics may be 
shortly stated in his own words: — "As God 
is a being of infinite goodness, His end is 
the good of His creatures. The general well- 
being of all men of all nations, of all ages 
of the world, is that which He designs should 
be procured by the concurring actions of 
each individual." Having stated that this 
end can be pursued only in one of two ways, 
— either by computing the consequences of 
each action, or by obeying rules which gene- 
rally tend to iiappiness, — and having shown 
the first to be impossible, he rightly infers, 
" that the end to which God requires the con- 
currence of human actions, must be carried 
on by the observation of certain determinate 
and universal rules, or moral precepts, which 
in their own nature have a necessary ten- 
dency to promote the well-being of man- 
kind, taking in all nations and ages, from the 
beginning to the end of the world."* A 



* Sermon in Trinity College chapel, on Passive 
Obedience, 1712. 



romance, of which a journey to an Utopia, 
in the centre of Africa, forms the chief pait, 
called "The Adventures of Signer Gaudentio 
di Lucca," has been commonly ascribed to 
him; probably on no other ground than its 
union of pleasing invention with benevolence 
and elegance.* Of the exquisite grace and 
beauty of his diction, no man accustomed to 
English composition can need to be informed. 
His works are, beyond dispute, the finest 
models of philosophical style since Cicero. 
Perhaps they surpass those of the orator, in 
the w^onderful art by which the fullest light 
is thrown on the most minute and evanes- 
cent parts of the most subtile of human 
conceptions. Peihaps, also, he surpassed 
Cicero in the charm of simplicity, a quality 
eminently found in Irish writers before the 
end of the eighteenth century ; — conspicuous 
in the masculine severity of Swift, in the 
Platonic fancy of Berkeley, in the native 
tenderness and elegance of Goldsmith, and 
not withholding its attractions from Huiche- 
son and Leland, writers of classical taste, 
though of inferior power. The two Irisu 
philosophers of the eighteenth century may 
be said to have co-operated in calling forth 
the metaphysical genius of Scotland; for, 
though Hutcheson spread the taste for, and 
furnished the principles of such specula- 
tions, yet Berkeley undoubtedly produced the 
scepticism of Hume, which stnnulaled the 
instinctive school to activity, and was thought 
incapable of confutation, otherwise than by 
their doctrines. 



DAVID HUME.t 

The life of Mr. Hume, written by himself, 
is remarkable above most, if not all writings 
of that sort, for hitting the degree of inte- 
rest between coldness and egotism which 
becomes a modest man in speaking of his 
private history. Few writers, whose opin- 
ions w'ere so obnoxious, have more perfectly 
escaped every personal imputation. Very 
few men of so calm a character have been 
so warmly beloved. That he approached to 
the character of a perfectly good and wise 
man, is an afTectionate exaggeration, for 
which his friend Dr. Smith, in the first mo- 
ments of his sorrow, may well be excused. t 
But such a praise can never be earned with- 
out passing through either of the extremes 
of fortune, — without standing the test of 
temptations, dangers, and sacrifices. It may 
be said with truth, that the private character 
of Mr. Hume exhibited all the virtues which 
a man of reputable station, under a mild 
government, in the quiet times of a ci\ilized 
country, has often the opportunity to practise. 
He showed no want of the qualities which 
fit men for more severe trials. Though 
others had warmer affections, no man was a 

* See Gentleman's Mafrazine for January, 1777. 
t Born at Edinburgh, 1711 ; died there, 1776. 
t Dr. ^^miih's Letter to Mr. Strahan, annexed 
to the Life of Hume. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



139 



kinder relation, a more unwearied friend, or 
more free from meanness and malice. His 
character was so simple, that he did not 
even affect modesty; but neither his friend- 
ships nor his deportment were changed by a 
fame which filled all Europe. His good na- 
ture, his plain manners, and his active kind- 
ness, procured him in Paris the enviable 
name of "?Ac good David,'''' from a society 
not so alive to goodnes.=i, as without reason 
to place it at the head of the qualities of a 
celebrated man.* His whole character is 
faithfully and touchingly represented in the 
story of La Roche,t where Mr. Mackenzie, 
without concealing Mr. Hume's opinions, 
brings him into contact with scenes of tender 
piety, and yet preserves the interest inspired 
by genuine and unalloyed, though moderated, 
feelings and affections. The amiable and 
venerable patriarch of Scottish literature, — 
opposed, as he was to the opinions of the 
philosopher on whom he has composed his 
best panegyric. — tells us that he read his 
manuscript to Dr. Smith, "who declared that 
he did not find a syllable to object to, but ad- 
ded, with his character stic absence of mind, 
that he was surprised he had never heard 
of the anecdote before."! So lively was 
the delineation, thus sanctioned by the most 
natural of all testimonies. Mr. Macken- 
zie indulges his own religious feelings by 
modestl}^ intimating, that Dr. Smith's answer 
seemed to justify the last words of ihe tale, 
" that t-here were moments when the philo- 
sopher recalled to his mind the venerable 
figure of the good La Roche, and wished 
that he had never doubted." To those who 
are strangers to the seductions of paradox. 
to the into.vication of fame, and to ihe be- 
witchment of prohibited opinions, it must be 
unaccountable, that he who revered bene- 
volence should, without apparent regret, 
cease to see it on the throne of the Universe. 
It is a matter of wonder that his habitual 
esteem for every fragment and shadow of 
moral excellence should not lead him to 
envy those who contemplated its perfection 
in that living and paternal character which 
gives it a power over the human heart. 

On the other hand, if we had no experi- 
ence of the power of opposite opinions in pro- 
ducing irreconcilable animosities, we might 
have hoped that those who retained such 
high privileges, would have looked with 
more compassion than dislike on a virtuous 
man who had lost them. In such cases it is 
too little remembered, that repugnance to 
hypocrisy and impatience of long conceal- 
ment, are the qualities of the best formed 
minds, and that, if the publication of some 
doctrines proves often painful and mischiev- 
ous, the habitual suppression of opinion is 
injurious to Reason, and very dangerous to 
sincerity. Practical questions thus arise, so 
difficult and perplexing that their determi- 
nation generally depends on the boldness or 

* See Note P. t Mirror, Nos. 42, 43, 44. 
X Mackenzie's Life of John Home, p. 21. 



timidity of the individual, — on his' tender- 
ness for the feelings of the good, or his 
greater reverence for the free exercise of 
reason. The time is not yet come when the 
noble maxim of Plato, " that every soul is 
unM'77/mg?i/ deprived of truth." will be prac- 
tically and heartily applied by men to the 
honest opponents who differ from them most 
widely. 

It was in his twenty-seventh year that 
Mr. Hume published at London the Treatise 
of Human Nature, the first systematic attack 
on all the principles of knowledge and be- 
lief, and the most formidable, if universal 
scepticism could ever be more than a mere 
exercise of ingenuity.* This memorable 
work was reviewed in a Journal of that 
time,l in a criticism not distinguished by 
ability, which affects to represent the style 
of a very clear writer as unintelligible, — 
sometimes from a purpose to insult, but 
oftener from sheer dulness, — which is unac- 
countably silent respecting the consequer.ces 
of a sceptical system, but which concludes 
with the following prophecy so much at va- 
riance with the general tone of the article, 
that it would seem to be added by a difler- 
ent hand. "It bears incontestable marks 
of a great capacity, of a soaring genius, but 
young, and not yet thoroughly practised. 
Time and use may ripen these qualities in the 
author, and we shall probably have reason 
to consider this, compared with his later 
productions, in the same light as we view 
the Juvenile works of Milton or the first 
manner of Raphael." 

The great speculator did not in this work 
amuse himself, like Bayle, with dialectical 
exercises, which only inspire a disposition 
towards doubt, by showing in detail the un- 
certainty of most opinions. He aimed at 
proving, not that nothing was known, but 
that nothing could be known, — from the 
structure of the Understanding to demon- 
strate that we are doomed for ever to dwell 
in absolute and universal ignorance. It is 
true that such a system of universal scepti- 
cism never can be more than an intellectual 
amusement, an exercise of subtilty, of which 
the only use is to check dogmatism, but 
which perhaps oftener provokes and pro- 
duces that much more common evil. As 
those dictates of experience which regulate 



* Sextus, a physician of ihe empirical, i. e. anti- 
iheoreiicai school, who lived at Alexandria in ihe 
reign of Antoninus Pius, has preserved ihe rea- 
sonings of the ancient Sceptics as they were to bo 
found in their most improved state, in the writings 
of iEnesidemus, a Cretan, who was a professor 
in the same city, soon after the reduction of Egypt 
into a Roman province. The greater pan of iha 
grounds of doubt are very shallow and popular: 
there are, among them, intimations of the argu- 
ment against a necessary connection of causes 
with eflecis, afterwards better presented liy Glan- 
ville in his Scepsis Scientific!. — See Note Q. 

t The Works of the Learned for Nov. and 
Dec. 1739, pp. 353 — 404. This review is attribu- 
ted by some (Chalmer's Biogr. Diet., voce Humoi 
to VVarburton, but certainly without foundation- .. 



140 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



conduct must be the objects of belief, all 
objections which attack them in common 
with the principles of reasoning, must be 
utterly ineffectual. Whatever attacks every 

f)rinciple of belief can destroy none. As 
ong as the foundations of Knowledge are 
allowed to remain on the same level (be it 
called of certainty or uncertainty), with the 
maxims of life, the whole system of hu- 
man conviction must continue undisturbed. 
When the sceptic boasts of having involved 
the results of experience and the elements 
of Geometry in the same ruin with the doc- 
trines of Religion and the principles of Phi- 
losoph}'', he may be answered, that no dog- 
matist ever claimed more than the same 
degree of certainty for these various convic- 
tions and opinions, and that his scepticism, 
therefore, leaves them in the relative condi- 
tion in which it found them. No man knew 
better or owned more frankly than Mr. 
Hume, that to this answer there is no seri- 
ous reply. Universal scepticism involves a 
contradiction in terms: it is a belief that there 
can be no belief. It is an attempt of the mind 
to act without its structure, and by other 
laws than those to which its nature has sub- 
jected its operations. To reason without 
assenting to the principles on which reason- 
ing is founded, is not unlike an effort to feel 
without nerves, or to move without muscles. 
No man can be allowed to be an opponent 
in reasoning, who does not set out with ad- 
mitting all the principles, without the admis- 
sion of which it is impossible to reason.* 
It is indeed a puerile, nay, in the eye of 
W^isdom. a childish play, to attempt either 
to establish or to confute principles by argu- 
ment, which every step of that argument 
must presuppose. The only difference be- 
tween the two cases is, that he who tries to 
prove them can do so only by first taking 
them for granted, and that he who attempts 
to impugn them falls at the very first step 
into a contradiction from which he never 
can rise. 

It must, however, be allowed, that uni- 
versal scepticism has practical consequences 
of a verj' mischievous nature. This is be- 
cause its universality is not steadily kept in 
view, and constantly borne in mind. If it 
were, the above short and plain remark 
would be an effectual antidote to the poison 
But in practice, it is an armoury from which 
weapons are taken to be employed against 

• This ma.icini, which contains a sufiicient an- 
Bwer to all universal scrpiicism, or, in other 
words, to all scepticism properly so called, is sig- 
nificantly conveyed in the quaint title of an old 
and rare book, entitled, " Scivi ; sive Sceplices et 
Scepticorum a Jure Disputaiionis E.vclusio," by 
Thomas White, the metaphysician of the English 
Catholics in modern times. " Fortunately," says 
the illustrious sceptic himself, "since Reason is 
incapable of dispellinp; these clouds. Nature her- 
self suffices for that purpose, and cures me of this 
philosophical delirium."— Treat, of Hum. Nat., 
1. 467 ; almost in the sublime and immortal words 
of Pascal: "La Raison confond les dogmatistes, 
e: la Nature lee scepiiquea." 



some opinions, while it is hidden from notice 
that the same weapon would equally cut 
down every other conviction. It is thus that 
Mr. Hume's theory of causation is used aa 
an answer to arguments for the existence of 
the Deity, without warning the reader that 
it would equally lead him not to expect that 
the sun will rise to-morrow. It must also 
be added, that those who are early accus- 
tomed to dispute first principles are never 
likely to acquire, in a sufiicient degree, that 
earnestness and that sincerity, that strong 
love of Truth, and that conscientious solici- 
tude for the formation of just opinions, which 
are not the least virtues of men, but of which 
the cultivation is the more especial duty of 
all who call themselves philosophers.* 

It is not an uninteresting fact that Mr. 
Hume, having been introduced by Lord 
Kames (then Mr. Henry Home) to Dr. Butler, 
sent a copy of his Treatise to that philoso- 
pher at the moment of his preferment to the 
bishopric of Durham ; and that the perusal of 
it did not deter the philosophic prelate from 
" everywhere recommending Mr. Hume's 
Moral and Political Essays,"t published two 
years afterwards; — essays which it would 
indeed have been unworthy of such a man 
not to have liberally commended ; for they, 
and those which followed them, whatever 
may be thought of the contents of some of 
them, must be ever regarded as the best 
models in any language, of the short but full, 
of the clear and agreeable, though deep dis- 
cussion of difficult questions. 

Mr. Hume considered his Inquiry concern- 
ing the Principles of Morals as the best of 
his writings. It is very creditable to hia 
character, that he should have looked back 
with most complacency on a tract the least 
distinguished by originality, and the least 
tainted by paradox, among his philcsophical 
woiks; but deserving of all commendation 
for the elegant perspicuity of the style, and 
the novelty of illustration* and inference with 
which he unfolded to general readers a doc- 
trine too simple, too certain, and too im- 
portant, to remain till his time undiscovered 
among philosophers. His diction has, indeed, 
neither the grace of Berkeley, nor the strength 
of Hobbes; but it is without the verbosity of 
the former, or the rugged sternness of the 
latter. His manner is more lively, more easy, 
more ingratiating, and, if the word may be so 
applied, more amusing, than that of any othei 
metaphysical writer.}' He knew himself too 

* If would be an act of injustice to those readers 
who are not acquainted with that valualile volume 
entitled, " Essays on the Formation of Opinions," 
not to refer them to it as enforcing that neglected 
part of morality. To it may be added, a masterly 
article in the Westminster Review, vi. 1, occa 
sioncd by the Essays. 

t Woodhouselec's Life of Kames, i. Sfi. 104. 

X These commendations are so far from l)eing 
at variance with the remarks of the late most inge- 
nious Dr. Thomas Brown, on Mr. Hume's " mode 
of writing," (Inquiry in'o the Relation of Cause 
and Effect, 3d ed. p. 327,) that they may rather 
be regarded as descriptive of those excellencies of 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



141 



well to be, as Dr. Johnson asserted, an imi- 
tator of Voltaire ; who, as it were, embodied 
in his own person all the wit and quickness 
and -Ncrsatile ingenuity of a people which 
surpasses other rations in these brilliant 
qualities. If he must be suppo.sed to have 
had an e3e on any French writer, it would 
be a more plausible guess, that he some- 
times copied, with a temperate hand, the 
unexpected thoughts and familiar expres- 
sions of Fontenelle. Though he carefully 
weeded his writings in their successive edi- 
tions, yet they still contain Scotticisms and 
Gallicisms enough to employ the successors 
of such critics as those who exulted over the 
Pafavinity of the Roman historian. His own 
great and modest mind would have been 
satisfied with the praise which cannot be 
withheld from him, that there is no writer in 
our language who, through long works, is 
more agreeable ; and it is no derogation from 
him, that, as a Scotsman, he did not reach 
those native and secret beauties, character- 
istical of a language, which are never at- 
tained, in elaborate composition, but by a 
very small number of those who familiarly 
converse in it from infancy. The Inquiry af- 
fords perhaps the best specimen of his style. 
In substance, its chief merit is the proof, 
from an abundant enumeration of particulars, 
that all the qualities and actions of the mind 
which are generally approved by mankind 
agree in the circumstance of being useful to 
society. In the proof (scarcely necessary), 
that benevolent affections and actions have 
that tendency, he asserts the real existence 
of these affections with unusual warmth; 
and he well abridges some of the most forci- 
ble arguments of Butler,* whom it is re- 
markable that he does not mention. To show 
the importance of his principle, he very un- 
necessarily distinguishes the comprehensive 
duty of justice from other parts of Morality, 
as an artificial virtue, for which our respect 
is solely derived from notions of utility. If 
all things were in such plenty that there 
could never be a want, or if men were so 
benevolent as to provide for the wants of 
others as much as for their own, there would, 
says he, in neither case be any justice, be- 
cause there would be no need for it. But it 
is evident that the same reasoning is applica- 
ble to every good affection and right action. 
None of them could exist if there were no 
scope for their exercise. If there were no suf- 
fering, there could be no pity and no relief; 
if there were no offences, there could be no 
placability : if there were no crimes, there 
could be no mercy. Temperance, prudence, 
patience, magnanimity, are qualtiesof which 
the value depends on the evils by which they 
are respectively exercised. t 

which the excess produced the faults of Mr. Hume, 
as a mere searcher and teacher, justly, though per- 
haps severely, animadverted on by Dr. Brown. 

* Inquiry, i ii. part, i., especially the concluding 
paragraphs ; ihose which precede being more his 
own. 

t " Si nobis, cum ex hac vita migraverimus, in 



With regard to purity of manners, it must 
be owned that Mr. Hume, though he con- 
troverts no rule, yet treats vice with too much 
indulgence. It was his general disposition 
to distrust those virtues which are liable to 
exaggeration, and may be easily counter- 
feited. The ascetic pursuit of purity, and 
hypocritical pretences to patriotism, had too 
much withdrawn the respect of his equally 
calm and sincere nature from these excellent 
virtues; more especially as severity in both 
these respects was often at apparent variance 
with affection, which can neither be long 
assumed, nor ever overvalued. Yet it was 
singular that he who, in his essay on Poly- 
gamy and Divorce,* had so well shown the 
connection of domestic ties with the outward 
order of society, should not have perceived 
their deeper and closer relation to all the 
social feelings of human nature. It cannot 
be enough regretted, that, in an inquiry writ- 
ten with a very moral purpose, his habit of 
making truth attractive, by throwing over 
her the dress of paradox, should have given 
him for a moment the appearance of weigh- 
ing the mere amusements of society and 
conversation against domestic fidelity, which 
is the preserver of domestic affectioji, the 
source of parental fondness and filial regard, 
and, indirectly, of all the kindiiess which 
exists between human beings. That fami- 
lies are schools where the infant heart learns 
to love, and that pure manners are the cement 
w-hich alone holds these schools together, are 
truths so certain, that it is wonderful he 
should not have betrayed a stronger sense 
of their importance. No one could so well 
have proved that all the virtues of that class, 
in their various orders and degrees, minister 
to the benevolent affections; and that every 
act which separates the senses from the 
affections tends, in some degree, to deprive 
kindness of its natural auxiliary, and to les- 
sen its prevalence in the world. It did not 
require his sagacity to discover that the 
gentlest and tenderest feelings flourish only 
under the stern guardianship of these se- 
vere virtues. Perhaps his philosophy was 



beatorum insulis, ut fabulae ferunt, immortale 
aevum degere liceret, quid opus esset eloquentia, 
cum judicia nulla fierent ? aut ipsis etiam virtuiibus ? 
Nee enim fortitudine indigeremus, nullo proposito 
aut labore aut periculo ; nee justitia, cum esset nihil 
quod appeleretur alieni ; nee temperantia, quae re- 
geret eas quae nullae essent libidines : ne prudentia 
quidem egeremus, nullo proposito delectu bono- 
rum et malorum. Una igitur essemus beati cog- 
niiione rerum et scientia." — Frag. Cic. Hortens. 
apud Augustine de Trinitate. Cicero is more ex- 
tensive, and therefore more consistent than Hume ; 
but his enumeration errs both by excess and de- 
fect. He supposes Knowledge to render beings 
happy in this imaginary state, without stooping to 
inquire how. He omits a virtue which might well 
exist in it, though we cannot conceive its forma 
tion in such a stale — the delight in each other's 
well-being ; and he omits a conceivable though 
unknown vice, that of unmixed ill-will, 'vhich 
would render such a state a hell to the wretch who 
harboured the malevolence. 
* Essays and Treatises, vol. i. 



142 



MACKINTOSH'S MSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



loosened, though his life was uncorrnpted, 
by that universal and uiidistinguishing pro- 
fligticy which prevailed on the Continent, 
irom the regency of the Duke of Orleans to 
the French Revolution; the most dissolute 
period of European history, at least since the 
Koman emperors.* At Rome, indeed, the 
connection of licentiousness with cruelty,, 
which, though scarcely traceable in inili- 
vichials, is generally very ob.servable in large 
masses, bore a fearful testimony to the value 
of austere purity. The alliance of these re- 
mote vices seemed to be broken in the time 
of Mr. Hume. Pleasure, in a more improved 
state of society, seemed to return to her more 
natural union with kindness and tenderness, 
as well as with refinement and politeness. 
Had he lived fourteen years longer, however, 
he would have seen, that the virtues which 
guartl the natural seminaries of the afiections 
are their only true and lasting friends. He 
would also then have seen (the demand of 
well-informed men for the improvement of 
civil institutions, — and that of all classes 
growing in intelligence, to be delivered from 
a degrading inferiority, and to be admitted 
to a share of political power proportioned to 
their- new importance, having been feebl}', 
yet violently resisted by those ruling castes 
who neither knew how to yield, nor how to 
withstand.) how speedily the sudden demoli- 
tion of the barriers (imperfect as they were) 
of law and government, led to popular ex- 
cesses, desolating wars, and a military dic- 
tatorship, which for a long time threatened 
to defeat the reformation, and to disappoint 
the hopes of mankind. This tremendous 
conflagration threw a fearful light on the 
ferocity which lies hid under the arts and 
pleasures of corrupted nations; as earth- 
quakes and volcanoes disclose the rocks 
which compose the deeper parts of our 
planet, beneath a fertile and flowery surface. 
A part of this dreadful result ma)' be as- 
cribed, not improbably, to that relaxation of 
domestic lies, which is unhapp^iy natural 
to the populace of all vast capitals, and was 
at that time countenanced and aggravated 
by the e.xample of their superiors. Another 
part doubtless arose from the barbarisiiig 
power of absolute government, or, in other 
words, of injustice in high places. A nar- 
ration of those events attests, as strongly as 
Roman history, though in a somewhat dif- 
ferent manner, the humanising efficacy of 
the family virtues, by the consequences of 
the want of them in the higher classes, whose 
profuse and of^tentatious sensuality inspired 
the labouringand suffering portion of mankind 
with contempt, disgust, envy, and hatred. 

The Inquiry is disfigured by another speck 
of more frivolous paradox. It consists in the 
attempt to give the name of Virtue to quali- 
ties of the Undcrstandins:; and it would not 
have deserved the single remark about to be 
made on it, had it been the paradox of an 
inferior man. He has altogether omitted the 

* See Note R. 



circumstance on which depends the differ 
ence of cur sentiments regarding moral and 
intellectual qualities. We admire intellec- 
tual excellence, but we bestow no mond ap- 
prubalion on it. Such approbation has no 
tendency directly to increase it, because it 
is not voluntary. We cultivate our natural 
liisposilion to esteem and love benevolence 
and justice, because these moral sentiments, 
and the expression of ihem. directly and ma- 
terially dispose othei,s, as well as ourselves, 
to cultivate these two virtues. We cultivate 
a natural anger against oppression, which 
guards ourselves against the practice of that 
\'ice, and because the manifestation of it de- 
ters others from its exercise. The liist rude 
resentment of a child is against every instru- 
ment of hurt: we confine it to intentional 
hurt, when we are taught by experience that 
it prevents only that species of hurt; and at 
last it is still further limited to wrong done 
to ourselves or others, and in that case be- 
comes a jiurely moral sentiment. We morally 
approve industry, desire of knowledge, love 
of Truth, and all the habits by which the Un- 
derstanding is strengthened and rectified, be- 
cause their formation is subject to the Will;* 
but we do not feel moral anger against folly 
or ignorance, because they are involuntary. 
No one but the religious persecutor, — a mis- 
chievous and overgrown child, wreaks his 
vengeance on involuntary, inevitable, com- 
pulsory acts or states of the Understand ing, 
which are no more aflected by blame than 
the stone which the foolish child beats foi 
hurting him. Reasonable men apply to every 
thing which they wish to move, the agent 
which is capable of moving it: — force to 
outward substances, arguments to,.the Un- 
derstanding, and blame, together with all 
other motives, whether moral or personal, to 
the Will alone. It is as absurd to ent-eriaiii 
an abhorrence of intellectual inferiority or 
error, however extensive or mischievous, as 
it would be to cherish a warm iudigiialion 
against earthquakes or hurricanes. It is 
singular that a philosopher who needeil the 
most liberal toleration should, by represent- 
ing states of the Understanding as moral or 
immoral, have offered the most philosophical 
apology for persecution. 

That general utility constitutes a uniform 
ground of moral distinctions, is a jiart of Mr. 
Hume's ethical theory which never can be 
impugned, until some example can be pro- 
duced of a virtue generally pernicious, or of 
a vice generally beneficial. The religious 
philosopher who, with Butler, holds that be- 
nevolence must be the actuating principle of 
the Divine mind, will, with Berkeley, main- 
tain that pure benevolence can prescribe no 
rules of liuman conduct but such as are bene- 
ficial to men ; thus bestowing on the theory 
of moral distinctions the certainty of demon- 
stration in the eyes of all who believe in God 



* " In hac qiiacstione prinias tenet Voluntas, 
qua, ut ait Aiiffustinus, pcccatur, et recte vivilur,*' 
— Erasmus, Diatribe adversus Luthcrum. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 143 



The other question of moral philosophy 
which relates to the theory of moral appro- 
bation, has bf!en by no means so distinctly 
and satisfactorily handled by Mr. Hume. 
His cjeneral doctrine is. that an interest in the 
•wtll-bein;^ of others, implanted by nature, 
which he calls "sympathy" in his Treatise 
of Human Nature, and much less happily 
"benevolence" in his subsequent Inquiry,* 
prompts us to be pleased with all generally 
beneficial actions. In this respect his doc- 
trine nearly resembles that of Hntcheson. 
He does not trace his principle tluou;^h the 
variety of forms which our moral sentiments 
a.ssume : there are very important parts of 
them, of which it affords no solution. For 
example, though he truly represents our ap- 
probation, in others, of qualities useful to 
the individual, as a proof of benevolence, he 
makes no attempt to explain our moral ap- 
probation of such virtues as temperance and 
fortitude in ourselves. He entirely overlooks 
that consciousness of the rightful supremacy 
of the Moral Faculty over every other princi- 
ple of human action, without an explanation 
of whiqh, ethical theory is wanting in one of 
its vital organs. 

Notwithstanding these considerable de- 
fects, his proof from induction of the bene- 
ficial tendency of Virtue, his conclusive argu- 
ments for human disinterestedness, and his 
decisive observations on the respective pro- 
vinces of Reason and Sentiment in Morals, 
concur in ranking the Inquiry with the ethi- 
cal treatises of the highest merit in our lan- 
guage, — with Shaftesbury's Inquiry concern- 
ing Virtue, Butler's Seinmons, and Smith's 
Theory of Moral Sentiments. 

ADAM SMITIl.t 

The great name of Adam Smith rests upon 
the Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of 
the Wealth of Nations ; perhaps the only book 
which produced an immediate, general, and 
irrevocable change in some of the most im- 
portant parts of the legislation of all civilized 
states. The works of Grotius, of Locke, and 
of Montesquieu, which bear a re-semblance 
to it in character, and had no inconsiderable 
analogy to it in the extent of their popular 
influence, were productive only of a general 
amendment, not so conspicuous in particular 
instances, as discoverable, after a time, in 
the improved condition of human affairs. 
The work of Smith, as it touched those mat- 
ters which may be numbered, and measured, 
and weighed, bore more visible and palpable 
fruit. In a few years it began to alter laws 
and treaties, and has made its way, through- 
out the convulsions of revolution and con- 
' quest, to a due ascendant over the minds of 
men, with far less than the average of those 
obstructions of prejudice and clamour, which 
ordinarily choke the channels through which 
truth flows into practice.}: The most emi- 



• Essays and Treatises, vol. ii. 

t Born, 1723 ; died, 1790. t See Note S. 



nent of those who have since cultivated and 
improved the science will be the foremost to 
address their immortal master, 

. .. .. Tenebris Ian lis lam clarum e.xtoliere lumen 
Qui primus poluisti, inlusirans comiuoda viia;, 
Te sequor !* 

In a science more difncult, because both 
ascending to more simple general principles, 
and running down through more minute ap- 
plications, though the success of Smith has 
been less complete, his genius is not less 
conspicuous. Perhaps there is no ethical 
work since Cicero's Offices, of which an 
abridgment enables the reader so inadequate- 
ly to estimate the merit, as the Theory of ' 
Mora] Sentiments. This is not chiefly owing 
to the beauty of diction, as in the case of 
Cicero ; but to the variety of explanations of 
life and manners which embellish the book 
often more than they illuminate the theory. 
Yet, on the other hand, it must be owned 
that, for purely philosophical purposes, few 
books more need abridgment ; for the most, 
careful reader frequently loses sight of prin- 
ciples buried under illustrations. The natu- 
rally copious and flowing style of the author 
is generally redundant ; and the repetition 
of certain formularies of the system is, in 
the later editions, so frequent as to be weari- 
some, and sometimes ludicrous. Perhaps 
Smith and Hobbes may be considered as 
forming the two extremes of good style in 
our philosophy; the first of graceful fulness 
falling into flaccidity j while the masterly 
concision of the second is oftener carried 
forward into dictatorial dryness. Hume and 
Berkeley, though they are nearer the ex- 
treme of abundance,! are probably the least 
distant from perfection. 

That mankind are so constituted as to 
sympathize with each other's feelings, and 
to feel pleasure in the accordance of these 
feelings, are the only facts required by Dr. 
Smith; and they certainly must be granted 
to him. To adopt the feelings of another, 
is to approve them. When the sentiment« 
of another are such as would be excited in 
us by the .s.ame- objects, we approve them as 
morally proper. To obtain this accordance, 
it becomes necessary for him who enjoys, 
or suffers, to lower the expression of his 
feeling to the point to which the by-stander 
can raise his fellow-feelings; on this attempt 
are founded all the high virtues of self-de- 
nial and self-command : and it is equally 
necessary for the by-stander to raise his 
sympathy as near as he can to the level 
of the original feeling. In all unsocial pas- 
sions, such as anger, we have a divided 
sympathy between him who feels them, and 
those who are the objects of them. Hence 
the propriety of extremely moderating them. 
Pure malice is always to be concealed or 

* Lucrel. lib. iii. 

t This remark is chiefly applicable lo Hume's 
Essays. His Treatise of Human Nature is more 
Hobbian in its general tenor, though it has Cice- 
ronian passages. 



144 



MACKINTOSH'S RHSCELLANEOUS ESSAY'S. 



disijuisoil. booanso all stimpotht) is anayiHl 
agjiinst it. Ill xho private passions, whtMo 
Uioio is only a sitiiylc m/hijhi//»v, — that with 
tho oriiiinal passion, — tlio expri>ssioii has 
nioiv libiMty. Tlu> Ihmu'voUmiI ailoctions, 
wluMO tluMO is a double s'limpatliti, — with 
thoso wlio t'(>ol tlii'in, ami ihosi- whoaio ihiMf 
obji'cts, — ;nv tho most aj^rooablo, aiul may 
bo iiuliiliivil with tho h'ast approlu'iision ot 
fnuliiiir no tH'ho in olhor broasls. Sympathy 
with iho Liratitiulo ot tlioso who aio bonolitod 
by •iood aitioiis, proinjitsns to oousiiltM- thorn 
as ilosorvinii of lowani, and tonus llio sense 
of merit : as tolKuv-foolin^' witli tho rosont- 
mont ot" thoso who aiv injuiod by oiimos 
UmJs us to look on thorn as wortliy of punish- 
mont. aiKi oonstitiitos tho sense of demerit. 
Thoso soiitiinonts ioqnirt> not only bonotioial 
actions, but bonovolont motivos ; Wioii' com- 
pomulovl, in tho caso of morit, ot" a diioot 
sym|\itiiy with the good disposition ot" tho 
bonotaotor, and an intliioot sympatliy with 
tho poisons bonolitod ; in the opposite ease, 
with prooisoly opjuisito syniixithios. He who 
does ail act ot" wrong to another to giatity 
his own passions, must not expect that tho 
spectators, who have none of his uiuhie par- 
tiality to his own interest, will enter into iiis 
toolings. In such a case, lie knows that they 
will pity .tile person wronged, and be full ot" 
indignation ;iguiiist him. When he is cooled, 
ho adopts tho sentiments of others on liis 
own crime, feels shame at tlie iminopriety 
of his former passion, pity for those who 
have sutfored by him, and a drt>aii of puiiish- 
ineiit from general and just resentment. 
Such are the conslituont parts of remorse. 

Our moral sontimeuts respecting ourselves 
arise from those which others feel concern- 
ing us. We leel a soll-appmbation whenever 
we believe that tho general fooling of man- 
kiiul coincides with lliat state of mind in 
which we ourselves wore at a given time. 
*•' We suppose ourselves the spectators of our 
own behaviour, and endeavour to imagine 
what etloct it would in this light produce in 
us.'-' We must view our own conduct with 
the eyes of others before we can judge it. 
Tho sense of duty arises from putting our- 
selves in the place of otheis, and adopting 
their sentiments respecting our own coiuhict. 
In utter solitude there could have been no 
eelf-approbation. Tho rules of Morality are 
a summary of those sentiments ; and often 
beneticially stand in their steai\ when tlie 
self-dehisious of jxission would otherwise 
hide fivm us tho non-conformity of our state 
of mind with that which, in the ciivum- 
stances, can be entered into ami ajiproved by 
imjxirtial by-standers. It is hence that we 
learn to i-aiso our mind above local or tem- 
porary clamom-, and to tix our eyes on the 
purest indications of tlie general and lasting 
.sontimenl-* of himian nature. '-When we 
approve of any character or action, our .eeii- 
timeiits are derived Irom four sources: first, 
we sympathize with the motives of the 
agent ; secoudhi, wo enter into the gratitude 
»f thoso who have been beiietited by his 



actions ; thirdltfj we observe that his conduct 
has boon agreeable to the general rules by 
which tluK^e two sympathies generally act; 
and, last of oil, when we consider such ac- 
tions as forming part of a system of beha- 
viour which tends to promote tho happiness 
cither of the individual or of society, they 
appear to derive a beauty from this utility, 
not unlike that which we ascribe to any 
well-contrived machine.'"* 

KE.MAUKS. 

That Smith is the lirst who has drawn the 
ttltention of philosophers to one of tho most 
curious and important parts of human na- 
ture, — who has lookoil closely and stt>adily 
into the workings of Sympathy, its sudden 
action ami re-action, its instantaneous con- 
llicts and its emotions, its minute play and 
varieil illusions, is sutiicieiit to place him 
high among the cultivators of nuntal philo- 
sophy. He is very original in applications 
and e.xplaualions : thouijii, for his princijile, 
he is somewhat indebted to Kntlor, more to 
Hntcheson, and most of all to Hume. Thoso 
writers, except Hume in his original work, 
liad derived symixuhy. or a great part of it, 
t"mm benevolenco :t Smith, with deeper in- 
sight, inverteii tile order. The groat part 
pertormed by various sympathies in iiionil 
approbation was lirst unfolded by him ; and 
besides its intrinsic importance, it slrength- 
ened tho proofs ag-ainst those theories wliioh 
ascribe that great Innction to Keason, — 
Another great merit of the theory of 'sym- 
pathy'" is, that it brings into the strongest 
light that mo.st important characteristic of 
the mor.il siMitiiiunits which consist in their 
being tho only principles leading to action, 
and (lopoiultMit on (^motion or sensibility, with 
resptH't to the objects of wliich, it is not only 
possible but natural for all mankind to agree. t 

Tho main defects of this theory seem to 
be tho following. 

1. Though it is uot to be coiidomned for 
declining inquiry into the origin of our fel- 
low-f»H'ling, which, being one of the jnost 
certain of all tacts, might well be assumed 
as ultimate in sjieculations of this nature, it 
is evident that the circumi^tancos to which 
some speculators ascribe the formation of 
symixitliy at least contribute to strengthen 
or impair, to contract or expand it. It will 
appear, more conveniently, in the next ar- 
ticle, that the theory of *' sympathy"' has 
snflered from tlie omission of these circum- 
slaiiees. For the present, it is enough to ob- 
serve how much our compassion for various 

• Theory of Moral Scniiments, F.diiib. 1601, ii. 
3m. . . . • 

t There is some confusion repnnling this point 
in Hutlcr's first sermon on Ctimpassion. 

t The feelinjis of beamy, prjuideur. niul what- 
ever else is conipreheiuled under ilio name of 
'{"nsie, l"orni no exception, lor tht-y Jo not had to 
action. Init lerniinnie in delij:hit"ul eontemplnlion ; 
wliielj eonstiiutes the essential disliiieiion between 
tbeni and liie moral sentiments, to wiiich, in some 
points of view, ihey may doubtless be likoaod. 



DISSERTATT';;,^; ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



145 



S^T.y^. ui anm.;ilf>, ancl our fellow-feeling with 
various rfiocs of mf;n, are proportioned to the 
resernblancA" which ihey bear to ourselves. 
to the frefjuency of our intercourse with 
thorn, and lo other causes which, in lh(; opi- 
nion of some, afford evidence that Kyrn[)alliy 
itself is dependent <ii\ a m»Xf. ^etienil law. 

2. Had Smith extended hi." view be-yond 
the mere play of sympathy itself, and taken 
into account all its preliminaries, and ac- 
companiments, and conf^cquences, it s(;em« 
improbable that he would have fallen into 
the great error of representing the sympa- 
thies in their primitive state, without under- 
going any transformation, as cotitin\iing ex- 
clusively to constitute the moral sentiments. 
He is not content with teaching that they 
are the roots out of which these sentimtnits 
grow, the stocks on which thf;y are grafted, 
the elementsof which ihey are compounded j 
— doctrines to which nothing could be ob- 
jected but their uidimit(!d extent. He tacitly 
assumes, that if a sympathy iu the begin- 
ning caused or formed a monil approbation, 
BO it must ever contin\ie to do. He proceeds 
like a fjeologist who should tell us that the 
body of this planet had a!«-aj's been in the 
same state, shutting his c^cs to transition 
states, and secondary formations; or like a 
chemist who should inform us that no com- 
pound substance (.'!An pcssess new qualities 
entirely different from those which belong 
to its materials. His acquie.scence in this 
old and still general error is the more re- 
markable, because Mr. Hume's bf*autiful 
Dissertation on the Passions* had just before 
opened a striking view of some of the com- 
positions and decomiKJsitions which render 
the mind of a formed man as different from 
its original state, as the organization of a 
complete animal is from the condition of the 
first dim speck of vitality. It is from this 
oversight (ill supplied by moral rules, — a 
loose stone in his building) that he has ex- 
posed himself to objections founded on ex- 
perience, to which it is impossible to attempt 
any answer. For it is certain that in many, 
nay in most cases of moral approbation, the 
adult man approves the action or disposition 
merely as right, and with a distinct con- 
sciousness that no process of sympathy in- 
tervenes between the approval and its ob- 
ject. It is certain that an unbiassed person 
%voul<l call it moral approbation, only as far 
as it excluded the interposition of any reflec- 
tion between the conscience and the menial 
state approved. Upon the supposition of an 
unchanged slate of our active principle.=, it 
ivould follow that Bymjiathv never had an}' 
share in the greater \k\tI of them. Had he 
Admitted the syrnpalhii-s to be only elements 
entering into the formation of Conscience, 
their disappearance, orlheir appearance only 
as auxiliaries, after the mind is mature, 
would have been no more an objection to 
his system, than the conversion of a sub- 
stance from a transitional to a permanent 



* Essays and Treatiaca, voU iL 
19 



stale is a perplexity to the geologist. It 
would perfectly resemble the destruction of 
qu.ilitifs, which is the ordinary effect of 
chemical composition. 

3. The same error has involved him in 
another ditJiculty pi.-rhaps still more fatal. 
The sympathies have nothing more of au 
imperdlive character than any othijr emo- 
tions. They attract or repel like other feel- 
ings, according to their intensity. If^ then, 
the syTn))atliies continue in mature muids to 
constitute the whole of Conscience, it be- 
comes utterly impossible to explain the cha- 
racter of command and sujiremacy. which is 
altestr-d by the unanimous voice of mankind 
to b(dong to that faculty, and to form its es- 
sential distinction. Ilad he adopted the 
other representation, it would be possible to 
conceive, perhaps easy to explain, that Con- 
science should pos.<4C.ss a quality which be- 
longed to none of its elements. 

4. It is to this representation that Smith's 
theory owes that unhappy appearance of 
nnidering the rule of our conrlucl ilependent 
on the notions and jiassions of those who 
surround us, of which the utmost efforts of 
the most refined iti^jenuity have not been 
able lo divest it. This objection, or topic, is 
often ignorantly urged; the answers are fre- 
quently solid ; but lo most men they mu.st 
always appear to be an ingenious and intri- 
cate contrivance of cycles and epicycles, 
which perplex the mind too much to satisfy 
it, and seem devised to evade difTiculties 
which cannot be solved. All theories which 
treat Conscience as built up by circumstances 
inevitably acting on all human minds, are, 
indeed, liable to sf>mewhat of the same mis- 
conception ; unless they place in the .strongest 
light (what Smith's theory excludes) the to- 
tal destruction of the scaffolding, which was 
necessary oidy to the erection of the build- 
ing, after the mind is adult and mature, and 
warn the hastiest reader, that it then rests 
on its own foundation alone. 

5. The constant reference of our own dis- 
positions and actions lo the point of view 
from which they arc estimated by others, 
seems to be rather an excellent expedient 
for preserving our impartiality, than a funda- 
mental principle of Ethics. But impartiality, 
wliich is no more than a removal of some 
hinderance to right judgment, supplies no 
materials for its exercise, and no rule, or 
even principle, for its guidance. It nearly 
coincides with the Christian precept of ''do- 
ing unto others as we woulil they should do 
unto us;" — an admirable jiraclical maxim, 
but, as Leibnitz has said truly, intended only 
as a correction of self-partiality. 

6. LastI)-. this ingenious system renders 
all morality relative, by referring it to the 
pleasure of an agreement of our fcdings 
with those of other-s, — by confining '\\stAi 
entirely to the question of moral approba- 
tion, and by providing no place for the con.si- 
deration of that quality which distinguishes 
all good from. all bad actions; — a defect 
which will appear in the sequel to be more 

N 



146 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



immediately fatal to a theorist of the senti- 
mental, than to one of the intellectual school. 
Smith shrinks from considering utility in 
that light, as soon as it presents itself, or 
very strangely asciibes its power over our 
moral feelings to admiration of the mere 
adaptation of means to ends, (which might 
surely be as well felt for the production of 
wide-spread misery, by a consistent system 
of wicked conduct,) — instead of ascribing it 
to benevolence, with Huteheson and Hume, 
or to an extension of that very sympathy 
which is his own first principle. 

RICHARD PRICE.* 

About the same time with the celebrated 
work of Smith, bnt with a popular reception 
very different. Dr. Richard Price, an excel- 
lent and eminent non-conformist minister, 
published A Review of the Principal Ques- 
tions in Morals ;t — an attempt to revive the 
intellectual theory of moral obligation, which 
seemed to have fallen under the attacks of 
Botler, Ilntcheson, and Hume, and before 
that of Smith. It attracted little observation 
at first; but being afterwards countenanced 
by the Scottish school, it may seem to de- 
serve some notice,' at a moment when the 
kindred speculation.? of the German meta- 
physicians have effected an establishment 
in France, and are no longer unknown in 
England. 

The Understanding itself is, according to 
Price, an independent source of simple ideas. 
"The varions kinds of agreement and dis- 
agreement between our ideas, spoken of by 
Locke, are so many new simple ideas." 
''This is true of our ideas of proportion, of 
our ideas of identity and diversity, existence, 
connection^ cause and efTect, power, possi- 
bility, and of our ideas of right and wrong.'' 
" Tiie first relates to quantity, the last to 
actions, the rest to all things." "Like all 
other .simple ideas, they are undefinable." 

It is needless to pursue this theory farther, 
till an answer be given to the observation 
made before, that as no perception or judg- 
ment, or other unmi.\ed act of Understand- 
ing, merely as such, and without the agency 
of some intermediate emotion, can affect the 
Will, the account given by Dr. Price of per- 
ceptions or judgments respecting moral sub- 
jects, does not advance one step towards the 
explanation of the authority of Conscience 
over the Will, which is the matter to be ex- 
plained. Indeed, this respectable writer felt 
the difficulty so much as to allow, " that in 
contemplating the acts of moral agents, we 
have both a perception of the understanding 
and a feeling of the heart." He even ad- 
mits, that it would have been highly perni- 
cious to us if our reason had been left with- 
out such support. But he has not shown 
how, on such a supposition, we could have 
acted on a mere opinion ; nor has he given 



* Born, 17-23; died, 1791. 
t The third edition was published at London in 
1787. 



any proof that what he calls "support" is 
not, in truth, the whole of what directly pro- 
duces the conformity of voluntary acts to Mo- 
rality.* 

DAVID HARTLEY.f 

The work of Dr. Hartley, entitled '-'Obser- 
vations on Man."t is distinguished by an un- 
common union of originality with modest)', 
in unfolding a simple and fruitful principle 
of human nature. It is disfigured by the 
absurd affectation of mathematical forms 
then prevalent ; and it is encumbered and 
deformed by a mass of physiological specu- 
lations, — groundless, or at best uncertain, 
and wholly foreign irom its proper purpose, 
— which repel the inquirer into mental phi- 
losophy from its perusal, and lessen the re- 
spect of the physiologist for the author's 
judgment. It is an unfortunate example of 
the disposition predominent among undis- 
tinguishing theorists to class together all the 
appearances which are observed at the same 
time, and in the immediate neighbourhood 
of each other. At that period, chemical 
phenomena were referred to mechanical 
principles) vegetable and animal life were 
subjected to mechanical or chemical laws: 
and white some physiologists^ ascribed the 
vital fnnctions of the Understandir.g, the 
greater part of metaphysicians were dispos- 
ed, with a grosser confusion, to derive the 
intellectual operations from bodily causes. 
The error in the latter case, though less im- 
mediately perceptible, is deeper and more 
fundamental than in the other; since it ovei-- 
looks the primordial and perpetual distinc- 
tion between the being which thinJcs and the 
thing u'hich is thought of, — not to be lost 
sight of, by the mind's eye, even for a twink- 
ling, without involving all nature in darkness 
and confusion. Hartley and Condillac.H who, 
much about the same time, but seemingly 
without any knowledge of each other's spe- 
culations, IT began in a very similar mode to 

* The following sentences will illuslrale the 
te.xt, and are in truth applicable to all moral theo- 
ries on merely intellectual principles: "Reason 
alone, did we possess it in a higher degree, would 
answer all the ends of the passions. Thus there 
would be no need of parental affection, were all 
parents sufficiently acquainted with the reasons 
for taking upon them the guidance and support of 
those whom Nature has placed under their care, 
a?id luere they virtuous enough to be alwai/s deter- 
mined by those reasons." — Review, p. 121. A 
very slight consideration will show, that without 
the last words the {ireceding part would be utterly 
false, and with them it is utterly insignificant. 

t Born, 1705 ; died, 1757. 

i London, 1749. 

§ Among them was G. E. Stahl, born, 1660: 
died, 1734 ; — a German physician and chemist of 
deserved eminence. 

II Born, 1715; died, 1780. 

V Traite sur rOrioine des Connoissances Hn- 
maines, 1746 ; Traite des Syslemes, 1749 ; Traile 
des Sensations, 1754. Foreign books were then 
little and slowly known in England. Ilartley's 
reading, except on ihcolo^y, seems confined lo i lie 
physical and mathematical sciences : and his wliole 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



147 



simplify, bat also to mutilate the system of 
Locke, stopped short of what is called "ma- 
terialism," which consummates the con- 
fusion, but touched the threshold. Thither, 
it must be owned, their philosophy pointed, 
and thither their followers proceeded. Hart- 
ley and Bonnet.* still more than Condillac, 
fiuffered themselves, like most of their con- 
temporaries, to overlook the important trutli, 
that all the changes in the or,gans which can 
be likened to other material phenomena, are 
nothing more than antecedents and prerequi- 
sites of perception^ bearing not the faintest 
likeness to it, — as much outward in relation 
to the thinking principle, as if they occurred 
in any other part of matter; and that the 
-entire corapreheiifion of those changes, if it 
were attained, would not bring ^us a step 
Clearer to the nature of thought. They who 
ivould have been the first to e.\claim against 
the mistake of a sound for a colour, fell into 
the more unspeakable errcr of confounding 
the perception of objects, as outward, witii 
the consciousness cf our own mental opera- 
tions. Locke'f^ dojctrijje, that "reflection" 
was a separate source of ideas, left room for 
this greatest of all distinctions; though with 
much unhappiness of expression, and with 
no little variance from the course of his own 
speculations. Hartley, Cent[i]ia<;, ,and Bon- 
net, in Jhewing away this seeming deformity 
(from the system of their master, unwittingly 
struck off the part of the building which, 
however unsightly, ,ga;/e it the power of 
yielding«ome shelter and guard to truths, of 
ivhieh the exclusion rendej-ed it .utterly un- 
tenable- They became consistent Nominal- 
ists; in reference to who.se controversy Locke 
■expresses him.self with confusion and contra- 
diction : but on this subject they added no- 
thing to what had been taught by Hobbes 
.and Berkeley. Both Hartley and Condillact 
have the merit of having been .unscduced by 
the temptations either of scepticism, or of 
useless idealism; which,even if Berkeley and 
Hume could hav.e been unknown to them, 
must have been within sight. Both agree in 
referring all the intellectual operations to the 
^'association of ideas," and in representing 
that association as reducible to the single law, 
"that ideas which enter the mind at the same 
time, acquire a tendency to call up each other, 
which is in direct proportion to the frequcn- 

manner of thinking and writing is so different from 
that of Condillac, that there is not the least reason 
to suppose the work of the one to have been 
linovy,n to the other. Tlie work of Hartley, as we 
iearn from the eketch of his life by his son, pre- 
fixed to the edition of 17.91, was begun in 1730, 
and finished in 174fi. 

* Born, 1720; died, 1793. 

t The foUosving note of Condillac will show 
how much he differed from Hartley in his mode of 
considering the Newtonian hypothesis of vibra- 
tions, and how far he was in that respect superior to 
him. " Je suppose ici el ailleurs que ies percep- 
tions de Tame ont pour cause physique Tebranle- 
ment des fibres du cerveau ; non que je Tcf>arde 
Cette hypothese comme demoiilric, mais jiarcequ'elle 
est. la plus commode pour expliqaer ma pensee." — 
(Euvres de Condillac, Paris, n98, i. 60. 



cy of their having entered together." In 
this important part of iheir doctrine they 
seem, whether unconsciously or others ise, 
to have only repeated, and very much ex- 
panded, the opijiion of Hobbes.* In iis sim- 
plicity it is more agreeable than the system 
of Mr. Hume, who admitted five independent 
laws of association ; and it is in comprehen- 
sion far superior to the views of the same 
subject by Mr. Locke, ^hose ill-chosen name 
still retains its place in our nomenclature, 
but who only appeals to the principle as ex- 
plaining som.e fancies and whimsies of the 
human mind. The capital fault of Hartley 
is that of a rash generalization, which may 
prove imperfect, and which is at least pre- 
mature. All attempts to explain itistLnct by 
this principle have hitherto been unavailing : 
many of the most important jirocesses of 
reasoning have not hitherto been .accounted 
for by it.t It would appear by a close ex- 
amination, tliat OtV'en this theory, simple as 
ii appears, presupposes many facts relating to 
the mind, of which its aulhors do not seem 
to have suspected the existence. How many 
ultimate facts of that nature, for example, 
are contained and involved in Aristotle's 
celebrated comparison of the mind in its first 
state to a sheet .of iin written paper:! j The 
texture of the paper, even its colour, the sort 
of instrument fit to act on it, its capacity to 
receive and to retain impressions, all its dif- 
ferences, from steel on the one hand to w ater 
on the other., certainly presuppose some facts, 
and may imply many, without a distinct 
statement of which, the nature of writing 
could not be explained to a person wholly 
ignorant of it. How many more, as well as 
greater laws, may be necessary to enable 
mind to perceive outward objects I If the 
power of perception may be thus depend- 
ent, why may not what is called the "asso- 
ciation of idea.s," the attraction between 
thoughts, the power of one to suggest ano- 
ther, be affected by mental laws hitherto 
unexplored, perhaps unobserved 1 

But, to return from this digression into the 
intellectual part of man, it becomes proper 
to say, that the difference between Hartley 
and Condillac, and the immeasurable supe- 
riority of the former, are chiefly to be found 
in the application which Hartley first made 
of the law of association to that other un- 
named portion of our nature with which 
Morality more immediately deals; — that 
which feels pain and pleasure. — is influ- 
enced by appetites and loathings, by desires 
and aversion.'', by affections and repugnances. 
Condillac's Treatise on Sensation, published 
five years after the work of Hartley, repio- 



* Human Nature, chap. iv. v. vi. For more 
ancient statements, see Note T. 

T " Ce que Ies logiciens ont dit dcs raisonne- 
ments dans bien des volumes, me paroit wiiiere- 
ment superflu, et de nul usage." — Condillac, i. 
115; an assertion of wiiicli the gross al'suniiiy 
will be apparent to the readers of Dr. U'hateley'a 
Treatise on Logic, one of the most imporiajit 
works of the present age. 

t See Note U. 



148 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



duces the doctrine of Hobbes, with ita root, 
namely, that love and hope are but trans- 
formed "sensations,"* (by which he means 
perceptions of the senses,) and its wide- 
spread branches, consisting in desires and 
passions, which are only modifications of 
self-love. '-The words 'goodness' and 'beau- 
ty/ " says he, almost in the very words of 
Hobbes, " express those qualities of things 
by which they contribute to our pleasure."! 
Iji the whole of his philosophical works, we 
find no trace of any desire produced by as- 
sociation, of any disinterested principle, or 
indeed of any distinction between the per- 
cipient and what, perhaps, sve may venture 
to call the emotive or the pathematic part of 
human nature, for the present, until some 
more convenient and agreeable name shall 
be hit on by some luckier or more skilful 
adventurer. 

To the ingenuous, humble, and anxiously 
conscientious character of Hartley himself, 
we owe the knowledge that, about the year 
1730, he was informed that the Rev. Mr. 
Gay of Sidney-Sussex College, Cambridge, 
then living in the west of England, asserted 
the possibility of deducing all our intellectual 
pleasures and pains from association ; that 
this led him (Hartley) to consider the power 
of association ; and that about that time Mr. 
Gay published his sentiments on this matter 
in a dissertation prefixed to Bishop Law's 
Translation of King's Origin of Evil.t No 
writer deserves the praise of abundant fair- 
ness more than Hartley in this avowal. The 
dissertation of which he speaks is mentioned 
by no philosopher but himself. It suggested 
nothing apparently to any other reader. The 
general texture of it is that of homespun sel- 
fishness. The writer had the merit to see 
and to own that Hutcheson had established 
as a fact the reality of moral sentiments and 
disinterested aff'ections. He blames, per- 
haps justly, "that most ingenious man,§ for 

* Condillac, iii. 21 ; more especially Traiic des 
Sensations, part ii. chap. vi. "Its love for out- 
ward objects is only an effect of love for itself." 

t Traii6 des«Sensalions, part iv. chap. iii. 

t Hartley's preface to the Observations on Man. 
The word "intellectual" is too narrow. Even 
" mental" would be of very doubtful propriety. 
The theory in its full extent requires a word such 
as "inorganic" (if no better can be discovered), 
extending to all gratification, not distinctly referred 
to some specific organ, or at least to some assign- 
able part of the bodily frame. 

^ It has not been mentioned in its proper place, 
that Hutcheson appears nowhere to greater ad- 
vantage than in some letters on the Fable of the 
Bees, published when he was very young, at Dub- 
lin, with the signature of " Hibernicus." " Pri- 
vate vices — public benefits," says he, " may sig- 
nify any one of these five distinct propositions : 
1st. They are in themselves public benefits; or, 
2d. They naturally produce public happiness ; or, 
3d. They may be made to produce it ; or, 4th. 
They may naturally flow from it ; or, 5th. At 
least they may probably flow from it in our infirm 
nature." See a small volume containirig Thoughts 
on Laughter, and Remarks on the Fable of the 
Bees, Glasgow, 1758, in which these letters are 
republished. 



assuming that these sentiments and affec- 
tions are implanted, &nd partake of the na- 
ture of instincts. The object of his disserta- 
tion is to reconcile the mental appeaiances 
described by Hutcheson with the first princi- 
ple of the selfish system, that " the true priii • 
ciple of all our actions is our own happiness." 
JNIoral feelings and social affections are, ac- 
cording to him, "resolvable into reason, 
pointing out our private happiness; and 
tvhenever this end is not perceived, they are 
to be accounted for from the association of 
ideas." Even in the single passage in which 
he shows a glimpse of the truth, he begins 
with confusion, advances with hesitation, and 
after holding in his grasp for an instant the 
principle which sheds so strong a light around 
it, suddenly drops it from his hand. Instead 
of receiving the statements of Hutcheson 
(his silence relating to Butler is unaccounta- 
ble) as enlargements of the science of man, 
he deals with them merely as difficulties to 
be reconciled with the received system of 
universal selfishness. In the conclusion of 
his fourth section, he well exemplifies the 
power of association in forming the love of 
money, of fame, of power, &c. ; but he still 
treats these effects of association as aberra- 
tions and infirmities, the fruits of our forget- 
fulness and shortsightedness, and not at all 
as the great process employed to sow and 
rear the most important principles of a social 
and moral nature. 

This precious mine may therefore be truly 
said to have been opened by Hartley ; for he 
who did such superabundant justice to the 
hints of Gay, would assuredly not have 
withheld the like tribute from Hutcheson, 
had he observed the happy expression of 
"secondary passions," which ought to have 
led that philosopher himself farther than he 
ventured to advance. The extraordinary 
value of this part of Hartley's system has 
been hidden by various causes, which have 
also enabled writers, who have borrowed 
from it, to decry it. The influence of his 
medical habits renders many of his exam- 
ples displeasing, and sometimes disgusting. 
He has none of that knowledge of the world, 
of that familiarity with Literature, of that 
delicate perception of the beauties of Nature 
and Art, which not only supply the most 
agreeable illustrations of mental philosophy, 
but afford the most obvious and striking in- 
stances of its happy application to subjects 
generally interesting. His particular appli- 
cations of the general law are often mistaken, 
and are seldom more than brief notes and 
hasty suggestions; — the germs of theories 
which, while some might adopt them with- 
out detection, others might discover without 
being aware that they were anticipated.— 
To which it may be added, that in spite m 
the imposing forms of Geometry, the work 
is not really distinguished by good method, 
or even uniform adherence to that which had 
been chosen. His style is entitled to no 
praise but that of clearness, and a simplicity 
of diction, through which is visible a singu- 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



149 



lar simplicity of mind. No book perhaps 
exists which, with so few of the common 
allurements, comes at last so much to please 
by the picture it presents of the writer's cha- 
racter, — a character which kept him pure 
from the pursuit, often from the conscious- 
ness of novelty, and rendered him a discove- 
rer in spite of his own modesty. In those 
singular passa<^es in which, amidst the pro- 
found internal tranquillity of all the Euro- 
pean nations, he foretells approaching con- 
vulsions, to be followed by the overthrow of 
states and Churches, his quiet and gentle 
spirit, elsewhere almost ready to inculcate 
passive obedience for the sake of peace, is 
supported under its awful forebodings by the 
hope of that general progress in virtue and 
happiness which lie saw through the prepa- 
ratory confusion. A meek piety, inclining 
towards mysticism, and sometimes indulg- 
ing in visions which borrow a lustre from his 
fervid benevolence, was beautifully, and per- 
haps singularly, blended in him with zeal 
for the mast unbounded freedom of inquiry, 
flowing both from his own conscientious be- 
lief and his unmingled love of Truth. Who- 
ever can so far subdue his repugnance to 
petty or secondary faults as to bestow a care- 
ful perusal on the work, must be unfortunate 
if he does not see, feel, and own, that the 
wn'iter was a great philosopher and a good 
man. 

To those who thus study the work, it will 
be apparent that Hartley, like other philoso- 
phers, either overlooked or failed explicitly 
to announce that distinction between per- 
ception and emotion, without which no sys- 
tem of mental philosophy is complete. — 
Hence arose the partial and incomplete view 
of Truth conveyed by the use of the phrase 
"association of ideas." If the word '-asso- 
ciation," which rather indicates the connec- 
tion between separate things than the perfect 
combination and fusion which occur in many 
operations of ihe mind, must, notwithstand- 
ing its inadequacy, still be retained, the 
phrase ought at least to be "association" of 
thoughts ivith C7iioiions, as well as ivith each 
other. With that enlargement an objection 
to the Hartieian doctrine would have been 
avoided, and its originality, as well as supe- 
riority over that of Condillac, would have 
appeared indisputable. The examples' of 
avarice and other factitious passions are very 
well chosen ; first, because few will be found 
to suppose that they are original principles 
of human nature;* secondly, because the 
process by which they are generated, being 
subsequent to the age of attention and recol- 
Jection, may be brought home to the under- 
standing of all men ; and, thirdly, because 

"^ A very ingenious man, Lord Karnes, whose 
works had a great effect in rousing the mind of 
{lis contemporaries and connirymen, has indeed 
fancied that there is " a hoarding insiinct" in man 
and oiher animals. But sucli conchisjons arc not 
so much olijects of confutation, as ludicrous proofs 
of the absurdity of the premises which lead to 
thetn. 



they afford the most striking instance of se- 
condary passions, which not only become in- 
dependent of the primary principles from 
which they are derived, but hostile to them, 
and so superior in strength as to be capable 
of overpowering their parents. As soon as 
the mind becomes familiar with the frequent 
case of the man who first pursued money to 
purchase pleasure, but at last, when he be- 
comes a miser, loves his hoard better than 
all that it could purchase, and sacritices all 
pleasures for its increase, we are prepared 
to admit that, by a like process, the affec- 
tions, when they are fixed on the happiness 
of others as their ultimate object, without 
any reflection on self, may not only be per- 
fectly detached from self-regard or private 
desires, but may subdue these and every 
other antagonist passion which can stand in 
their way. As the miser loves money for 
its own sake, so may the benevolent mau 
delight in the well-being of his fellows. His 
good-will becomes as disinterested as if it 
had been implanted and underived. The 
like process applied to what is called •' self- 
love," or the desire of permanent well-beiiig, 
clearly explains the mode in which that priti- 
ciple is gradually formed from the separate 
appetites, without whose previous existence 
no notion of w-ell-being could be obtained. — 
la like manner, sympathy, perhaps itself the 
result of a transfer of our own personal feel- 
ings by association to other sentient beings, 
and of a subsequent transfer of their feelings 
to our own minds, engenders the various so- 
cial afTections, which at last generate in 
most minds some regard to the well-beihg 
of our country, of mankind, of all creatures 
capable of pleasure. Rational Self-love con- 
trols and guides those far keener self-regard- 
ing passions of which it is the child, in the 
same manner as general benevolence balan- 
ces and governs the variety of much warmer 
social affections from which it springs. It is 
an ancient and obstinate error of philosophers 
to represent these two calm principles as be- 
ing the source of the impelling passions and 
affections, instead of being among the last 
results of them. Each of them exercises a 
sort of authority in its sphere; but the do- 
minion of neither is co-existent with the 
whole nature of man. Though they have 
the power to quicken and check, the)^ are 
both too feeble to impel; and if the primary 
principles were extinguished, they would 
both perish from want of nourishment. If 
indeed all appetites and desires were de- 
stroyed, no subject would exist on which 
either of these general principles could act. 

The affections, desires, and emotions, 
having for their ultimate object the disposi- 
tions and actions of voluntary agents, which 
alone, from the nature of their object, are 
co-extensive with the whole of our active 
nature, are, according to the same philoso- 
phy, necessarily formed in' every human 
mind by the transfer of feeling which is ef 
fected by the principle of Association, Gra- 
titude, pity, resentment, and shame, seem to 
n2 



150 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



be the simplest, the most active, and the ' great, may be gnardecf against by the feno? 
most uniform elements in their composition, of punishment. In the observation of the 
It is easy to perceive how the complacency roles of justice consists duty; breaches of 
inspired by a benefit maybe transferreil to a them we denominate '■'■ crimes.'^ An abhor- 
benefactor, — thence to all beneficent beings rence of crimes, especially of those which 
and acts. Th« well-cliosen instance of the indicate the absence of benevolence, as well 
nurse familiarly exemplifies the manner iu as of regard for justice, is s^rongly felt* be- 
which the child transfers his complacency canse well-framed penal laws, being tlve 
from the gmtification of his senses to the lasting declaration of the moral indignation 
canse of it, and thus learns an affeclion for of many generations of mankind, as long as 
her who is^ the source of his enjoyment. — they remain in unison with the sentiment.s- 
With this sin^pk"? process concur, in th-e ease ! of tl"je age and country for which they are' 
of a tender nnrse, and far more of a mother, 'destined, exceedingly strengthen tlie same 
a thousand acts of relief and endearment, the feeling in ererj' individual j and this they do 
complacency that resnlts from which is fixed \ wherever the laws do not so much deviate 
on the perso[\ from whom the}- flow, and in I from the habitual feelings of the multitude 
some degree e.\tended by association to all 
who resemble that person. So much of the 
pleasure of early life depends on others, that 
t!ie like process is almost constantly repeatecK 
Hence the origin of benevolence may be un- 
derstood, and the disposition to approve all 



as to produce a struggle between law and 
sentiment, in which it is hard to say on 
which side success is most deplorable. A 
man who performs his duties may be es- 
teemed, but is not admired ; because it 
requires no more than ordinary virtue to act 
benevolent, and disapprove all malevolent I well where it is shameful and dangerous to do 
acts. Hence also the same approbatioii and otherwise. The righteousness of tliose who 
disapprobation areextended toall acts which act solely from such inferior motives, is little 
we clearly perceive to promote or obstruct better than that "of the Scribes and Phari 



the happiness of men. When the compla- 
cency is expressed in action, benevolence 
may be saici to be transformed into a part of 
Conscience. The rise of sympathy may pro- 
bably be explained by the process of associ- 



sees." Those only are just in the eye of the 
moralist wlio act jwstly from a constant dis- 
position to render to every man his own.* 
Acts of kindness, of generosity, of pity, of 
placability, of humanity, when they are 



atlon. which transfers" the feeling's of others long continued, can hardly fail mainly to 
to ourselves^ and ascribes onrown feelings to ^ flow from the pure fountain of an excellent 
others, — at first, and in some degree always, ! nature. They are not reducible to rules; 
in proportion as the resemblance of ourselves [ and the attempt to enforce them by punish- 
to others is conTplete. The likeness in the ' ment would destroy them. Ihey are virtiie<^, 
outward signs of emotion is one of the widest | of which the essence eonsists in a good dis- 
channels in this commetTe of hearts. Pity position of mind. 



thereby becomes one of the gi-and sources of 
benevolence, and perhaps contributes more 
largely than gratitude: it is indeed one of 
the lirst motives to the conferring of tlwse 
benefits which inspire gratefnl affection. — 
Sympathy with the sufferer, therefore, is 



As we gradually transfer our desire froni 
praise to praiseworthiness, this principle also 
IS adopted into consciousness. On the other 
hand, when we are led by association to fee! 
a painful contempt for those feelings aiiJ 
actions of our p;ist self which we despise ii> 



also transformed into a real sentiment, di- others, there is developed in our hearts an- 
rectly approving benevolent actions and dis- other element of that moral sense. It is a 
positions, and more remotely, all actions that i remarkable instance of the power of the 
piotnote happiness. The aiigerof the sufler- I law of Association, that the contempt or ab- 
er. lirst against all causes of jxiin, afterwards horreuce which we feel for the bad actions 
a:z;iinst all intentional agents who produce it, of others may be transferred by it, in any 
and finally airainst all those in whom the in- degree of strength, to our own past actions 
fliction of pain proceeds from a mischievous of the like kind: and as the hatred of had 
disposition, when it iscommunicated toothers actions is transferred to the agent, the same 
by sympalhv, and is so far purified by gra- I transfer may occur in our own case in a 
dnal separation from selfish and individual I manner perfectly similar to that of which 
interest as to be equally felt against all wrong- | we are conscious in our feelings towards our 
Joers, — whether the wrong be done against i fellow-creatures. There are many causes 
ourselves, our friends, or our enemies. — is ' which render it generally feebler ; but it is 



the root out of which springs that which is 
commonly and well called a " sense of jus- 
tice"' — the most indispensable, perhaps, of 
all the component parts of the moral facul- 
ties. 

This is the main guard against Wrong. 
It relates to that portion of Morality where 
many of the outward acts are capable of 
being reduced under certain rules, of which 
the violations, wherever the rule is suffi- 
ciently precise, and the mischief sufficiently 



perfectly evident that it requires no more 
than a suflicient strength of moral feeling 
to make it equal ; and that the most appa- 
rently hyperbolical language used by jxnii- 



* " Jiisiiiia est consians et perpetua voluntas 
snnm cuique tribuendi:" an excellent definiiion 
in the mouili ol the Stoical moralists, from whom 
it is liorrowod. but altogether luispiaced by the 
Roman jurists in a body of laws which deal only 
with outward acts in their relation to '.he order 
and interests of society. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



151 



tents, in describing their remorse, may be 
justified by the .principle of Association. 

At this step in our progress, it is proper to 
observe, that a most important consideration 
has escaped Hartley, as well as every other 
philosopher.* The language of all mankind 
implies that the Moral Faculty, whatever it 
may be. and from what origin soever it may 
spring, is intelligibly and properly spoken of 
as One. It is as common in mind, as in 
matter, for a compound to have properties 
not to be found in any of its constituent 
parts. The truth of this proposition is as 
certain in the human feelings as in any ma- 
terial combination. It is therefore easily to 
be uijderstood, that originally separate feel- 
ings may be so perfectly blended by a pro- 
cess performed in each mind, that they can 
no longer be disjoined from each other, but 
must always co-opei-ate, and thus reach the 
only union which we can conceive. The' 
sentiment of moral approbation, formed by 
association out of antecedent aflcctions, may 
become so perfectly independent of them, 
that we are no longer conscious of the means 
by which it was formed, and never can in 
practice repeat, though we ma)' in theory 
perceive, the process by which it was gene- 
rated. It is in that mature and sound stale 
of our nature that our emotions at the view 
of Right and Wrong are ascribed to Con- 
science. But why, it may be asked, do 
these feelings, rather than other.'!, run into 
each other, and constitute Conscience 1 The 
answer seems to be what has already been 
intimated in the observations on Butler. The 
affinity between these feelings consists in 
this, that while all other feelings relate to 
outward objects, they aJone contemplate ex- 
clusively the dispositions and actions of volun- 
tary agents. When they are completely 
transferred from objects, and even persons, 
to dispositions and actions, they are fitted, 
by the perfect coincidence of their aim. for 
combining to form that one faculty which is 
directed only to tluit aim. 

The words '-Duty" and "Virtue," and the 
word "otight," which most perfectly denotes 
duty, but is also connected with Virtue, in 
every well-eonstituted mind, in this state be- 
come the fit language of the acquired, per- 
haps, but universally and necessarily ac- 
quired, faculty of Conscience. Some account 
of its peculiar nature has been attempted in 
the remarks on Butler; for a further one a 
fitter oecasicn will occur hereafter. Some 
hght may however now be thrown on the 
subject by a short statement of the hitherto 
unobserved distinction between the moral 
bentiments and another class of feelings 
with which they have some qualities in 
common. The "pleasures" (so called) of 
imagination appear, at least in most cases, 
to originate in association : but it is not till 
the original cause of the gratification is ob- 
literated from the mind, that they acquire 
their proper character. Order and propor- 

* See supra, section on Butler. 



tion may be at first chosen for their conve- 
nience: it is not until they are admired for 
their own sake that they become objicls of 
taste. Though all the proportions for which 
a horse is valued may be indications of 
speed, safety, strength, and health, it is not 
the less true that ihey only can be said to 
admire the animal for his beauty, who leave 
such considerations out of the account while 
they admire. The pleasure of contempla- 
tion in these particulars of Nature and Art 
becomes universal and immediate, being 
entirely detached from all regaril to indi- 
vidual beings. It contemplates neither use 
nor interest. In this important particular 
the pleasures of imagination agree with the 
moral sentiments : hence the application of 
the same language to both in ancient and 
modern times ; — hence also it arises that they 
may contemplate the very same qualities and 
objects. There is certainly much beauty in 
the softer virtues, — much grandeur in the 
soul,of a hero or a martyr: but the essential 
distinction still remains; the purest moral 
taste contemplates these qualities only with 

?uiesccnt delight or reverence ; it has no 
urlher view ; it points towards no action. 
Con.science, on the contrary, containing in it 
a pleasure in the prospect of doing right, 
and an ardent desire to act well, having for 
its sole object the dispositions and acts of 
voluntary agents, is not, like moral taste, sa- 
tisfied with passive contemplation, but con- 
stantly tends to act on the will and conduct 
of the man. Moral taste may aid if, may 
be absorbed into it, and usually contributes 
its part to the formation of the moral faculty; 
but it is distinct from that faculty, and may 
be disproportioned to it. Conscience, being 
by its nature confined to mental dispositions 
and voluntary acts, is of necessity excluded 
from the ordinary consideration of all things 
antecedent to these dispositions. The cir- 
cumstances from which such states of mind 
may arise, are most important objects of 
consideration for the Understanding; but 
they are without the sphere of Conscience, 
which never ascends beyond the heart of 
tlie man. It is thus that in the eye of Con- 
science man becomes amenable to its autho- 
rity for all his inclinations as well as deeds; 
that some of them are approved, loved, and 
revered ; and that all the outward efl'ects of 
disesteem, contempt, or moral anger, are 
felt to be the just lot of others. 

But, to return to Hartley, from this per- 
haps intrusive statement of what does not 
properly belong to him : he represents all 
the social affections of gratitude, veneration, 
and love, inspired by the virtues of our fel- 
low-men, as capable of being transferred 
by association to the transcendent and un- 
mingled goodness of the Ruler of the world, 
and thus to give rise to piety, to which he 
gives the name of " the iheopalhetic affec- 
tion." This principle, like all the former in 
the mental series, is gradually detached fioni 
the trunk on which it grew : it takes sepa- 
rate root^ and may altogether overshadow 



352 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



the parent stock. As such a Being cannot 
be conceived without the most perfect and 
constant reference to His goodness, so piety 
may not only become a part of Conscience, 
but its governing and animating principle, 
■which, after long lending its own energy and 
authority to every other, is at last described 
by our philosopher as swallowing up all of 
them in order to perform the same functions 
more infallibly. 

In every stage of this progress we are 
taught by Dr. Hartley that a new product 
appears, which becomes perfectly distinct 
from the elements which formed it, which 
may be utterly dissimilar to them, and may 
attain any degree of vigour, however superior 
to theirs. Thus the objects of the private 
desires disappear when we are employed 
in the pursuit of our lasting welfare; that 
which was first sought only as a means, 
may come to be pursueil as an end, and pre- 
ferred to the original end ; the good opinion 
of our fellows becomes more valued than 
the benefits for which it was at first courted ; 
a man is ready to sacrifice his life for him 
who has shown generosity, even to others ; 
and persons otherwise of common character 
are capable of cheerfully marching in a for- 
lorn hope, or of almost instinctively leaping 
into the sea to save the life of an entire 
stranger. These last acts, often of almost 
unconscious virtue, so familiar to the soldier 
and the sailor, so unaccountable on certain 
systems of philosophy, often occur without 
a thought of applause and reward ; — too 
quickly for the thought of the latter, too ob- 
scurely for the hope of the former; and they 
are of such a nature that no man could be 
impelled to them by the mere expectation 
of either. 

The gratitude, sympathy, resentment, and 
shame, which are the principal constituent 
parts of the Moral Sense, thus lose their 
separate agency, and constitute an entirely 
new faculty, co-extensive with all the dis- 
positions and actions of voluntary agents ; 
though some of them are more predominant 
in particular cases of moral sentiment than 
others, and though the aid of all continues to 
be necessary in their original character, as 
subordinate but distinct motives of action. 
Nothing more evidently points out the dis- 
tinction of the Hartleian system from all sys- 
• tems called " selfish," — not to say its .superi- 
ority in respect to disinterestedness over all 
moral systems before Butler and Hutcheson, 
— than that excellent part of it which relates 
to the '■'■ rule of life." The various principles 
of human action rise in value according to 
the order in which they spring up after each 
other. We can then only be in a state of 
as much enjoyment as we are evidently ca- 
pable of attaining, when we prefer interest 
to the original gratifications; honour to in- 
terest ; the pleasures of imagination to those 
of sense ; the dictates of Conscience to plea- 
sure, interest, and reputation; the well-being 
of fellow-creatures to our own indulgences ; 
in a word, when we pursue moral good and 



social happiness chiefly and for their own 
sake. "With self-interest,"" says Hartley, 
somewhat inaccurately in language, "man 
must begin. He may end in sell-annihila- 
tion. Theopathy, or piety, although the last 
result of the purified and exalted sentiments, 
may at length swallow up every other prin- 
ciple, and absorb the whole man." Even if 
this last doctrine should be an exaggeration 
unsuited to our present condition, it will the 
more strongly illustrate the compatibility, or 
rather the necessary connection, of this theo- 
ry with the existence and power of perfectly 
disinterested principles of human action. 

It is needless to remark on the secondary 
and af«2"27?ari/ causes which contribute to the 
formation of moral sentiment; — education, 
imitation, general opinion, lav.s. and govern- 
ment. They all presuppose the Moral Facul- 
ty : in an improved state of society they con- 
tribute powerfully to strengthen it, and on 
some occasions they enfeeble, distort, and 
maim it ; but in all cases they must them- 
selves be tried by the lest of an ethical stand- 
ard. The value of this doctrine will not be 
essentially aflected by supposing a greater 
number of original principles than tho.se as- 
sumed by Dr. Hartley. The principle of As- 
sociation applies as much to a greater as to a 
smaller number. It is a quality common to 
it with all theories, that the more simplicity 
it reaches consistently with truth, the more 
perfect it becomes. Causes are not to be 
multiplied without necessity. If by a con- 
siderable multiplication of primary desires 
the law of Association were lowered nearly 
to the level of an auxiliary agent, the philo- 
soph)- of human nature would still be under 
indelible obligations to the philosopher who. 
by his fortunate error, rendered the ifnport- 
ance of that great principle obvious and 
conspicuous. 

ABRAHAM TUCKER.* 

It has been the remarkable fortune of this 
writer to have been more prized and more 
disregarded by the cultivators of moral specu- 
lation, than perhaps any other philosopher.t 
He had many of the qualities which might 
be expected in anafiiuent country gentleman, 
living in a privacy undisturbed by political 
zeal, and with a leisure unbroken by the 
calls of a profession, at a time when Eng- 
land had not entirely renounced her old taste 
for metaphysical speculation. He was natu- 
rally endowed, not indeed with more than or» 



* Born, 1705; died, 1774. 

t "I have found in this writer more original 
thinking and observation upon the several subjects 
that he has taken in hand than in any other, — not 
to say than in all others put together. His talent 
also for illustration is unrivalled." — Paley, Pre- 
face to Moral and Political Philosophy. See the 
excellent preface to an abridgment, by Mr. Has- 
litt, of Tucker's work, published in London in 
1807. May I venture to refer also to my own 
Discourse on the Law of Nature and Nations, 
London, 1799? Mr. Stewart treats Tucker and 
Hartley with unwonted harshness. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



153 



dinary acuteness or sensibility, nor with a 
high degree of reach and range of mind, but 
with a singular capacity for careful observa- 
-tion and original reflection, and with a fancy 
perhaps unmatched in producing various and 
happy illustration. The most observable 
of his moral qualities appear to have been 
prudence and cheerfulness, good-nature and 
easy temper. The influence of his situatic^i 
and character is visible in his writings. In- 
dulging his own tastes and fancies, like most 
English squires of his time, he became, like 
many of them, a sort of humourist. Hence 
much of his originality and independence ; 
hence the boldness with which he openly 
employs illustrations from homely objects. 
He wrote to please himself more than the 
public. He had too little regard for readers, 
either to sacrifice his sincerity to them, or to 
curb his own prolixity, repetition, and ego- 
tism, from the fear of fatiguing them. Hence 
he became ns loose, as rambling, and as 
much an egotist as Montaigne ; but not so 
agreeably so, notwithstanding a considerable 
resemblance of genius ; because he wrote on 
subjects where disorder and egotism are un- 
seasonable, and for readers whom they dis- 
turb instead of amusing. His prolixity at 
last so increased itself, when his work be- 
came long, that repetition in the latter parts 
partly arose from forgetfulness of the former ; 
and though his freedom from slavish defer- 
ence to general opinion is very commenda- 
ble, it must be owned, that his want of a 
wholesome fear of the public renders the 
perusal of a work which is extremely inter- 
esting, and even amusing in most of its parts, 
on the whole a laborious task. He was by 
early education a believer in Christianity, if 
not by natural character religious. His calm 
good sense and accommodaling temper led 
him rather to explain established doctrines 
in a manner agreeable to his philosophy, than 
to assail them. Hence he was represented 
as a time-server by freethinkers, and as a 
heretic by the orthodox.* Living in a coun- 
try where the secure tranquillit)'^ flowing 
from the Revolution was gradually drawing 
forth all mental activity towards practical 
pursuits and outward objects, he hastened 
from the rudiments of mental and moral 
philosophy, to those branches of it which 
touch the' business of men.t Had he recast 
without changing his thoughts, — had he de- 
tached those ethical observations for which 
he had so peculiar a vocation, from the dis- 
putes of his country and his day, he might 

* This disposition to compromise and accommo- 
dation, winch is discoverable in Paley, was carried 
to its utmost length by Mr. Hey, a man of much 
acuteness, Professor of Divinity at Cambridge. 

t Perhaps no philosopher ever stated more just- 
ly, more naturally, or more modestly than Tucker, 
the ruling maxim of his life. " My thoughts," 
Bays he, " have taken a turn from my earliest 
youth towards searching into the foundations and 
measures of Right and Wrong; my love for re- 
tirement has furnished me with continual leisure ; 
and the exercise of my reason has been my daily 
eraploymeai." 

20 



have thrown many of his chapters into their 
proper form of essays, and these might have 
been compared, though not likened, to those 
of Hume. But the country gentleman, philo- 
sophic as he was, had too much fondness for 
his own humours to engage in a course of 
drudgery and defeience. It may, however, 
be confidently added, on the authority of all 
those who have fairly made the experimentj 
that whoever, unfettered by a previous sys- 
tem, undertakes the labour necessary to dis- 
cover and relish the high excellences of this 
metaphysical Montaigne, will find his toil 
lightened as he proceeds, by a gi'o\^ ing in- 
dulgence, if not partiality, for the foibles of 
the humourist, and at last rewarded, in a 
greater degree perhaps than by any other 
writer on mixed and applied philosophy, by 
being led to commanding stations and new 
points of view, whence the mind of a moralist 
can hardly fail to catch some fresh prospects 
of Nature and duty. 

It is in mixed, not in pure philosophy, that 
his superiority consists. In the part of his 
work which relates to the Intellect, he has 
adopted much from Hartley, hiding but ag- 
gravating the offence by a change of techni- 
cal terms ; and he was ungrateful enough to 
countenance the vulgar sneer which involves 
the mental analysis of that philosopher in 
the ridicule to which his physiological hypo- 
thesis is liable.* Thus, for theHartleian term 
'•association" he substitutes that of '•trans- 
lation," when adopting the same theory of 
the principles which move the mind to ac- 
tion. In the practical and applicable part 
of that inquiry he indeed far surpasses Hart- 
ley; and it is little to add, that he unspeak- 
ably exceeds that bare and naked thinker 
in the useful as well as admirable faculty 
of illustration. In the strictly theoretical part 
his exposition is considerably fuller ; but the 
defect of his genius becomes conspicuous 
when he handles a very general principle. 
The very term "translation" ought to have 
kept up in his mind a steady conviction that 
the secondary motives to action become as 
independent, and seek their own objects as 
exclusively, as the primary principles. His 
own examples are rich in proofs of this im- 
portant truth. But there is a slippery de- 
scent in the theory of human nature, by 
which he, like most of his forerunners, slid 
unawares into Selfishness. He was not pre- 
served from this fall by seeing that all the 
deliberate principles which have self for 
their object are themselves of secondary for 
mation ; and he was led into the general 
error by the notion that pleasure, or, as ho 
calls it, " satisfaction," was the original and 



* Light of Nature, vol. ii. chap, xviii., of which 
the conclusion may be pointed out as a specimen 
of unmatched fruitfulness, vivacity, and felicity of 
illustration. The adinirable sense of the conclu 
sion of chap. xxv. seems to have suggested Paley'a 
good chapter on Happiness. The alteration of 
Plato's comparison of Reason to a charioteer, and 
the passiong to the horses, in chap, xxvi., is of 
characteristic and transcendent excellence, 



154 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



sole object of all appetites and desires; — 
confounding this with the true, but very dif- 
ferent, proposition, tliat the attainment of all 
the objects of appetite and desire is produc- 
tive of pleasure. He did not see that, with- 
out presupposing desires, the word "plea- 
sure"' would have no signification; and that 
the repr(>sentations by which he was seduced 
would leave only one appetite or desire in 
human nature. He had no adequate and 
constant conception, that the translation of 
desire from being the end to be the means 
occasioned the formation of a new passion, 
which is perfectly distinct from, and alto- 
gether independent of, the original desire. 
Too frequently (for he was neither obstinate 
nor uniform in error) he considered these 
translations as accidental defects in human 
nature, not as the appointed means of sup- 
plying it with its variety of active principles. 
He was too apt to speak as if the selfish 
elements were not destroyed in the new 
combination, but remained still capable of 
being recalled, when convenient, like the 
links in a chain of reasoning, which we pass 
over from forget fulness, or for brevity. Take 
him all in all, liowever, the neglect of his 
writings is the strongest proof of the disin- 
clination of the English nation, for the last 
half century, to metaphysical philosophy.* 

WILLIAM PALEY.t 

This excellent writer, who, after Clarke 
and Butler, ought to be ranked among the 
brightest ornaments of the English Church 
in the eighteenth century, is, in the history 
of philosophy, naturally placed after Tucker, 
to whom, with praiseworthy liberal itj', he 
owns his extensive obi igtit ions. It is a mis- 
take to snpjiose that he owed his system to 
Hume, — a thinker too refined, and a writer 
perhaps loo elegant, to have naturally at- 
tracted him. A coincidence in the principle 
of Utility, common to both with so many 
other philosophers, affords no sufficient 
ground for the supposition." Had he been 
habitually inlluenced by Mr. Hume, who 
has translated so many of the dark and crab- 
bed passages of Butler into his own trans- 
parent and beautiful language, it is not pos- 

* Much of Tucker's chapter on Pleasure, and 
of Palcy's on Happiness (both of which are iiivalu- 
ahlc), is contained in the passage of t lie Traveller, 
of wiiich the following couplet expresses the main 
object : 

" LTnknown to iheni when sensual pleasures cloy, 
To fill the languid pause with finer joy." 

" An honest man," says Hume, (Inquiry con- 
cerning ]\Iorats, ^ i.v.) " has the frequent saiis- 
taction of seeing knaves betrayed by their own 
maxims." " I used often to laugh at your honest 
simple neighbour Flamborough, and one way or 
another generally cheated him once a year: yet 
still the honest man went forward without sus- 
picion, and grew rich, while I still continued 
tricksy and cimning, and was poor, without the 
consolation of being honest." — Vicar of Wake- 
field, chap. .xxvi. 

t Borii, 1743 ; died, 1805. 



sible to suppose that suclv a mind as thai of 
Paley would have fallen into those jMinci- 
ples of gross selfishness of which Mr. Humo 
is a uniform and zealous antagonist. 

The natural fiamo of Paley's under- 
standing fitted it more for business and the 
world than for philosophy ; and he accord- 
ingly enjoyed with cotisiderable relish the 
few opportutiilies which the latterpart of his 
life afforded of taking a part in the aflairs of 
his county as a magistrate. Penetration 
and shrewdness, firmness anil coolnes.s, a 
vein of pleasantry, fruitful though somewhat 
unrefitied, with an original homeliness and 
significancy of expression, were perhaps more 
remarkable in his conversation than the le- 
straints of authorship and profession allowed 
them to be in his writings. Grateful re- 
membrance brings this assemblage of quali- 
ties with unfaded colours before the mind at 
the present moment, after the long interval 
of twenty-eight years. His taste for the 
common business and ordinary amusements 
of life fortunately gave a zest to the company 
which his neighbours chanced to yield, with- 
out rendering him insensible to the pleasures 
of intercourse with more enlightened society. 
The practical bent of his nature is visible in 
the language of his writings, which, on prac- 
tical matters, is as precise as the nature of 
the subject requires, but, in his rare and 
reluctant efforts to rise to first principles, 
become indetermitiate and unsatisfactory j 
though no man's composition was more free 
from the impediments which hinder a man's 
meaning from being quickly and clearly seen. 
He seldom distinguishes more exactly than is 
required for palpable and direct usefulness. 
He possessed that chastised acuteness of dis- 
crimination, exercised on the afTairs of men, 
and habitually looking to a purpose beyond 
the mere increase of knowledge, which forms 
the character of a lawyer's understanding, 
and which is apt to render a mere lawyer 
too subtile for the management of ailiiirs. 
and yet too gross for the pursuit of general 
truth. His style is as near perfection in its 
kind as any in our language. Perhaps no 
words were ever more expressive and illus- 
trative than those in which he represents the 
art of life to be that of rightly '• setting our 
habits." 

The most original and ingenious of his 
writings is the Horas Paulina;. The Evi- 
dences of Christianit)- are formed out of an 
admirable translation of Butler's Analogy, 
and a most skilful abriilgment of Lardner's 
Credibility of the Gospel History. He may 
be said to have thus given value to two 
works, of which the first was scarcely in- 
telligible to the majority of those who were 
most desirous of profiting by it ; while the 
second soon wearies out the larger part of 
readers, though the more patient few have 
almost always been gradually won over to 
feel pleasure in a display of knowledge, 
probity, charity, and meeknes.s, unmatched 
by any other avowed advocate in a case 
deeolv interesting his warmest feeluigs. Hia 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



155 



Natural Theology is the woiidorful work of a 
mail who. alter sixty, hail studied Anatomy 
in order to write it; and it coulil only have 
been surpassed by one who, to great origin- 
ality of conception antl clearness of exposi- 
tion, adds the advantage of a high place in 
the first class of physiologists.* 

It would be unreasonable here to say- 
much of a work which is in the hands of so 
many as his Moral and Political Philosophy. 
A very few remarks on one or two parts of 
it may be suthcient to estimate his vakie as 
a moralist, and to show his ilefects as a me- 
taphysician. His general account of Virtue 
may indeed be chosen for bolh purposes. 
The manner in which he deduces the ne- 
cessary tendency of all virtuous actions to 
promote general hajipiness, from the good- 
ness of the Divine Lawgiver, (ihongh the 
principle be not, as has alrcatly more than 
once appeared, peculiar to him, but lather 
common to most religious philosophers.) is 
characterised by a clearness and vigour which 
have never been surpassed. It is indeed 
nearly, if not entirely, an itlentical proposi- 
tion, that a Being of unmixed benevolence 
will prescribe those laws only to His crea- 
tures which contribute to their well-being. 
When we are convinced that a course of 
condqct is generally beneficial to all men, 
we cannot help considering it as acceptable 
to a benevolent Deity. The usefulness of 
actions is the mark set on them by the 
Supreme Legislator, by which reasonable 
beings discover it to be His will thai such 
actions should be done. In this apparently 
unanswerable deduction it is partly atlmil- 
ted, and universally implied, that the prin- 
ciples of Right and Wrong may be treated 
apart from the manifestation of them in the 
Scriptures. If it were otherwise, how could 
men of perfectly different religions deal or 
reason with each other on moral subjects'? 
How could they regard rights antl duties as 
subsisting between them? To what common 
principles could they appeal in their diiler- 
ences ? Even the Polylheists themselves, 
those worshippers of 

Gods partial, changeful, passionate, unjust, 
Whose attributes are rage, revenge, or lusi,t 

by a happy inconsistency are compelled, how- 
ever irregularly and imperfectly, to ascribe 
some general enforcement of the moral code 
to their divinities. If there were no founda- 
tion for Morality antecedent to the Revealed 
Religion, we should want that important test 
of the conformity of a revelation to pure 
morality, by which its claim to a divine 
origin is to be tried. The internal evidence 
of Religion necessarily presupposes such a 
standard. The Christian contrasts the pre- 
cepts of the Koran with the pure and bene- 
volent morality of the Gospel. The Maho- 
metan claims, with justice, a superiority over 

* See Animal Mechanics, by Mr. Charles Bell, 
published by the Society for the diflTusioii of 
Usi'lul Knowledge. 

1 Essay on Man, Ep. iii. 



the Hindoo, inasmuch as the Musselman re- 
ligion inculcates the moral perfection of one 
Supreme Ruler of the world. The ceremonial 
and exclusive character of Judaism has ever 
been regarded as an indication that it was 
intended to pave the way for an universal 
religion, a morality seateil in the heart, and 
a worship of sublime simplicity. These 
discussions would be impossible, unless 
Morality were previously proved or granted 
to exist. Though the science of Ethics is 
thus far indepentlent, it by no means follows 
that there is any equality, or that there may 
not be the utmost inequality, in the moral 
tendency of religious systems. The most 
ample scope is slill left for the zeal and ac- 
tivity of those who seek to spread important 
truth. But it is absolutely essential to ethi- 
cal science that it should contain principles, 
the authority of which must be recognised 
by men of every conceivable variety of reli- 
gious opinion. 

The peculiarities of Paley's mind are 
discoverable in the comparison, or rather 
contrast, between the practical chapter on 
Happiness, and the philosophical portion of 
the chapter on Virtue. '• Virtue is the doing 
gooil to mankind, in obedience to the will of 
God, and for the sake of everlasting happi- 
ness."* It is not perhaps very important to 
observe, that these words, which he oilers 
as a "definition," ought in propriety to have 
been calletl a "proposition;" but it is much 
more necessary to say that they contain a 
false account of Virtue. According to this 
doctrine, every action not done for the sake 
of the agent's happiness is vicious. Now. 
it is plain, that an act cannot be said to be 
done for the sake of atiy thing which is not 
present to the mind of the agent at the mo- 
ment of action : it is a contradiction in terms 
to affirm that a man acts for the .«ake of any 
object, of which, however it may be the ne- 
ces.sary consequence of his act, he is not at 
the time fully aware. The mifclt conse- 
quences of his act can no more influence his 
will than its vnlcnown consequences. Nay, 
further, a man is only with any propriety 
said to act for the sake of his chief object ; 
nor can he with entire correctness be said to 
act for the sake of any thing but his sole 
object. So that it is a necessary consequence 
of Paley's proposition, that eveiy act which 
flows from generosity or benevolence is a 
vice ; — so also is every act of obedience to 
the will of God, if it arises from any motive 
but a desire of the reward which He will 
bestow. Any act of obedience influenced 
by gratitude, and afTection, and veneration 
towards Supreme Benevolence and Perfec- 
tion, is so far imperfect; and if ii arises 
solely from these motives it bec^^mes a vice. 
It must be owned, that this excellent and 
most enlightened man has laid the founda- 
tions of Religion and Virtue in a more intense 
and exclusive selfishness than was avowed 
by the Catliolic enemies of Fenelon, when 

* Book i. chap. vii. 



156 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



they persecuted him for his doctrine of a 
pure and disinterested love of God. 

In another province, of a very subordinate 
kind, the disposition of Paley to limit his 
principles to his own time and country, and 
to look at them merely as far as they are 
calculated to amend prevalent vices and 
errors, betrayed him into narrow and false 
views. His chapter on what he calls the 
"Law of Honour" is unjust, even in its own 
small sphere, because it supposes Honour to 
alloiv what it docs not forbid; though the 
truth be, that the vices enumerated by him 
are only not forbidden by Honour, because 
they are not within its jurisdiction. He con- 
siders it as '•' a system of rules constructed 
by people of fashion ;" — a confused and tran- 
sient mode of expression, which may be un- 
derstood with ditiiculty by our posterity, and 
which cannot now be exactly rendered per- 
haps in any other language. The subject, 
however, thus narrowed and lowered, is nei- 
ther unimportant in practice, nor unworthy 
of the consideration of the moral philoso- 
pher. Though all mankind honour Virtue 
and despise Vice, the degree of respect or 
contempt is often far from being proportioned 
to the place which virtues and vices occupy 
in a just system of Ethics. Wherever higher 
honour is bestowed on one moral quality 
than on others of equal or greater moral 
value, u'kat is called a ^'- point of honour'''' may 
he said to exist. It is singular that so shrewd 
an observer as Paley should not have ob- 
served a law of honour far more permanent 
than that which attracted his notice, in the 
feelings of Europe respecting the conduct of* 
men and women. Cowardice is not so im- 
moral as cruelty, nor indeed so detestable; 
but it is more despicable and disgraceful : 
the female point of honour forbids indeed a 
great vice, but one not so great as many 
others by which it is not violated. It is easy 
enough to see, that where we are strongly 
prompted to a virtue by a natural impulse. 
we love the man who is constantly actuated 
by the amiable sentiment ; but we do not 
consider that which is done without difii- 
culty as requiring or deserving admiration 
and distinction. The kind affections are 
their own rich reward, and they are the ob- 
ject of affection to ot-hers. To encourage 
kindness by praise would be to insult it, and 
to encourage hypocrisy. It is for the con- 
quest of fear, it would be still more for the 
conquest of resentment, — if that were not, 
wherever it is real, the cessation of a state 
of mental agony, — that the applause of man- 
kind is reserved. Observations of a similar 
nature will easily occur to every reader re- 
specting the point of honour in the other 
sex. The conquest of natural frailties, espe- 
cially in a case of far more importance to 
mankind than is at first .sight obvious, is well 
distinguished as an object of honour, and the 
contrary vice is punished by shame. Honour 
^s not wasted on those who abstain from acts 
which are punished by the law. These acts 
may be avoided without a pure motive. 



Wherever a virtue is easily cultivable bj 
good men; wherever it is by nature attended 
by delight : wherever its outward observance 
is so necessary to society as to be enforced 
by punishment, it is not the proper object 
of honour. Honour and shame, therefore, 
may be reasonably dispensed, without being 
strictly proportioned lo the intrinsic morality 
of actions, if the inequality of their distribu- 
tion contributes to the general equipoise of 
the whole moral system. A wide dispro- 
portion, however, or indeed any dispropor- 
tion not justifiable on moral prounds, would 
be a depravation of the moral principle. 
Duelling is among us a disputed ca^e, though 
the improvement of manners has rendered it 
so much more infrequent, that it is likely in 
time to lose its support from opinion. Those 
who excuse individuals for yielding to a false 
point of honoui*, as in the suicides of the 
Greeks and Romans, may consistently blame 
the faulty principle, and rejoice in its de- 
struction. The shame fixed on a Hindoo 
widow of rank who voluntarily survives her 
husband, is regarded by all other nations 
with horror. 

There is room for great praise and some 
blame in other parts of Paley's work. His 
political opinions were those generally adopt- 
ed by moderate Whigs in his o\^n age. His 
language on the Revolution of 1688 may be 
very advantageously compared, both in pre- 
cision and in generous boldness.* to that of 
Blacks'one, — a great master of classical and 
harmonious composition, but a feeble rea- 
soner and a confused thinker, whose wri- 
tings are not exempt from the charge of 
slavishness. 

It cannot be denied that Paley was some- 
limes rather a lax moralist, especially on 
public duties. It is a sin which easily besets 
men of strong good sense, little enthusiasm, 
and much experience. They are naturally led 
to lower their precepts to the level of their 
expectations. They see that higher preten- 
sions often produce less good, — to say no- 
thing of the hypocris)', extravagance, and 
turbulence, which they may be said to fos- 
ter. As those who claim more fiom men 
often gain less, it is natural for more sober 
and milder casuists to present a more ac- 
cessible Virtue to their followers. It was 
thus that the Jesuits began, till, strongly 
tempted by their perilous station as the mo- 
ral guides of the powerail, some of them by 
degrees fell into that absolute licentiousness 
for which all, not without injustice, have 



* " Government may he loo secure. Tiie greatest 
tyrants have been those who.se tiiles were ihe 
most unquesiioned. Whenever, therefore, the 
opinion of right becomes too predominant and su- 
perstitious, it is abated hy Irealing ihe cuslom. 
Thus the Revolution broke the custom of suc- 
cession, and thereby moderated, both in ihe prince 
and in the people, those hifiy notions of hereditary 
right, which in tlie one were become a continual 
incentive to tyranny, 9 ,A di.«posed the other to 
invite servitude, by u'xlue compliances and dan- 
gerous concessions." — Book vi. chap. 2. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



157 



been cruelly immortalized by Pascal. In- 
dulgence, which is a great virtue in judg- 
ment concerning the actions of others, is too 
apt, when blended in the same system with 
the precepts of Morality, to be received as a 
licence for our own offences. Accommoda- 
tion, without which society would be pain- 
ful, and arduous affairs would become im- 
practicable, is more safely imbibed from 
temper and experience, than taught in early 
and systematic instruction. The middle re- 
gion between laxity and rigour is hard to be 
defined ; and it is still harder steadily to re- 
main within its boundaries. Whatever may 
be thought of Paley's observations on politi- 
cal influence and ecclesiastical subscription 
to tests, as temperaments and mitigations 
which may presei-ve us from harsh judg- 
ment, they are assuredly not well qualified 
to form a part of that discipline which ought 
to breathe into the opening souls of youth, 
at the critical period of the formation of 
character, those inestimable virtues of sin- 
cerity, of integrity, of independence, which 
will even guide them more safely though 
life than will mere prudence ; while they 
provide an inward fountain of pure delight, 
immeasurably more abundant than all the 
outward sources of precarious and perishable 
pleasure. 

JEREMY BENTHAM.* 

The general scheme of this Dissertation 
■would be a sufficient reason for omitting the 
name of a living writer. The devoted attach- 
ment and invincible repugnance which an 
impartial estimate of Mr. Benlham has to 
encounter on either side, are a strong induce- 
ment not to deviate from that scheme in his 
case. But the most brief sketch of ethical 
controversy in England would be imperfect 
without it ; and perhaps the utter hopeless- 
ness of finding any expedient for satisfying 
his followers, or softening his opponents, may 
enable a writer to look steadily and solely 
at what he believes to be the dictates of 
Truth and Justice. He who has spoken of 
former philosophers with unreserved free- 
dom, ought perhaps to subject his courage 
and honesty to the severest test by an at- 
tempt to characterize such a contemporary. 
Should the very few who are at once enlight- 
ened and unbiassed be of opinion that his 
firmness and equity have stood this trial, 
they Avill be the more disposed to trust his 
fairness where the exercise of that quality 
may have been more easy. 

The disciples of Mr. Bentham are more 
like the hearers of an Athenian philosopher 
ihan the pupils of a modern professor, or the 
cool proselytes of a modern writer. They 
are in general men of competent age, of su- 
perior understanding, who voluntarily em- 
brace the laborious study of useful and noble 
gciences ; who derive their opinions, not so 
much from the cold perusal of his writings, 

* Born, 1748 ; died, 1833.--Ed. 



as from familiar converse with a master from 
\^■hose lips these opinions are recommended 
by simplicity, disinterestedness, originality, 
and vivacity, — aided rather than impeded 
by foibles not unamiable, — enforced of late 
by the growing authority of years and of 
fame, and at all limes strengthened by that 
undoubting reliance on his own judgment 
which mightily increases the ascendant of 
such a man over those who approach him. 
As he and they deserve the credit of braving 
vulgar prejudices, so they must be content 
to incur the imputation of falling into the 
neighbouring vices of seeking distinction by 
singularity, — of clinging to opinions, because 
they are obnoxious, — of wantonly wounding 
the most respectable feelings of mankind, — 
of regarding an immense display of method 
and nomenclature as a sure token of a corres- 
ponding increase of knowledge, — and of con- 
sidering themselves as a chosen few, whom 
an initiation into the most secret mysteries 
of Philosophy entitles to look down with pity, 
if not contempt, on the profane multitude. 
Viewed with aversion or dread by the pub- 
lic, they become more bound to each other 
and to their master ; while they are provoked 
into the use of language which more and 
more exasperates opposition to them. A 
hermit in the greatest of cities, seeing only 
his disciples, and indignant that systems of 
government and law which he believes to be 
perfect, are disregarded at once by the many 
and the powerful, Mr. Bentham has at length 
been betrayed into the most unphilosophica] 
hypothesis, that all the ruling bodies who 
guide the community have conspired to stifle 
and defeat his discoveries. He is too little 
acquainted with doubts to believe the honest 
doubts of others, and he is too angry to make 
allowance for their prejudices and habits. 
He has embraced the most extreme party in 
practical politics ; — manifesting more dislike 
and contempt towards those who are mo- 
derate supporters of popular principles than 
towards their most inflexible opponents. To 
the unpopularity of his philosophical and 
political doctrines, he has added the more 
general and lasting obloquy due to the un- 
seemly treatment of doctrines and principles 
which, if there were no other motives for 
reverential deference, ought, from a regard 
to the feelings of the best men, to be ap- 
proached with decorum and respect. 

Fifty-three years have passed since the 
publication of Mr. Bentham's first w^ork, A 
Fragment on Government, — a considerable 
octavo volume, employed in the examination 
of a short paragraph of Blackstone, unmatch- 
ed in acute hypercriticism, but conducted 
with a severity which leads to an unjust esti- 
mate of the writer criticised, till the like ex- 
periment be repeated on other writings. It 
was a waste of extraordinary power to em- 
ploy it in pointing out flaws and patches in 
the robe occasionally stolen from the philoso- 
phical schools, which hung loosely, and not 
unbecomingly, on the elegant commentator. 
This volume, and especially the preface, 



158 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



abounds in fine, original, and just observa- 
tion ; it contains the germs of most of his 
subsequent productions, and it is an early 
example of that disregard for the methoci, 
proportions, and occasion of a writing which, 
with all common readers, deeply affects its 
power of interesting or instructing. Two 
years after, he published a most excellent 
tract on the Hard Labour Bill, which, con- 
curring with the spirit excited by Howaid's 
inquiries, laid the foundation of just reason- 
ing on reformatory punishment. The Letters 
on Usury,* are perhaps the best specimen 
of the exhaustive discussion of a moral or 
political question, leaving no objection, how- 
ever feeble, unanswered, and no difiicuUy, 
however small, unexplained ; — remarkable 
also, as they are, for the clearness and spirit 
of the style, for the full exposition which 
suits them to all intelligent readers, and for 
the tender and skilful hand with which pre- 
iudice is touched. The urbanity of the apo- 
logy for projectors, addressetl to Dr. Smith, 
whoso temper and manner the author seems 
for a time to have imbibed, is admirable. 

The Introduction to the Principles of Morals 
and Politics, printed before the Letters, but 
published after them, was the first sketch 
of his system, and is still the only account 
of it by himself. The great merit of this 
work, and of his other writings in relation to 
Jurisprudence properlj- so called, is not within 
our present scope. To the Roman jurists be- 
longs the praise of having alloted a separate 
portion of their Digest to the signification of 
the wonls of the most frequent use in law 
and legal discussion. t Mv.- Benthara not 
only first perceived and taught the great 
value of an introductory section, composed 
of the definitions of general terms, as subser- 
vient to brevity and precision in every part of 



* They were addressed to Mr. George Wilson, 
who retired from the English bar lo iiis own coun- 
try, and died at Ediiiburirh in 1816; — an early 
friend of Mr. Bcntham, an3 afterwards an intimate 
one of Lord Ellenborough, of Sir Vieary Gibbs, 
and of all the most eminent of his professional 
contemporaries. The rectitude ofjiidgnient, purity 
of heart, elevation of honour, the sternness only 
in integrity, the scorn of baseness, and indulgence 
towards weakness, which were joined in him with 
a gravity exclusive neither of feeling nor of plea- 
santry, contributed still more than his abilities and 
attainments of various sorts, to a moral authority 
with his friends, and in his profession, which few 
men more amply possessed, or more usefully 
exercised. The same character, somewhat soft- 
ened, and the same influence, distinguished his 
closest friend, the late Mr. Lens. Both were in- 
flexible and incorruptible friends of civil and reli- 
gious liberty, and both knew how to reconcile the 
warmest zeal tor that sacred cause, with a charily 
towards their opponents, which partisans, often 
more violent than s\eady, treated as lukewarm. 
The present writer hopes that the good-natured 
reader will excuse him for having thus, perhaps 
unseasonably, bestowed heartfelt commendation 
on those who were above the pursuit of praise, and 
the remembrance of whose good opinion and good- 
will help to support him under a deep sense of 
faults and vices. 

t Digest, lib. i. tit. 16. De Verborum Significa- 
tioiie. 



a code ; but he also discovered the unspeak- 
able importance of natural arrangement in Ju- 
risprudence, by tendering the mere place of a 
proposed law in such an arrangement a short 
and easy test of the fitness of the proposal.* 
But here he does not distinguish between 
the value of arrangement as .scaflbkling, and 
the inferior convenience of its being the very 
frame-woik of the structure. He, indeed, is 
much more remarkable for laying down de- 
sirable rules forthe determination of rights, 
and the punishment of wrongs, in generalj 
than for weighing the various circumstances 
which require them to be modified ii> difier- 
ent countries and times, in order to render 
them either more useful, more easily intro- 
duced, more generally respected, or more 
certainly executed. The art of legislation 
consists in thus applying the principles of 
Jurisprutience to the situation, wants, inter- 
ests, feelings, opinions, and habits, of each 
distinct community at any given time. It 
bears the same relation to Jurisprudence 
which the mechanical arts bear to pure 
Matfematics. Many of these considerations 
serve to show, that the sudden establishment 
of new codes can seldom be practicable or 
effectual for their purpose ; and that reforma- 
tions, though founded on the principles of 
Jurisprudence, ought to be not only adapted 
to the peculiar interests of a people, but en- 
grafted on their previous usages, and brought 
into harmony with those national dispositions 
on which the execution of laws depends.! 
The Romans, under Justinian, adopted at 
least the true principle, if they did not apply 
it with sufficient freedom and boldness. They 
considered the multitude of occasional laws, 
and the still greater mass of usages, opinions, 
and determinations, as the materials of legis- 
lation, not precluding, but demanding a sys- 
tematic arrangement of the whole by the 
supreme authority. Had the arrangement 

* See a beautiful article on Codification, in the 
Edinburg Review, vol. x.xi.v. p. 217. It need no 
longer be concealed that it was coniribuied by 
Sir Samuel Romilly. The steadiness wiih v\ hirli 
he held the balance in weighing the merits of his 
friend against his unfortunate defects, is an exam- 
ple of his union of the most commanding moral 
principle with a sensibility so warm, that, if it 
had been released from that stern authority, it 
would not so long have endured the coarseness 
and roughness of human concerns. From the 
tenderncssof his feelings, and from an anger never 
roused bijt by cruelty and baseness, as much a3 
from his genius and his pure taste, sprung that 
origitual and characteristic eloquence, which was 
the hope of the afflicted as well as the terror of 
the oppressor. If his oratory had not flowed so 
largely from this moral source, which years do 
not dry up, he would not perhaps have been the 
only e.vample of an orator who, after the age of 
sixty, daily increased in polish, in vigour, and in 
splendour. 

t An excellent medium between those who 
absolutely require new codes, and those who ob- 
stinately adhere to ancient usages, has been point- 
ed out by 1\L Meyer, in his most justly celebrated 
work, Esprit, &,c. des Insiiiuiions Judiciares des 
Principaux Pays de I'Europe, iia Haye, 1819, 
tome i. Introduction, p. 8. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



151) 



been more scientific, had there been a bolder 
examination and a more free reform of many 
particular branches, a model would have 
been offered for liberal imitation by modern 
lawgivers. It cannot be denied, without in- 
justice and ingratitude, that Mr. Bentham 
has done more Uian any other writer to rouse 
the spirit of juridical reformation, which is 
now gradually examining every part of law, 
and which, when further progress is facili- 
tated by digesting the present laws, will 
doubtless proceed to the improvement of all. 
Greater praise it is given to few to earn : it 
ought to satisfy him for the disappointment 
of hopes which were not reasonable, that 
Russia should receive a code from him, or 
that North America could be brought to re- 
nounce the variety of her laws and institu- 
tions, on the single authority of a foreign 
philosopher, whose opinions hatl not worked 
their way, either into legislation or into gene- 
ral reception, in his own country. It ought 
also to dispose his followers to do fuller jus- 
tice to the Romillys and Broughams, without 
vhose prudence and energy, as well as rea- 
son and eloquence, the best plans of refor- 
mation must have continued a dead letter ; 
— for whose sake it might have been iit to 
reconsider the obloquy heaped on their pro- 
fession, and to show more general indul- 
gence to all those whose chief offence seems 
to consist in their doubts whether sudden 
changes, almost always imposed by violence 
on a community, be the surest road to lasting- 
improvement. 

It is unfortunate that ethical theory, with 
which we are now chiefly concerned, is not 
the province in which Mr. Bentham has 
reached the most desirable distinction. It 
may be remarked, both in ancient and in 
modern times, that whatever modifications 
prudent followers may introduce into the 
system of an innovator, the principles of the 
master continue to mould the habitual dis- 
positions, and to influence the practical ten- 
dency of the school. M r. Bentham preaches 
the principle of Utility with the zeal of a 
discoverer. Occupied more in reflection 
than in reading, he knew not, or forgot, how 
often it had been the basis, and how gene- 
rally an essential part, of all moral sys- 
tems.* That in which he really differs from 
others, is in the Necessity which he teaches, 
and the example which he sets, of constant- 
ly bringing that principle before us. This 
peculiarity appears to us to be his radical 
error. In an attempt, of which the constitu- 
tion of human nature forbids the success, he 
seems to us to have been led into funda- 
mental errors in moral theory, and to have 
given to his practical doctrine a dangerous 
direction. 

The confusion of wjorai approbation with 
the moral qualities which are its objects, 
common to Mr. Bentham with many other 
phdosopher.s, is much more uniform and 
prominent in him than in most others. This 



general error, already mentioned at the open- 
ing of this Dissertation, has led him mori 
than others to assume, that because the prin 
ciple of Utility forms a necessary part ol 
every moral theory, it ought therefore to be 
the chief motive of human conduct. Now 
it is evident that this assumption, rather 
tacitly than avowedly made, is wholly gra- 
tuitous. No practical conclusion can be de- 
duced from the principle, but that we ought 
to cultivate those habitual dispositions which 
are the most effectual motives to useful ac- 
tions. But before a regard to our own in- 
terest, or a desire to promote the welfare of 
men in general, be allowed to be the exclu- 
sive, or even the chief regulators of human 
conduct, it must be shown that they are the 
most efl'ectual motives to such useful actions : 
it is demonstrated by experience that they 
are not. It is even owned by the most in- 
genious writers of Mr. Bentham's school, 
that desires which are pointed to general and 
distant objects, although they have their 
proper place and their due value, are com- 
monly very faint and ineffectual inducements 
to action. A theory founded on Utility, 
therefore, requires that we should cultivate, 
as excitements to practice, those other ha- 
bitual dispositions which we know by expe- 
rience to be generally the source of actions 
beneficial to ourselves and our fellows; — 
habits of feeling productive of habits of vir- 
tuous conduct, and in their turn strengthened 
by the re-action of these last. What is the 
result of experience on the choice of the 
objects of moral culture? Beyond all dis- 
pute, that we should labour to attain that 
state of mind in which all the social aflTec- 
tions are felt with the utmost warmth, giving 
birth to more comprehensive benevolence, 
but not supplanted by it ; — when the Moral 
Sentiments most strongly approve what is 
right and good, without being perplexed by 
a calculation of consequences, though not 
incapable of being gradually rectified by 
Reason, whenever they are decisively proved 
by experience not to correspond in some of 
their parts to the universal and perpetual ef- 
fects of conduct. It is a false representation 
of human nature to afhrm that "courage" is 
only " prudence."* They coincide in their 
effects, and it is always prudent to be cou- 
rageous: but a man who fights because he 
thinks it more hazardous to yield, is not brave. 
He does not become brave till he feels cow- 
ardice to be base and painful, and till he is 
no longer in need of any aid from prudence. 
Even if it were the interest of every man to 
be bold, it is clear that so cold a cousidera- 



* See Note V. 



* Mill, Analysis of the Human INIiiid, vol. ii. 
p. 237. It would be unjust not to say ihat this 
book, partly perhaps from a larger adoption of the 
principles of Hartley, holds out fairer opportuni- 
ties of negotiation with natural feelings and the 
doctrines of former philosophers, than any other 
production of the same school. But this very as- 
sertion about courage clearly shows at least a for- 
getfulness that courage, even if it were the off- 
spring of prudence, would not fur \hat reason be 
a species of it. 



160 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



tion cannot prevail over the fear of danger. 
Where it seems to do so, it must be the un- 
seen power either of the fear of shame, or 
of some other powerful passion, to which it 
lends its name.' It -was long ago with strik- 
ing justice observed by Aristotle, that he 
who abstains from present gratification, under 
a distinct apprehension of its painful conse- 
quences, is oidy prudent, and that he must 
acquire a disrelish for excess on its own ac- 
count, before he deserves the name of a 
temperate man. It is only when the means 
are firmly and unalterably converted into 
ends, that the process of forming the mind 
is completed. Courage may then seek, in- 
stead of avoiding danger : Temperance may 
prefer abstemiousness to indulgence: Pru- 
dence itself may choose an orderly govern- 
ment of conduct, according to. certain rules, 
without regard to the degree in which it 
promotes welfare. Benevolence must desire 
the happiness of others, to the exclusion of 
the consideration how far it is connected 
with that of the benevolent agent ; and those 
alone can be accounted just who obey the 
dictates of Justice from having thoroughly 
learned an habitual veneration for her strict 
rules and for her larger precepts. In that 
complete state the mind possesses no power 
of dissolving the combinations of thought 
and feeling which impel it to action. Nothing 
in this argument turns on the difference be- 
tween implanted and acquired principles. 
As no man can cease, by any act of his, to 
see distance, though the power of seeing it 
be universally acknowledged to be an acqui- 
sition, so no man has the power to extinguish 
the affections and the moral sentiments, 
(however much they may be thought to be 
acquired,) anymore than that of eradicating 
the bodily appetites. The best writers of 
Mr. Benlham's school overlook the indisso- 
lubility of these associations, and appear not 
to bear in mind that their strength and rapid 
action constitute the perfect state of a moral 
agent. 

The pursuit of our own general welfare, 
or of that of mankind at large, though from 
their vagueness and coldness they are unfit 
habitual motives and unsafe ordinary guides 
of conduct, yet perform functions of essen- 
tial importance in the moral system. The 
former, which we call " self-love," preserves 
the balance of all the active principles which 
regard ourselves ultimately, and contributes 
to subject them to the authority of the moral 

Erinciples,* The latter, which is general 
enevolence, regulates in like manner the 
equipoise of the narrower affections, — quick- 
ens the languid, and checks the encroach- 
ing, — borrows strength from pity, and even 
from indignation, — receives some compensa- 
tion, as it enlarges, in the addition of beauty 
and grandeur, for the weakness which arises 
fiom dispersion, — enables us to look on all 
men as brethren, and overflows on every 
(lontient being. The general interest of man- 

* See Note W. 



kind, in truth, almost solely affects us through 
the affections of benevolence and sympathy, 
for the coincidence of general with indivi- 
dual interest, — even where it is certain, — is 
too dimly seen to produce any emotion which 
can impel to, or restrain from action. Asa 
general truth, its value consists in its com- 
pleting the triumph of INlorality, by demon- 
strating the absolute impossibility of forming 
any theory of human nature which does not 
preserve the superiority of Virtue over Vice ; 
— a great, though not a directly practical 
advantage. 

The followers of Mr. Bentham have car- 
ried to an unusual extent the prevalent fault 
of the more modern advocates of Utility, 
who have dwelt so exclusively on the out- 
v.-ard advantages of Virtue as to have lost 
sight of the delight which is a part of vir- 
tuous feeling, and of the beneficial influence 
of good actions upon the frame of the mind. 
"Benevolence towards others," says Mr. 
Mill, "produces a return of benevolence 
from them." The fact is true, and ought to 
be stated : but how unimportant is it in com- 
parison with that which is passed oyer in 
silence, — the pleasure of the afieclion itself, 
which, if it could become lasting and in- 
tense, would convert the heart into a heaven ! 
No one who has ever felt kindness, if he 
could accurately recall his feelings, could 
hesitate about their infinite .superiority. The 
cause of the general neglect of this consi- 
deration is, that it is only when a gratifica- 
tion is something distinct from a state of 
mind, that we can easily learn to consider it 
as a pleasure. Hence the great error re- 
specting the affections, where the inherent 
delight is not duly estimated, on account of 
that very peculiarity of its being a part of 
a state of mind which renders it unspeakably 
more valuable as independent of every thing 
without. The social affections are the only 
principles of human nature which have no 
direct pains : to have any of these desires is 
to be in a state of happiness. The malevo- 
lent passions have properly no pleasures; 
for that attainment of their purpose which is 
improperly so called, consists only in healing 
or assuaging the torture which envy, jealousy, 
and malice, inflict on the malignant mind. 
It might with as much propriety be said that 
the toothache and the stone have pleasures, 
because their removal is followed by an 
agreeable feeling. These bodil}^ disorders, 
indeed, are often cured by the process which 
removes the sufferings; but the mental dis- 
tempers of envy and revenge are nourished 
by every act of odious indulgence which for 
a moment suspends their pain. 

The same observation is applicable to 
everv virtuous disposition, though not so ob- 
viously as to the benevolent aflections. That 
a brave man is, on the whole, far less ex- 
posed to danger than a coward, is not the 
chief advantage of a courageous temper. 
Great dangers are rare; but the constant 
absence of such painful and mortifying sen- 
fations as those of fear, and the steady con- 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



161 



(•ciousness of superiority to what subdues 
ordinary men, are a perpetual source of in- 
ward enjoyment. No man who has ever 
been visited by a gleam of magnanimity, can 
place any outward advantage of fortitude in 
comparison with the feeling of being always 
able fearlessly to defend a righteous cause.* 
Even humilitj', in spite of first appearances, 
is a remarkable example : — though it has of 
late-been unwarrantably used to signify that 
painful consciousness of inferiority which is 
the first stage of envy.t It is a term conse- 
crated in Christian Ethics to denote that dis- 
position which, by inclining towards a modest 
estimate of our qualities, corrects the preva- 
lent tendency of human nature to overvalue 
our merits and to overrate our claims. What 
can be a less doubtful, or a much more con- 
siderable blessing than this constant seda- 
tive, which soothes and composes the irrita- 
ble passions of vanity and pride 1 What is 
more conducive to lasting peace of mind 
than the consciousness of proficiency in that 
most delicate species of equity which, in 
the secret tribunal of Conscience, labours to 
be imparlial in the comparison of ourselves 
with others? What can so perfectly assure 
us of the purity of our Moral Sense, as the 
habit of contemplating, not that excellence 
M'hich we have reached, but that which is 
still to be pursued,! — of not considering how 
far we may outrun others, but how far we 
are from the goal ? 

Virtue has often outward advantages, and 
always inward delights : but the last, though 
constant, strong, inaccessible and inviolable, 
are not easily considered by the common 
observer as apart from the form with which 
they are blended. They are so subtile and 
evanescent as to escape the distinct contem- 
plation of all but the very few who meditate 
on the acts of the mind. The outward ad- 
vantages, on the other hand, — cold, uncer- 
tain, dependent and precarious as they are. — 
yet stand out to the sense and to the memory, 
may be as it were handled and counted, and 
are perfectly on a level with the general ap- 
prehension. Hence they have become the 
almost exclusive theme of all moralists who 
profess to follow Reason. There is room for 
suspecting that a very general illusion pre- 
vails on this subject. Probably the smallest 
■ part of the pleasure of Virtue, because it is 
the most palpable, has become the sign and 
mental representative of the whole : the 



* According to Cicero's definition of fortitude, 
"Virtus piignans pro fequitate." The remains 
of the original sense of " virtus," manhood, give 
a beauty and force to these expressions, which 
cannot be preserved in our language. The Greek 
"cpiTH," and the German " tugead," originally 
denoted "strength," afterwards "courage," and 
at last " virtue." But tlie happy derivation of 
"viitus" I'roni " vir" gives an energy to the 
phrase of Cicero, which illustrates the use of ety- 
mology in the hands of a skilful writer. 

t Anal. Hum. Mind, vol. ii. p. 222. 

t For a description of vanity, by a great orator, 
see the Rev. R. Hall's Sermon on Modern Infi- 
delity. 

21 



outward and visible sign suggests only in- 
sensibly the inward and mental delight. 
Those who are prone to display chiefly the 
external benefits of magnanimity and kind- 
ness, would speak with far less fervour, and 
perhaps less confidence, if their feelings 
were not unconsciously affected by the men- 
tal state which is overlooked in their state- 
ments. But when they speak of what is 
without, they feel what was wit/iin, and their 
words excite the same feeling in others. 

Is it not probable that much of our love of 
praise may be thus ascribed to humane and 
sociable pleasure in the sympathy of others 
with us? Praise is the symbol which repre- 
sents sympathy, and which the mind insen- 
sibly substitutes for it in recollection and in 
language. Does not the desire of posthu- 
mous fame, in like manner, manifest an 
ambition for the fellow-feeling of our race, 
when it is perfectly unproductive of any 
advantage to ourselves? In this point of 
view, it may be considered as the passion the 
very existence of which proves the mighty 
power of disinterested desire. Every other 
pleasure from sympathy is derived from con- 
temporaries: the love of fame alone seeks 
the sympathy of unborn generations, and 
stretches the chain M'hich binds the race of 
man together, to an extent to which Hope 
sets no bounds. There is a noble, even if 
unconscious union of Morality with genius in 
the mind of him who sympathizes with the 
masters who lived twenty centuries before 
him, in order that he may learn to command 
the sympathies of the countless generations 
who are to come. 

In the most familiar, as well as in lh& 
highest instances, it would seem, that the 
inmost thoughts and sentiments of men are 
more pure than their language. Those who 
speak of "a regard to character," if they be 
serious, generally infuse into that word, una- 
wares, a large portion of that sense in \\ hich 
it denotes the frame of the mind. Those 
who speak of "honour" very often mean a 
more refined and delicate sort of conscience, 
which ought to render the more ediicsted 
classes of society alive to such smaller 
wrongs as the laborious and the ignorant 
can scarcely feel. What heart does not 
warm at the noble exclamation of the an- 
cient poet: "Who is pleased by false hon- 
our, or frightened by lying infamy, but he 
who is false and depraved!"* Every un- 
corrnpted mind feels unmerited praise as a 
bitter reproach, and regards a consciousness 
of demerit as a drop of poison in the cup 
of honour. How different is the applau.se 
which truly delights us all, a proof that the 
consciences of others are in harmony with 
our own! "What," says Cicero, "is glory 
but the concurring praise of the good, the 
unbought approbation of those who judge 
aright of excellent Virtue !"t A far greater 



* Horat. Epistol. lib. i. 16. 
t Probably quoted meraoriter from De Fin* lib. 
iv, cap. 23.— Ed. 

o2 



162 



MACKINTOSH'S ^nSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



than Cicero rises from the purest praise of 
man, to more sublime contemplations. 

Fame is no pinnt ihat grows on mortal soil, 
But lives and spreads aloft, by those pure eyes 
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove.* 

Those who have most earnestly inculcated 
the doctrine of Utility have given another 
notable example of the very vulgar preju- 
dice which treats the unseen as insigniticant. 
Tucker is the only one of them who occa- 
sionally considers that most important eflect 
of human conduct which consists in its ac- 
tion on the frame of the mind, by fitting its 
faculties and sensibilities for their appointed 
purpose. A razor or a penknife would well 
enough cut cloth or meat ; but if they were 
often so used, they would be entirely spoiled. 
The same sort of observation is much more 
strongly applicable to habitual dispositions, 
which, if they be spoiled, we have no cer- 
tain means of replacing or memling. What- 
ever act. therefore, discomposes the moral 
machinery of Mind, is more injurious to 
the welfare of the agent than most disas- 
ters from without can be : for the latter are 
commonly limited and temporary; the evil 
of the former spreads through the whole of 
life. Health of mind, as well as of bodv, is 
not only productive in itself of a greater 
amount of enjoyment than arises from other 
sources, but is the only condition of our 
frame in which we are capable of receiving 
pleasure from without. Hence it appears 
now incredibly absurd it is to prefer, on 
grounds of calculation, a present interest to 
the preservation of those mental habits on 
which our well-being depeiuls. When they 
are most moral, they may often prevent us 
from obtaining advantages : but it would be 
as absurd to desire to lower them for that 
reason, as it would be to weaken the body, 
lest its strength should render it more liable 
to contagious disorders of rare occurrence. 

It is, on the other hand, impossible to com- 
bine the benefit of the general habit with the 
advantages of occasional deviation ; for every 
such deviation either produces remorse, or 
weakens the habit, and prepares the way for 
its gradual destruction. He who obtains a 
fortune by the undetected forgery of a will, 
may indeed be honest in his other acts; but 
if he hail such a scorn of fraud before as he 
must himself allow to be generally useful, 
he must suffer a severe punishment from 
contrition : and he will be haunted with the 
fears of one who has lost his own security 
for his good conduct. In all cases, if they be 
well examined, his loss by the distemper of 
his mental frame will outweigh the profits 
of his vice. 

By repeating the like observation on simi- 
lar occasipns, it will be manifest that the 
infirmity of recollection, aggravated by the 
defects of language, gives an appearance of 
more selfishness to man than truly belongs 
lo his nature ; and that the eflfect of active 



Lycidas, I. 78. 



agents upon the habitual state of mind, — • 
one of the considerations to which the epi- 
thet ''sentimental'' has of late been applied 
in derision, — is really among the most seri- 
ous and rea.sonable objects of Moral Philoso- 
phy. When the internal pleasures and paina 
which accompany good aird bad feelings, or 
rather form a part of them, and the internal 
advantages and disadvantages which follow 
good and bad actions, are sulliciently con- 
sidered, the comparative importance of out- 
ward conacqiicnccs will be more and more 
narrow; so that the Stoical philosojiher may 
be thought almost excusable for rejecting 
it altogether, were it not an almost indis- 
pensably necessary consideration for those 
m whom right habits of feelitig are not sufii- 
ciently strottg. They alone are happy, or 
even truly virtuous, who have little need 
of it. . 

The later moralists who adopt the princi- 
ple of Utility, have so misplaced it, that in 
their hands it has as great a tendency as any 
theoretical error can have, to lessen the in- 
trinsic ])leasure of Virtue, and to unfit our 
habitual feelings for being the most effectual 
inducements to good conduct. This is the 
natural tendency of a discipline which brings 
Utility too closely and frequently into contact 
with action. By this habit, in its best state, 
an essentially Aveaker motive is gradually 
substituted for others which must always be 
of more force. The frequent appeal to Utility 
as the .standard of action tends to intinduce 
an uncertainty with respect to the conduct 
of other men, which would render all inter- 
course with them insupportable. It affords 
also so fair a disguise for selfish and malig- 
nant passions, as often to hide their nature 
from him who is their prey. Some taint 
of these mean and evil principles will at 
least spread itself, and a venomous anima- 
tion, not its own, will be given to the cold 
desire of Utility. Moralists who lake an 
active part in those affitirs which often call 
out unamiable passions, ought to guard with 
peculiar watchfulness against such self-de- 
lusions. The sin that must most easily beset 
them, is that of sliding from general to par- 
ticular consequences, — that of trying single 
actions, instead of dispositions, habits, and 
rules, by the standard of Utility, — that of 
authorizing too great a latitude for discretion 
and policy in moral conduct, — that of readily 
allowing exceptions to the most important 
rules, — that of too lenient a censure of the 
use of doubtful means, when the end seems 
to them good, — and that of believing unphi- 
losophically, as well as dangerously, that 
there can be any measure or scheme so use- 
ful to the world as the existence of men who 
would not do a base thing for any public 
advantage. It was said of Andrew Fletcher, 
'' that he would lose his life to serve his 
country, but would not do a base thing to 
save it." Let those preachers of Utility who 
suppose that such a man sacrifices ends to 
means, consider whether the scorn of base- 
ness be not akin to the contempt of danger. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



163 



and whether a nation composed of such men 
woi.ld not be invincible. But theoretical 
principles are counteracted by a thousand 
causes, which confine their mischief as well 
as circumscribe their benefits. Men are 
never so good or so bad as their opinions. All 
that can be with reason apprehended is, that 
thes(; last may always produce some part of 
their natural evil, and that the mischief will 
be greatest among the many who seek ex- 
cuses for their passions. Aristippus found 
in the Socratic representation of the union 
of virtue and happiness a pretext for sensu- 
ality; and many Epicureans became volup- 
tuaries in spite of the example of their 
master. — easily dropping by degrees the 
limitations by which he guarded' his doc- 
trines. In proportion as a man accustoms 
himself to be influenced by the utility of 
particular acts, without regard to rules, he 
approaches to the casuistry of the Jesuits, 
and to the practical maxims of Ccesar Borgia. 

Injury on this, as on other occasions, has 
been suffered by Ethics, from their close 
afTuiity to Jurisprudence. The true and 
eminent merit of Mr. Bentham is that of a 
reformer of Jurisprudence : he is only a mo- 
ralist with a view to being a jurist; and he 
sometimes becomes for a few hurried mo- 
ments a metaphysician with a view to lay- 
ing the foundation of both the moral sciences. 
Both lie and his followers have treated Ethics 
too juridically : they do not seem to be aware, 
or at least they do not bear constantly in 
iTiind, that there is an essential difference in 
the subjects of these two sciences. 

The object of law is the prevention of 
actions injurious to the community : it con- 
siders the dispositions from which they flow 
only indirectly, to ascertain the likelihood of 
their recurrence, and thus to determine the 
necessity and the means of preventhig them. 
The direct object of Ethics is only mental 
disposition : it considers actions indirectly as 
the signs by which such dispositions are 
manifested. If it were possible for the mere 
moralist to see that a moral and amiable 
temper was the mental source of a bad 
action, he could not cease to approve and 
love the temper, as we sometimes presume 
to suppose may be true of the judgments of 
the Searcher of Hearts. Religion necessarily 
coincides with Morality in this respect ; and 
it is the peculiar distinction of Christianity 
that it pjaces the seat of Virtue in the heart. 
Law and Ethics are necessarily so much 
blended, that in many intricate combinations 
the distinction becomes obscure: but in all 
strong cases the difference is evident. Thus, 
law punishes the most sincerely repentant ; 
but wherever the soul of the penitent can be 
thought to be thoroughly purified. Religion 
and Morality receive him with open arms. 

It is needless, after the.se remarks, to ob- 
serve, that those whose habitual contempla- 
tion is directed to 4he rules of action, are 
likely to underrate the importance of feeling 
and disposition ; — an error of very unfortu- 
nate conseouences, since the far greater part 



of human actions flow from these neglected 
sources; while the law interposes only in 
cases which may be called exceptions, which 
are now rare, and ought to be less frequent. 

The coincidence of Mr. Bentham's school 
with the ancient Epicureans in the disregard 
of the pleasures of taste and of the arts de- 
pendent on imagination, is a proof both of 
the inevitable adherence of much of the 
popular sense of the words '-'interest" and 
"pleasure," to the same words in their 
philosophical acceptation, and of the perni- 
cious influence of narrowing Utility to mere 
visible and tangible objects, to the exclusion 
of those which form the larger part of human 
enjoyment. 

The mechanical philo.sophers who, under 
Descartes and Gassendi, began to reform 
Physics in the seventeenth century, attempt- 
ed to exjilain all the appearances of nature 
by an immediate reference to the figure of 
particles of matter impelling each otfeer in 
various directions, an(l with unequal force, 
but in all other points alike. The commu- 
nication of motion by impulse they conceived 
to be perfectly simple and intelligible. It 
never occurred to them, that the movement 
of one ball when another is driven against 
it, is a fact of which no explanation can be 
given which will amount to more than a 
statement of its constant occurrence. That 
no body can act where it is not, appeared to 
them as self-evident as that the whole is 
equal to all the parts. By this axiom they 
understood that no body moves another with-' 
out touching it. They did not perceive, that 
it was only self-evident where it means that 
no body can act where it has not the power 
of acting; and that if it be understood more 
largely, it is a mere assumption of the pro- 
position on which their whole system rested. 
Sir Isaac Newton reformed Physics, not by 
simplifying that science, but by rendering 
it much more complicated. He introduced 
into it the force of attraction, of which he 
ascertained many laws, but which even he 
did not dare to represent as being as intelli- 
gible, and as conceivably ultimate as impul- 
sion itself. It was necessary for Laplace to 
introduce intermediate laws, and to calculate 
disturbing forces, before the' phenomena of 
the heavenly bodies could be reconciled even 
to Newton's more complex theory. In the 
present state of physical and chemical know- 
ledge, a man who should attempt to refer all 
the immense variety of facts to the simple 
impulse of the Cartesians, would have no 
chance of serious confutation. The number 
of laws augments with the progress of know 
ledge. 

The speculations of the followers of Mr. 
Bentham are not unlike the unsuccessful 
attempt of the Cartesians. Mr. Mill, for ex 
ample, derives the whole theory of Govern 
ment* from the single fact, that every man 
pursues his interest when he knows it ; 
which he assumes to be a sort of self-evi- 



* Encyc. Brit., article " Government." 



164 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



dent practical principle, — if such a phrase 
be not contradictory. That a man's pur- 
suing the interest of another, or indeed any 
other object in nature, is just as conceivable 
as that he should pursue his own interest, is 
a proposition which seems never to have oc- 
curred to this acute and ingenious writer. 
Nothing, however, can be more certain than 
its truth, if the term "interest" be employed 
in its proper sense of general well-being, 
which is the only acceptation in which it can 
serve the purpose of hisarguments. If, indeed, 
the term be employed to denote the gratifi- 
cation of a predominant desire, his proposi- 
tion is self-evident, but wholly unserviceable 
in his argument ; for it is clear that individu- 
als and multitudes often desire what they 
know to be most inconsistent with their gene- 
ral welfare. A nation, as much as an indi- 
vidual, and sometimes more, may not only 
mistake its interest, but, perceiving it clearly, 
may prefer the gratification of a strong passion 
to it.* The whole fabric of his political rea- 
soning seems to be overthrown by this single 
observation ; and instead of attempting to ex- 
plain the immense variety of political facts 
by the simple principle of a contest of inter- 
ests, we are reduced to the necessity of once 
more referring them to that variety of pas- 
sions, habits, opinions, and prejudices, which 
we discover only by e.xperience. Mr. Mill's 
essay on Educationt affords another example 
of the inconvenience of leaping at once from 
the most general laws, to a multiplicity of 
minute appearances. Having assumed, or 
at least inferred from insufficient premises, 
that the intellectual and moral character is 
entirely formed by circumstances, he pro- 
ceeds, in the latter part of the essay, as if it 
were a necessary consequence of that doc- 
trine that we might easily acquire the power 
of combining and directing circumstances in 
such a manner as to produce the best possi- 
ble character. Without disputing, for the 
present, the theoretical proposition, let us 
consider what would be the reasonableness 
of similar expectations in a more easily in- 
telligible case. The general theory of the 
winds is pretty well understood ; we know 
that they proceed from the rushing of air 
from those portions of the atmosphere which 
are more condensed, into those which are 
more rarefied : but how great a chasm is 
there between that simple la\v and the great 
variety of facts which experience exhibits ! 
The constant winds between the tropics are 
large and regular enough to be in some mea- 
sure capable of explanation: but who can 
tell why, in variable climates, the wind 
blows to-day from the east, to-morrow from 
the west? Who can foretell what its shift- 
ing and variations are to bel Who can ac- 
count for a tempest on one day, and a calm 
on another 1 Even if we could foretell the 
irregular and infinite variations, how far 



* The same mode of reasoning has been adopt- 
ed by the writer of a late criticism, on Mr. Mill's 
)'',s.'<ay. See Edinburgh Review, vol. xlix. p. 159. 

t Encyc. Brit., article "Education." 



might we not still be from the power of com- 
bining and guiding their causes] No man 
but the lunatic in the story of Rasselas ever 
dreamt that he could command the weather. 
The difficulty plainly consists in the multi- 
plicity and minuteness of the circumstances 
which act on the atmosphere: are those 
which influence the formation of the human 
character likely to be less minute and multi- 
plied 1 

The style of Mr. Bentham underwent a 
more remarkable revolution than perhaps 
befell that of any other writer. In his early 
works, it was clear, free, spirited, often and 
seasonably eloquent: many passages of his 
later writings retain the inimitable stamp of 
genius ; but he seems to have been oppressed 
by the vastness of his projected works, — to 
have thought that he had no longer more 
than leisure to preserve the heads of them, — 
to have been impelled by a fruitful mind to 
new plans before he had completed the old. 
In this state of things, he gradually ceased 
to use words for conveying his thoughts to 
others, but merely employed them as a sort 
of short-hand to preserve his meaning for his 
own purpose. It was no wonder that his 
language should thus become obscure and 
repulsive. Though many of his technical 
terms are in themselves exact and pithy, yet 
the overflow of his vast nomenclature was 
enough to darken his whole diction. 

It was at this critical period that the ar- 
rangement and translation of his manuscripts 
were undertaken by M. Dumont, a generous 
disciple, who devoted a genius formed for 
original and lasting works, to difluse the 
principles, and promote the fame of his mas- 
ter. He whose pen Mirabeau did not dis- 
dain to borrow, — who, in the same school 
with Romilly, had studiously pursued the 
grace as well as the force of composition, 
was perfectly qualified to strip of its uncouth- 
ness a philosophy which he understood and 
admired. As he wrote in a general language, 
he propagated its doctrines throughout Eu- 
rope, where they were beneficial to Juris- 
prudence, but perhaps injurious to the cause 
of reformation in Government. That they 
became more popular abroad than at home, 
is partly to be ascribed to the taste and 
skill of M. Dumont ; partly to that tendency 
towards free speculation and bold reform 
which was more prevalent among nations 
newly freed, or impatiently aspiring to free- 
dom, than in a people such as ours, long 
satisfied with their government, but not yet 
aware of the imperfections and abuses in 
their laws ; — to the amendment of which last 
a cautious consideration of Mr. Benlham'a 
works will undoubtedly most materially con- 
tribute. 

DUGALD STEWART.* 

Manifold are the discouragements rising 
up at every step in that part of this Disserta- 

*Born, 1753; died, 1828. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 165 



tion which extends to very recent times. 
No sooner does the writer escape from the 
angry disputes of the living, than he may 
feel his mind clouded by the name of a de- 
parted friend. But there are happily men 
whose fame is brightened by free discussion, 
and to whose memory an appearance of belief 
that they needed tender treatment would be 
a grosser injury than it could suffer from a 
respectable antagonist. 

Dugald Stewart was the son of Dr. Matthew 
Stewart, Professor of Mathematics in the 
University of Edinburgh, — a station immedi- 
ately before filled by Maclaurin, on the re- 
commendation of Newton. Hence the poet* 
spoke of "the philosophic sire and son." 
He was educated at Edinburgh, and he heard 
the lectures of Reid at Glasgow. He was 
early associated with his father in the duties 
of the mathematical professorship ; and dur- 
ing the absence of Dr. Adam Ferguson as 
secretary to the commissioners sent to con- 
clude a peace with North America, he oc- 
cupied the chair of Moral Philosophy. He 
was appointed to the professorship on the 
resignation of Ferguson, — not the least dis- 
tinguished among the modern morahsts in- 
clined to the Stoical school. 

This office, filled in immediate succession 
by FergTison, Stewart, and Brown, received a 
lustre from their names, which it owed in no 
degree to its modest exterior or its limited 
advantages; and was rendered b}' them the 
highest dignity, in the humble, but not ob- 
scure, establishments of Scottish literature. 
The lectures of Mr. Stewart, for a quarter of 
a century, rendered it famous through every 
country where the light of reason was al- 
lowed to penetrate. Perhaps few men ever 
lived, who poured into the breasts of youth 
a more fervid and yet reasonable love of 
liberty, of truth, and of virtue. How many 
are still alive, in different countries, and in 
every rank to which education reaches, who, 
if they accurately examined their own minds 
and lives, would not ascribe much of what- 
ever goodness and happiness they possess, 
to the early impressions of his gentle and 
persuasive eloquence ! He lived to see his 
disciples distinguished among the lights and 
ornaments of the council and the senate. t 
He had the consolation, to be sure, that no 

* Burns. 

t As an example of Mr. Stewart's school may 
be mentioned Francis Horner, a favourite pupil, 
and, till his last moment, an affectionate friend. 
The sliort life of tliis excellent person is worth)' 
of serious contemplation, by those more especially, 
who, in circumstances like his, enter on the slip- 
pery path of public affairs. VViihout the aids of 
birth or fortune, in an assembly where aristorraii- 
cal propensities prevail, — by his understanding, 
industry, pure taste, and useful iufonnation, — still 
rnore by modest independence, by steadiness and 
sincerity, joined to moderation, — by the stamp of 
unbending integrity, and by the conscientious con- 
siderateness wliich breathed through iiis well- 
chosen language, he raised himself, at the early aee 
of thirty-six, to a moral authority which, without 
these qualities, no brilliancy of talents or power of 
reasoning could have acquired. No eminent speak- 



words of his promoted the growth of an im- 
pure taste, of an exclusive prejudice, or of 
a malevolent passion. Without deiogatioii 
from his writings, it may be said that his 
disciples were among his best works. He, 
indeed, who may justly be said to have cul- 
tivated an extent of mind which would other- 
wise have lain barren, and to have contribu- 
ted to raise virtuous dispositions where the 
natural growth might have been useless or 
noxious, is not less a benefactor of man- 
kind, and may indirectly be a larger con- 
tributor to knowledge, than the author of 
great works, or evc<i the discoverer of im- 
portant truths. The system of conveying 
scientific instruction to a large audience by 
lectures, from which the English universities 
have in a great measure departed, renders 
his qualities as a lecturer a most important 
part of his merit in a Scottish university 
which still adheres to the general method of 
European education. Probably no modern 
ever exceeded him in that species of elo- 
quence which springs from sensibility to lite- 
rary beauty and moral excellence, — which 
neither obscures science by prodigal orna- 
ment, nor distuibs the serenity of patient at- 
tention, — but though it rather calms atid 
soothes the feelings, yet exalts the genius, 
and insensibly inspires a reasonable enthusi- 
asm for whatever is good and fair. 

He embraced the philosophy of Dr. Reid, 
a patient, modest, and deep thinker,* who, 

er in Parliament owed so much of his success to 
his moral character. His high place was therefore 
honourable to his audience and to his country. 
Regret for his death was expressed with touching 
unanimity from every part of a divided assembly, 
unused to manifestations of sensibility, abhorrent 
from theatrical display, and whose tribute on such 
an occasion derived its peculiar value from their 
general coldness and sluggishness. The tears of 
those to whom he was unknown were shed over 
him ; and at the head of those by whom he was 
"praised, wept, and honoured," was one. whose 
commendation would have been more enhanced 
in the eye of Mr. Horner, by his discernment 
and veracity, than by the signal proof of the con- 
currence of all orders, as well as parlies, which 
was afforded by the name of Howard. 

* 'riiose who may doubt the justice of this de- 
scription will do well to weigh the words of the 
most competent of judges, who, though candid and 
even indulgent, was not prodigal o( praise. " It 
is certainly very rare that a piece so deeply philo- 
sophical is wrote with so much spirit, and aflbrds 
so much entertainment to the reader. Whenever 
I enter into your ideas, no man appears to express 
himself with greater perspicuty. Your style is so 
correct and so good English, that I found not any 
thing worth the remarking. I beg my compli- 
ments to my friendly adversaries Dr. Campbell 
and Dr. Gerard, and also to Dr. Gregory, w lioin 
I suspect to be of the same disposition, though lie 
has not openly declared himself such." — Letter 
from Mr. Hume to Dr. Reid: Stewart's Bidgra- 
phical Memoirs, p. 417. The latter part ot the 
above sentences (written after a perusal of Dr. 
Reid's Inquiry, but before its publication) suffi- 
cieiitly shows, that Mr. Hume felt no displeasure 
against Reid and Campbell, undoubtedly his most 
formidable antagonist, however he might resent 
the language of Dr. Beaitie, an amiable man, an 
elegant and tender poet, and a good writer on 



166 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



in his first work (Inquiry into the Human 
Mind), deserves a commendation more de- 
sciiptive of a philosopher than that bestowed 
upon him by Professor Cousin, — of having 
made -'a vigorous protest against scepticism 
on beiialf of common sense." Raid's obser- 
v.ations on Suggestion, on natural signs, on 
the connection between what he calls *' sen- 
sation" and "perception," though perhaps 
suggested by Berkeley (whose idealism he 
had once adopted), are marked by the genu- 
ine spirit of original observation. As there 
are too many who seem more wise than they 
are, so it was the more uncommon fault with 
Reid to appear less a philosopher than he 
really was. Indeed his temporary adoption 
of Berkeleianism is a proof of an unpreju- 
diced and acute mind. Perhaps no man ever 
rose finall)- above the seductions of that sim- 
ple and ingenious system, who had not some- 
times tried their full eflect by surrendering 
nis whole mind to them. 

But it is never with entire impunity that 
philosophers borrow vague and inappropri- 
ate terms from vulg~ar use. Never did any 
man afford a stronger instance of this danger 
than Reid, in his two most unfortunate terms, 
"common sense" and "instinct." Common 
sense is that average portion of undersland- 
hig, possessed by most men, which, as it is 
nearly always applied to conduct, has ac- 
quired an almost exclusively practical sense. 
Instinct is the habitual power of producing 
effects like contrivances of Reason, yet so far 
beyond the intellioence and experience of 
the agent, as to be utterly inexplicable by 
reference to them. No man, if he had been 
in search of improper words, could have dis- 
covered anj' more unfit than these two, for 
denoting that law, or state, or facility of Mind, 
which compels us to acknowledge certain 
simple and very abstract truths, not being 
identical propositions, to lie at the foundation 
of all reasoning, and to be the necessary 
ground of all belief. 

Long after the death of Dr. Reid, his phi- 
losophy was taught at Paris by M. Royer 
Collard,* who on the restoration of free de- 
bale, became the most philosophical orator 
of his nation, and nowt fills, with impartiali- 
ty and dignity, the cliair of the Chamber of 
Deputies. His ingenious and eloquent scho- 
lar. Professor Cousin, dissatisfied with what 
he calls '"'the sage and timid" doctrines of 
Edinburgh, which he considered as only a 
vigorous protest, on behalf of common sense, 
against the scepticism of Hume, sought in 
Germany for a philosophy of '•' such a mascu- 
line and brilliant character as might com- 
mand the attention of Europe, and be able 

miserllaneong literature in prose, but who, in his 
Essay on Truih. — Can unfair appeal to the nuilii- 
tude of philosophical qnestions) indulged himself 
in the personalities and invectives of a popular 
pamphleteer. 

* Fragments of his lectures have been recently 
published in a French translation of Dr. Reid, by 
M. JonflVov : OEuvres Completes de Thomas 
Reid. vol iv. Paris, 1828. 

1 1831.— Ed. 



to struggle with success on a great theatre, 
against the genius of the adverse school."* 
It may be questioned whether he found in 
Kant more ihan the same rigorous protestj 
under a more systematic form, with an im- 
mense nometiclature, and constituting a phi- 
losophical edifice of equal symmetry and 
vastness. The preference of the more boast- 
ful system, over a philosophy thus chiefly 
blamed for its modest pretensions, does not 
seem to be entirel}' justified by its permanent 
authority even in the country which gave it 
birth; where, however powerful its influence 
still continues to be, its doctrines do not ap- 
pear to have now many supporters. Indeed, 
the accomplished professor himself has ra- 
pidly shot through Kantianism, and now ap- 
pears to rest or to stop at the doctrines of 
Schelling and Hegel, at a point so high, that 
it is hard to descry from it any distinction be- 
tween objects, — even that indispensable dis- 
tinction between reality and illusion. As the 
woiks of Reid, and those of Kant, olherwise 
so different, appear to be simultaneous efforts 
of the conservative power of philosophy to 
expel the mortal poison of scepticism, so the 
exertions of JNl. Royer Collard and M. Cousin, 
howev'er at variance in metaphysical princi- 
ples, seem to have been chiefly roused by 
the desire of delivering Ethics from that fatal 
touch of personal, and, indeed, gross interest, 
which the science had received in Fiance at 
the hands of the followers of Condd'ao, — 
especially Helvetius, St. Lambert, and Caba- 
nis. The success of these attempts to render 
speculative philosophy once more popular in 
the country of Descartes, has already been 
considerable. The French youth, whose de- 
sire of knowledge and love of liberty aflbrd 
an auspicious promise of the succeeding age, 
have eagerly received doctrines, of which 
the moral part is so much more agreeable to 
their liberal spirit, than is the Selfish theory, 
generated in the stagnation of a corrupt, 
cruel, and di.ssohite tyranny. 

These agreeable prospects bring us easily 
back to our subject; for though the restora- 
tion of speculative philosophy in the country 
of Descartes is due to the precise statement 
and vigorous logic of M. Royer Collaid, the 
modifications introduced by him into the 
d.octrine of Reid coincide with those of Mr. 
Stewart, and would have appeared to agree 
mote exactl}-, if the forms of the French phi- 
losopher had not been more dialectical, and 
the composition of Mr. Stewart had retained 
less of that oratorical character, which be- 
longed to a justly celebrated speaker. Amidst 
excellencies of the highest order, the writings 
of the latter, it must be confessed, leave 
some room for criticism. He took precau- 
tions against offence to the feelings of his 
contemporaries, more anxiously and fre- 
quently than the impatient searcher for truth 
may deem necessary. For the sake of pro- 
moting the favourabli^ reception of philosophy 



* Conrs de Philosophie, parM. Cousin, kfon xii. 
Paris, 18?.S. 



DISSERTATION OxN THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



16< 



itself, he studies, perhaps too visibly, to avoid 
whatever might raise up prejudices against 
it. His gratitude and native modesty dic- 
tated a superabundant care in softening and 
excusing his dissent from those who had 
been his own instructors, or who were the 
objects of general reverence. Exposed by 
his station, both to the assaults of political 
prejudice, and to the religious animosities 
of a country where a few sceptics attacked 
the slumbering, zeal of a Calvinistic people, 
it would have been wonderful if he had not 
betrayed more weariness than would have 
been necessary or becoming in a very differ- 
ent position. The fulness of his literature 
seduced him too much into multiplied illus- 
trations. Too many of the expedients hap- 
pily used to allure tne young may unneces- 
sarily swell his volumes. Perhaps a succes- 
sive publication in separate parts made him 
more voluminous than he would have been 
if the whole had been at once before his 
eyes. A peculiar susceptibility and delicacy 
of taste produced forms of expression, in 
themselves extremely beautiful, but of which 
the habitual use is not easily reconcilable 
with the condensation desirable in works 
necessarily so extensive. If, however, it 
must be owned that the caution incident to 
his temper^ his feelings, his philosophy, and 
his station, has somewhat lengthened his 
composition, it is not less true, that some of 
the same circumstances have contributed to- 
wards those peculiar beauties which place 
him at the head of the most adorned writers 
on philosophy in our language. 

Few writers rise with more grace from a 
plain groundwork, to the passages which re- 
quire greater animation or embellishment. 
He gives to narrative, according to the pre- 
cept of Bacon, the colour of the time, by a 
selection of happy expressions from original 
writers. Among the secret arts by which he 
diffuses elegance over his diction, may be 
remarked the skill which, by deepening or 
brightening a shade in a secondary term, 
and by opening partial or preparatory glimp- 
ses of a thought to be afterwards unfolded, 
unobservedly heightens the import of a word, 
and gives it a new meaning, without any 
offence against old use. It is in this manner 
that philosophical originality may be recon- 
ciled to purity and stability of speech, and 
that we may avoid new terms, which are 
the easy resource of the unskilful or the in- 
dolent, and often a characteristic mark of 
writers who lov^ their language too little to 
feel its peculiar excellencies, or to study the 
art of calling forth its powers. 

He reminds us not unfrequently of the 
character given by Cicero to one of his con- 
temporaries, " wiio expressed refined and 
abstruse thought in soft and transparent dic- 
tion." His writings are a proof that the 
mild sentiments have their eloquence as 
well as the vehement passions. It would 
be difficult to name works in which so much 
refined philosophy is joined with so fine 
a fancy, — so much elegant literature, with 



such a delicate perception of the distinguish- 
ing excellencies of great writers, and with 
an estimate in general so just of the services 
rendered to Knowledge by a succession of 
philosophers. They are pervaded by a philo- 
sophical benevolence, which keeps up the 
ardour of his genius, without disturbing the 
serenity of his mind, — which is felt equally 
in the generosity of his praise, and in the 
tenderness of his censure. It is still more 
sensible in the general tone with which he 
relates the successful progress of the human 
understanding, among many formidable ene- 
mies. Those readers are not to be envied 
who limit their admiration to particular parts, 
or to excellencies merely literary, without 
being warmed by the glow of that honest 
triumph in the advancement of Knowledge, 
and of that assured faith in the final preva- 
lence of Truth and Justice, which breathe 
through every page of them, and give the 
unity and dignity of a moral purpose to the 
whole of these classical works. 

In quoting poetical passages, some of 
which throw much light on our mental ope- 
rations, if he .sometimes prized the moral 
common-places of Thomson and the specu- 
lative fancy of Akenside more highly than 
the higher poetry of their betters, it was not 
to be wondered at that the metaphysician 
and the moralist should sometimes prevail 
over the lover of poetry. His natural sensi- 
bility was perhaps occasionally cramped by 
the cold criticism of an unpoetical age ; and 
some of his remarks may be thought to indi- 
cate a more constant and exclusive regard to 
diction than is agreeable to a generation 
which has been trained by tremendous events 
to a passion for daring inventions, and to an 
irregular enthusiasm, impatient of minute 
elegancies and refinements. Many of those 
beauties which his generous criticism de- 
lighted to magnify in the works of his con- 
temporaries, have already faded under the 
scorching rays of a fiercer sun. 

Mr. Stewart employed more skill in con- 
triving, and more care in concealing his very 
important reforms of Reid's doctrines, than 
others exert to maintain their claims to origi- 
nality. Had his well-chosen language of 
'•laws of human thought or. belief" been at 
first adopted in that school, instead of "in- 
stinct" and "common sense," it would have 
escaped much of the reproach (which Dr. 
Reid himself did not merit) of shallowness 
and popularity. Expressions so exact, em- 
ployed in the opening, could not have failed 
to influence the whole system, and to have 
given it, not only in the general estimation, 
but in the mi;ids of its framers, a more scien- 
tific complexion. In those parts of Mr. 
Stewart's speculations in which he farthest 
departed from his general principles, ne 
seems sometimes, as it were, to be suddenly 
driven back by what he unconsciously shrink* 
from as ungrateful apostasy, and to be desi- 
rous of making amends to his master, by 
more harshness, than is otherwise natural to 
him towards the writers whom he has inseii- 



16S 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



sibly approached. Honce perhaps tlie nn- 
woiitoil severity of his laiipiage towards 
Tucker aiul Hartley. It is thus at the very 
time wheu he larirely adopts the priuciple 
of Associatiou in his excelhMit Essay on the 
Beautilul,* that he treats most rigiilly the 
latter of these writers, to whom, thouiih 
neither the discoverer nor the sole advocate 
of tliat principle, it surely owes the greatest 
illustration and support. 

In matters of far other importance, causes 
perhaps somewhat similar may have led to 
the like mistake. When he absolutely con- 
tradicts Dr. Reid, by truly statini: that '■ it is 
more philosophical to resolve the power of 
habit into the association of ideas, than to 
resolve the association of ideas into habit, '"t 
he, in the sequel of the same volume.t re- 
fuses to !X0 farther than to own, that " the 
theory of Hartley concerning the origin of 
our atlections, and of the Moral Sense, is a 
most ingenious irfinement on the Selfish .s-j/."-'- 
tcm, and that by means of it the lorce of 
many of the connnon reasonings against that 
system {» cludtd :'' though he somewhat in- 
consistently allows, that "active principles 
which, arising from circunistances in which 
all the siti'.aiions of mankind must agree, 
are therefore common to the whole species, 
at whatever period of life they may appear, 
are to be reg-arded as a part of human nature, 
no less than the instinct of suction, in the 
same maimer as the acquired perception of 
distance, by the eye, is to bo ranked among 
the perceptive powers of man, no less than 
the original perceptions of the other sen- 
ses. "'s^ In another place also he makes a 
remark on mere beauty, which might have 
led him to a more just conclusion respecting 
the theory of the origin of the atlections and 
the Moral Sense: "It is scarcely necess;\ry 
for me to observe, that, in those instances 
where associatiou operates in heightening" 
(or he might have said creates) "the plea- 
sure we receive from sight, tbe pleasing 
emotion continues still to appear, to our con- 
sciousness, simple and uncompouiuled."ir 
To this remark he might have added, that 
until all the separate pleasures be melted 
into one, — ;is long as any of them are dis- 
cerned and felt as distinct from each other, — 
the associations are incomplete, and the 
<iualities which gratify are not called by the 
name of "beauty." In like manner, as has 
been repealetUy observetl, it is only when 
all the separate feelings, pleasurable and 
painful, excited by the contemplation of vo- 
luntary action, are lost in the general senti- 
ments of approbation or disjipprobation, — 
when these gtMieral feelings retain no trace 



• riulosopliical Kssays. part ii. essay i., espe- 
cially olia|i. vi. 'I'lio oondensaiion, if not omission, 
■of ilie ctiscussion of \hv theories of RufTior. Rey- 
■nold.^, Hiirke, and Price, in ihis essay, would have 
lessened tliat temp<irary appearance which is un- 
suitatilo to a scientitie work. 

+ Klenienis of the rhilosophy of the Human 
Mind (171':. -Ito.), vol. i. p. 281. 

t Iliid.p. 383. ^Il.id. p.3S5. 

t Philosophical Essays, part ii. essay i. chap. xi. 



of the various emotions which originally at- 
tended ditierent actions, — when they aie 
held in a state of perfect fusion by the ha- 
bitual use of the wonls used in every lan- 
guage to denote them, that Conscience can 
be said to exist, or that we can be considered 
as endowed with a moral nature. The 
theory which thus ascribes the uniform for- 
mation of the Moral Faculty to universal 
and paramount laws, is not a relinemeut of 
the Seltish system, nor is it any modilication 
of that hypothesis. The partisans of Sel- 
lishness maintain, that in acts of Will the 
agent must have a view to the pleasure or 
happiness which he hopes to reap from it: 
the philosophers who regard the social afiec- 
tionsand the Moral Sentiments as formetl by 
a process of association, on the other hand, 
contend that these aJFections and sentiments 
must work themselves clear from every par- 
ticle of self-regard, before they deserve the 
names of benevolence and of Conscience. 
In the actual state of human motives the 
two svstems are not to be likened, but to bo 
contrasted to each other. It is reu'.arkable 
that I\Ir. Stewart, who admits the "question 
respecting the oric:in of the atlections to bo 
rather curious than important,"'* should have 
held a directly contrary opinion respecting 
the INIoral Sense, t to which these words, in 
his sense of them, seem to be equally appli- 
cable. His meaning in the former alHrma- 
tion is, that if the atlections be acquired, yet 
they are justly called uatiiral : and if their 
oriiX'in be personal, yet their nature may and 
does lyecome disinterested. AVhat circum- 
stance distinguishes the former from the 
latter case ? AVith respect to the origin of 
the aflection.*!, it must not be overlooked that 
his language is somewhat contradictory. For 
if the theory on that subject from wiiich 
he dissents were merely "a refinement on 
the Seltish system," its truth or falsehood 
could not be represented as subordinate; 
since the controversy would contir.ue to re- 
late to the existence of disinterested motives 
of human conduct. t It may also be ob- 
served, that he uniformly represents his op- 
ponents as deriving the affections from • self- 
love,' which, in its proper sense, is not the 
source to which they refer even avarice, and 
which is itself derived from other antecedent 
principles, some of which are inherent, and 
some acquired. If the object of this theory 
of the rise of the most important feelings of 
human nature were, as our philosopher sup- 
poses, ^'{0 elude objections ag-ainst the Sel- 
fish system," it would be at best worthless. 



* Ouilines of Moral Philo.eophy, p. 93. 

t Outlines, p. 117. "This is ihe most impor- 
tant qucsiion that can be staled with respect to 
llie theory of Morals." 

t In tlie Philosophy of the Active and Moral 
Powers of Man (vol. i. p. 1(^4.). Mr. Stewart lias 
done more manifest injustice to the Harileian 
theorv, by callinar it "a doctrine /MKr7(imtxf(j//y 
the stJme tcilh the Selfish system." "and especially 
l>y represoniiiii; Hariiev, who ought to be rather 
classed will) Butler and Hume, as agreeing with 
Gay, Tucker, and Paley. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



169 



Its positive merits are several. It affirms the 
actual disinterestedness of human motives, 
as strongly as Butler himself. The explana- 
tion of the mental law, by which benevo- 
lence and Conscience are formed habitually, 
when it is contemplated deeply, impresses 
on the mind the truth that they not only are 
but must be disinterested. It confirms, as it 
were, the testimony of consciousness, by 
e.xhibitiii;? to the Understanding' the means 
employed to insure the production of disin- 
terestedness. It affords the only effectual 
answer to the prejudice against the disinte- 
rested theory, from the multiplication of ulti- 
mate facts and implanted principles, which, 
under all its other forms, it seems to require. 
No room is left for this prejudice by a repre- 
sentation of disinterestedness, which ttlti- 
maiehj traces its formation to principles al- 
most as simple as those of Hobbes himself. 
Lastly, every step in just generalization is 
an advance in philosophy. No one has yet 
shown, either that Man is not actually dis- 
interested, or that he may not have been 
destined to become so by such a process as 
has been described : the cause to which the 
effects are ascribed is a real agent, which 
seems adequate to the appearance; and if 
future observation should be found to require 
that the theory shall be contined within nar- 
rower limits, such a limitation will not de- 
stroy its value. 

The acquiescence of Mr. Stewart in Dr. 
Raid's general representation of our mental 
constitution, led him to indulge more freely 
the natural bent of his understanding, by 
applying it to theories of character and 
manners^ of life and literature, of taste and 
the arts, rather than to the consideration of 
those jnore simple principles which rule over 
human nature under every form. His chief 
work, as he frankly owns, is indeed rather a 
collection of such theories, pointing toward 
the common end of throwing light on the 
structure and functions of the mind, than a 
systematic treatise, such as might be ex- 
pected from the title of " Elements." It is 
in essays of this kind that he has most sur- 
passed other cultivators of mental philosophy. 
His remarks on the effects of casual associa- 
tions may be quoted as a specimen of the most 
original and just thoughts, convej-ed in the 
best manner.* In this beautiful passage, he 
proceeds from their power of confusing spe- 
culation to that of disturbing experience and 
of misleading practice, and ends with their 
extraordinary effect in bestowing on trivial, 
and even ludicrous circumstances, some por- 
tion of the dignity and sanctity of those 
sublime principles with which the)' are as- 
sociated. The style, at first only clear, af- 
terwards admitting the ornaments of a calm 
and grave elegance, and at last rising to as 
high a strain as Philosophy will endure, (all 
the parts, various as their nature is, being 
held together by an invisible thread of gentle 
transition.) affords a specimen of adaptation 

• Elera. Philos. Hum. Mind, vol. i. pp. 340—352. 
22 



of manner to matter which it will be hard 
to match in any other philosophical writing. 
Anotlier very fine remark, which seems to 
be as original as it is just, may be quoted as 
a sample of those beauties with which his 
writings abound. "The apparent coldness 
and selfishness of mankind may be traced, in 
a great measure, to a want of attention and a 
want of imagination. In the case of those mis- 
fortunes which happen to ourselves or our 
near connections, neither of these powers is 
necessary to make us acquainted- with our 
situation. But without an uncommon degree 
of both, it is impossible for any man to com- 
prehend completely the situation of his neigh- 
bour, or to have an idea of the greater part of 
the distress which exists in the world. If we 
feel more for ourselves than for others, in the 
former case the facts are more fully before 
us than they can be in the latter."* Yet 
several parts of his writings afford the most 
satisfactory proof, that his abstinence from 
what is commonly called metaphysical spe- 
culation, arose from no inability to pursue it 
with signal success. As examples, his ob- 
servations on " general terms," and on " cau- 
sation," may be appealed to with perfect 
confidence. In the lirst two dissertations of 
the volume bearing the title " Philosophical 
Essays," he with equal boldness and acute- 
ness grapples with the most extensive and 
abstruse questions of mental philosophy, and 
points out both the sources and the utter- 
most boundaries of human knowledge with 
a Verulamean hand. In another part of his 
writings, he calls what are usually deno- 
minated first principles of experience, "fun- 
damental laws of human belief, or primary 
elements of human reason ;"t which last 
form of expression has so close a resemblance 
to the language of Kant, that it should have 
protected the latter from the imputation of 
writing jargon. 

The excellent volume entitled "Outlines 
of IMoral Philosophy," though composed only 
as a text-book for the use of his hearers, is 
one of the most decisive proofs that he was 
perfectly qualified to unite precision with 
ease, to be brief with the utmost clearness, 
and to write with becoming elegance in a 
style where the meaning is not overladen by 
ornaments. This volume contains his pro- 
perly ethical theory.^ which is much ex- 
panded, but not substantially altered, in his 
Philosophy of the Active and Moral Powers, 
— a work almost posthumous, and composed 
under circumstances which give it a deeper 
interest than can be in.spired by any desert 
in science. Though, with his usual modesty, 
he manifests an anxiety to fasten his ethical 
theory to the kindred speculations of other 
philosophers of the "Intellectual school," 
especially to those of Cudworth, — recently 
clothed in more modern phraseology by 
Price, — yet he still shows that independence 
and originality which all his aversion from 
parade could not entirely conceal. " Right," 



♦ Ibid. vol. i. p. 503. 
t pp. 76— US. 



t Ibid. vol. ii. p. 57. 



170 



MACKINTOSHS MISCELLANEOUS ESSAY'S. 



"dutv," "virtue/' '' moral obliqTition," and 
the liVo or the ojiposito forms ot expression, 
represent, aceordmg to him, eertain ihoughts, 
which arise neeess;irily and instantaneously 
in the minii, (or in the Reason, it" we take 
ihat word in tlie large sense in whieli it de- 
notes all that is not emotive) at the oontem- 
iihition ot" actions, and which are utterly 
nicixpable of all «esolution. and consequent- 
ly ot all oxolanatioii, and which can be 
Icnown only by being experienced. These 
''thoughts'' or "ideas." by whatever name 
thoy may be called, are foiiowed, — as inex- 
plicably as inevitably. — by pleasurable and 
jxiinful emotions, which sug)it^st tlie conceiv 
lion of moral beaut ii : — ii quaJity of human 
actions distinct IriMU their adherence to. or 
deviation from rectitude, though generally 
coinciding with it. The question which a 
reilocting reader will heiv put is, whetlier 
any purpose is served by the introduction 
of the intermediate mental process between 
the jurticular thoughts and the moral em<.v 
lions ? ■ How wouKl the view be darkened 
or confused, or indeed in any degree changt\l, 
by withdrawing tiiat process, or erasing the 
w oi\ls which attempt to express it ? No ad- 
vocate of the intellectual origin of the Moral 
Faculty has yet stated a case in which a 
mere openilion of Reason or Judgment, un- 
attended by emotion, could, consistently with 
the nniveisixl opinion of mankind, as it is 
exhibited by the structure of language, be 
said to have the nature or to produce the 
eflects of Conscience. Such an example 
would be equivalent to an esiYrimentum cru- 
ets on the side of tliat celebrated theory. 
The failure to pi-oduce it. after long chal- 
lenge, is at least a presumption ag~ainst it, 
nearly appivaching to that sort of decisively 
discriminative experiment. It would be vain 
to restate what has alreadv been too ot'ten 
repeated, that all the objections to theSellish 
philosophy turn upon the actual nature, not 
up^m the original source, of our principles of 
action, and that it is by a confusion of these 
very distinct questions alone that the contn- 
tation of Hobbes can be made apixirentlv to 
involve Hartley. Mr. Stewart appears, like 
most other metaphvsicians, to have blended 
the inquiry into the nature of our Mor.il 
Sentiments with that other which only seeks 
a criterion to distinguish moral f mm immoral 
habits of feeling and action ; tor he considei-s 
the appearance of the Moral Sentiments at 
an early agi\ betore the general tendency of 
actions can be a<k'ertained, as a decisive ob- 
jection to the origin of these sentiments in 
As.sociation. — an objection which assumes 
that, if utility be the criterion of Moralitv, 
asstH'iations with utility must be the moile 
by which the Moral Sentiments are fornunl : 
but this no skilful advocate of the theory of 
Aj^sociation will ever allow. That the main, 
if not sole object of Conscience is to gtnern 
»uir voluntarv exertions, is manifest : but how 
ould it pert'orm this great function if it did 
not impel the Will ? and how cnnild it have 
the latter otilnil as a more act of Reas^ni, or, 



indeed, in any respect otherwise than as it 
is made up of emotions I Judgment ar.d 
Reason are ther«>fore preparatory to Consci- 
ence, — not pmperlv a part of it. The asser- 
tion that the exclusion of Reason reduces 
Virtue to be a relative qualty. is another in- 
stance of the confusion of ilie two questions 
in moral theory ; for though a titness to 
excite appi-ohition may be only a rt^lation 
of objects to our susceptibility, yet the pro- 
position that all virtuous actions are benefi- 
cial, is a prnposition as absolute as any other 
within the rangt> of our understanding. 

A delicate slate of health, and an ardent 
desire to devote himself exclusively to study 
and composition, induced Mr. Stewart, while 
in the full blaze of his reputatioit as a lec- 
turer, to retire, in IS 10, from the lalxnir of 
public instruction. This retirement, as he 
himself describes it, was that of a quiet but 
active lite. Three quarto and two octavo 
volumes, besides the n\agnitlcent Disserta- 
tion preti.ved to the Encyclopa\lia Britannica, 
were among its happy fruits. This Disser- 
tation is, perhaps, the most profusely orna- 
mented of any of his compositions ; — ;\ pecu- 
liarity which must in i^irt have arisen from 
a principle of taste, which regruded decora- 
tion as more suitable to the history of philo- 
sophy than to philosophy itselt". Rut the 
memorable instances of Cicero, of Milton, 
and still more those of Pryden and Rurke, 
seem to show that there is si^me natural 
tendency in the tire of genius to burn more 
brightly, or to blaze nu^re liercely, in the 
evening than in the mornitig of human life. 
Prolvrbly the materials which long experi- 
ence supplies to the imagination, the bold- 
ness with which a more established reputa- 
tion arms the mind, and the silence of the 
low but tormidable rivals of the highef prin- 
ciples, mav concur in pi\xlucing this unex- 
pected aiul little observed elfect. 

It was in the last vears of his life, w hen 
sutTering under the etuvts of a severe attack 
of }\ilsy, with which he had been aftlicted 
in ISC-J, that Mr. Stewart most plentifully 
reaped the fruits of long virtue and a well- 
ordeivd mind. Happily for him. his own 
cultivation and exercise of every kindly 
atlection had laid up a store o'" that domestic 
consolation which none who deserve it ever 
want, and for the lo,ss of w hich. nothing be- 
yond the threshold can make amends. The 
s;»me philosophy which he had culti\"ated 
t'rom his youth upward, employed his dving 
hand; aspirations alter higher and brig-luei 
scenes ot excellence, always blended with 
his elevated moi-alitv, became more earnest 
and deeper as worUlly ixissions died awny, 
and cart illy objects vauislied from his sight. 

THOMAS BROWN.* 

A writer, as he advauces in life, ought to 
speak with dithdence of systems which he 
has only Ivgun to consider with care alter 

• Born, lT?8;died. ISia 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGliESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



171 



tlic a-re in which it becomos hard for lils 
thoughts to How into now chaunels. A ro;uior 
cannot bo said praotioal'.y to undorstand a 
theory, till he has acquired the power of 
tliinking, at least for u short time, with the 
theorist. Even a hearer, with all the helps 
of voice in the instructor, and of countenance 
from him and from fellow-hearers, linds it 
diiricult to perform tliis necessary process, 
without either being betrayed into hasty and 
undistinguishing assent,*or falling while he 
is in pursuit of an impartial estimate of opi- 
nions, into an indillerence about their truth. 
I have fell this ditiiculty in reconsidering old 
opinions : but it is perhaps more needful to 
own its power, and to warn the reader ag-ainst 
its effects, in the case of a philosopher well 
known to me, and with whom cotnmon friend- 
ships stood in the stead of much personal 
hitercourse, as a cement of kindness. I 
very early read Brown's Observations on the 
Zoonomia of Dr. Darwin, — the perhaps un- 
matched work of a boy in the eighteenth 
year of his age.* His lust tract on Causa- 
tion appeared to me to be the tuiest model 
of discussion in mental philosoph) since 
Berkeley and Hume, — with this superiority 
over the latter, tliat its aim is that of a phi- 
losopher who seeks to enlarge knowledge, — 
not that of sceptic, wlio — even the most 
illustrious — has no better end than that of 
displaying his powers in confounding and 
darkening truth, — and the happiest elTorls of 
whose scepticism cannot be more leniently 
described than as brilliant fits of mental de- 
bauchery. t From a diligent perusal of his 
succeeding works at the time of their publi- 
cation, I was prevented by pursuits and du- 
ties of a very d iti'erent nature. These causes, 
together with ill health and growing occupa- 
tion, hindered me from reading his Lectures 
■with due attention, till it has now become a 
duty to consider with care that part of them 
which relates to Ethics. 
Dr. Brown was born of one of those fami- 

* Welsh's Life of Brown, p. 43 ; — a pleasingly 
affeciionnie work, full of ."inalytical spirit and meta- 
phy.«ii'al roadiiiw, — of .«uch merit, in short, that I 
could wish to nave found in it no phrenology. 
Olijections a priori in a case dependent on facts 
are, indeed, inadmissilile : even the allowance of 
presumptions of that nature wouhl open so wide a 
door tor projudices, that at nu->st they can be con- 
sidered only as maxims of logical prudence, which 
fortily the watchfulness of tiie individual. The 
fatal objection to plirenology seems to me to be, 
that what is new in it, or peculiar to it, has no 
approach to an adequate foundation in e.xperience. 

t " Bayle, a writer who. pervading hutnun na- 
ture at his case, struck into the province ofparadox, 
asane.xcrcise lor the unwearied vigour of his mind ; 
who, with a soul superior to ihesharpest attacks 
of fortune, and a heart practised to the best philo- 
sophy, had not enough of real greatness to over- 
come that last foible of superior minds, the temp- 
tation of lionour, which the academic exercise of 
wit is conceived to bring to its profejisor." So says 
Warburton (Divine Legation, book i. sect. 4), 
speaking of Bayle, but perhaps in part excusing 
liimselt", in a noble strain, of which it would have 
been more agreeable to find the repetition than the 
contrast in his language towards Hume. 



lies of ministers in the Scottish Church, who, 
after a generation or two of a hunible life 
spent in piety and usefulness, with no more 
than needful knowledge, have more than 
once sent forth a man of genius fiom their 
cool and quiet shade, to make his fellows 
wiser or better by tongue or pen, by head or 
hand. Even the scanty enilowmenls and 
constant residence of that Chuich, by keep- 
ing her ministers far from the objects which 
awaken turbulent passions and disperse the 
understaiuling on manv pursuits, aflbrds 
some of the leisure and calm of monastic 
life, without the exclusion of the charities 
of family and kindred. It may be well 
doubted whether this undissipated retire- 
ment, which during the eighteenth century 
was very general in Scotland, did not make 
full amends for the loss of curious and orna- 
mental knowledge, by its tendency to qualify 
men for professional duty ; with its opportu- 
nities for the cultivation of the reason for the 
many, and for high nu.'dilalion, and concen- 
tration of thought on worthy objects for the 
few who have capacity for such exertions.* 
An authentic account of the early exercises 
of Brown's mind is preserved by his biogra- 
pher,t from which it appears that at the age 
of nineteen he took a part with others (some 
of whom became the most memorable men 
of their time), in the foundation of a private 
society in Edinburgh, under the name of 
'•the Academy of Physics. "t 

The character of Dr. Brown is very at- 
tractive, as an example of one in whom 
the utmost tenderness of aflection, and the 
indulgence of a flowery fancy, were not 
repressed by the highest cultivation, and by 



♦ See Sir H. Moncreiff's Life of the Reverend 
Dr. Erskine. 
t Welsh's Life of Brown, p. 77, and App. p. 

49S. 

t A part of the first day's minutes is here bor* 
rowed from I\Ir. Welsii : — "Tih January, 1797.— 
Present, Mr. F.rskine. President. — .Mr. Broug- 
ham, Mr. Reddie, Mr. Brown. Mr. Birbeck, Mr. 
Leyden," &c. who were afterwards joined by 
Lord Webb Seymour, Messrs. Horner, Jeflrey, 
Sidney Smith, iS:c. ^Ir. Erskine, who thus ap- 
pears at the head of so remarkable an association, 
and whom diffidence and untoward circumstances 
have hitherto withheld from the lull mainlesltition 
of his powers, continued to be the bosom friend 
of Brown to tiie last. He has shown the con- 
stancy of his friendship for others by converting 
all his invaluable preparations for a iKir.slaiion of 
Sultan Baber's Commentaries, (perhap^^ the best, 
certainly the most European work of modern 
Eastern prose) into the means of completing the 
imperfect attempt of Leyden, wiih a regard 
equally generous to the fame of his early friend, 
and to the comfort of that friend's surviving rela- 
tions. The review of Baber's Commentaries, by 
?\I. Silvestre do Sacy. in the Journal des Savana 
for May and June 1S29, is perhaps one of the best 
specimens extant of the value of literary commen- 
dation when it is bestowed with conscientious 
calmness, and without a suspicion of bins, by one 
of the greatest orientalists, in a case wl>ere he 
pronounces every thing to have been done by 
.Mr. Erskine " which could have been performed 
by the most learned and the most scrupulously 
conscientious of editors and translators." 



172 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



a perhaps excessive refinement of intellect. 
His mind soared and roamed through every 
region of phdosophy and poetry ; but his 
untravelled heart clung to the hearth of his 
father, to ihe children who shared it with 
him, and after them, first to the other part- 
ners of his childish sports and then almost 
solely to those companions of his youthful 
studies who continued to be the friends of 
his life. Speculation seemed to keep his 
kindness at home. It is observable, that 
though sparkling with fancy, he does not 
seem to have been deeply or durably touch- 
ed by those aflections which are lighted at 
its torch, or at least tinged with its colours. 
His heart sought little abroad, but content- 
edly dwelt in his family and in his study. 
He was one of those men of genius who re- 
paid the tender care of a mother by rocking 
the cradle of her reposing age. He ended 
a life spent in searching for truth, and e.ver- 
cising love, by desiring that he should be 
buried in his native parish, with his '-dear 
father and mother." Some of his delightful 
qualities were perhaps hidden from the ca- 
sual observer in general society, by the want 
of that perfect simplicity of manner which 
is doubtless their natural representative. 
Manner is a better mark of the state of a 
mind, than those large and deliberate actions 
which form what is called conduct; it is the 
constant and insensible transpiration of cha- 
racter. In serious acts a man maj- display 
himself) in the thousand nameless acts 
which compose manner, the mind betrays 
its habitual bent. But manner is then only 
an index of disposition, when it is that of 
men who live at ease in the intimate famili- 
arity of friends and equals. It may be di- 
verleil from simplicity by causes which do 
not reach so deep as the character; — by bad 
models, or by a restless and wearisome 
anxiety to shine, arising from many circum- 
stances, — none of which are probably more 
common than the unseasonable exertions of 
a recluse student in societj'. and the unfortu- 
nate attempts of some others, to take by 
violence the admiration of those with whom 
they do not associate with ease. The asso- 
ciation with unlike or superior companions 
which least distorts manners, is that which 
takes place with those classes whose secure 
dignity generally renders their own manners 
easy, — with whom the art of pleasing or of 
not' displeasing each other in societj' is a 
serious concern, — who have leisure enough 
to discover the positive and negative parts 
of the smaller moralities, and who. being 
trained to a watchful eye on what is ludi- 
crous, apply the lash of ridicule to affectation, 
tlie most ridiculous of faults. The busy in 
every department of life are too respectably 
occupied to form these manners: they are the 
frivolous work of polished idleness ; and per- 
haps their most serious value consists in the 
war which they wage against affectation, — 
though even there they betray their origin 
in punishing it, not as a deviation from na- 
ture, but as a badge of vulgarity. 



The prose of Dr. Brown is brilliant to ex- 
cess : it must not be denied that its beauty 
is sometimes womanlj-, — that it too often 
melts down precision into elegance. — that it 
buries the main idea under a load of illustra- 
tion, of which every part is expanded and 
adorned with such visible labour, as to with- 
draw the mind from attention to the thoughts 
which it professes to introduce more easily 
into the understanding. It is darkened by 
excessive brightness; it loses ease and live- 
Uiiess by over-dress ; and, in the midst of its 
luscious sweetness, we wish for the striking 
and homely illustrations of Tucker, and for 
the pithy and sinewy sense of Paley ; — either 
of whom, by a single short metaphor from a 
familiar, perhaps a low object, could at one 
blow set the two worlds of Reason and Fancy 
in movement. 

It would be unjust to censure severely the 
declamatory parts of his Lectures : they are 
excusable in the first warmth of composi- 
tion; they might even be justifiable allure- 
ments in attracting young hearers to abstruse 
speculations. Had he Rved, he would pro- 
bably have taken his thoughts out of the 
declamatory forms of spoken address, and 
given to them the appearance, as well, as 
the reality, of deep and subtile discussion. 
The habits, indeed, of so successful a lec- 
turer, and the natural luxuriance of his mind, 
could not fail to have somewhat allected all 
his compositions; but though he might still 
haA-e fallen short of simplicity, he certainly 
would have avoided much of Ihe diffusion, 
and even common-place, which hang heavily 
on original and brilliant thoughts : for it must 
be owned, that though, as a thinker, he is 
unusually original, yet when he falls among 
the declaimers, he is infected by their com- 
mon-places. In like manner, he would as- 
suredly have shortened, or left out, many of 
the poetical quotations which he loved to re- 
cite, and which hearers even beyond youth 
hear with delight. There are two very difler- 
ent sorts of passages of poetry to be found in 
works on philosophy, which are as far asun- 
der from each other in value as in matter. 
A philosopher will admit some of those won- 
derful lines or words which bring to light the 
intuiite varieties of character, the fuiious 
bursts or wily workings of passion, the wind- 
ing approaches of temptation, the slippery 
path to depravity, the beauty of tenderness, 
and the grandeur of what is awful and holy 
in ]\Ian. In every such quotation, the moral 
philosopher, if he be successful, uses the 
best materials of his science ; for what are 
they but the results of experiment and ob- 
servation on the human heart, performed by 
artists of far other skill and power than his? 
They are facts which could have only been 
ascertained by Homer, by Dante, by Shak- 
speare, by Cervantes, by Milton. Every year 
of admiration since the unknown period 
when the Iliad first gave delight, has extort- 
ed new proofs of the justness of the picture 
of human nature, from the responding hearts 
of the admirers. Every strong feehng which 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



173 



these masters have excited, is a successful 
repetition of iheir orii^iial experiment, and 
a coiitinuaHy growing' evidence of the great- 
ness of their discoveries. Quotations of this 
nature may be the most satisfactory, as well 
as the most delightful, proofs of philosophical 
positions. Others of inferior merit are not to 
be interdicted : a pointed maxim, especially 
when familiar, pleases, and is recollected. I 
cannot entirely conquer my passion for the 
Roman and Stoical declamation of some pas- 
sages -in Lucan antl Akenside: but quota- 
tions from those who have written on philo- 
sophy in verse, or, in other words, from those 
who generally are inferior philosophers, and 
voluntarily deliver their doctrines in the 
most disadvantageous form, seem to be un- 
reasonable. It is agreeable, no doubt, to the 
philosopher, and still more to the youthful 
student, to meet his abstruse ideas clothed 
m the sonorous verse of Akenside ; the sur- 
prise of the unexpected union of verse with 
science is a very lawful enjoyment : but such 
slight and momentary pleasures, though they 
may tempt the writer to display them, do 
not excuse a vain etTort to obtrude them on 
the spnpathy of the searcher after truth in 
after-times. It is peculiarly unlucky that 
Dr. Brown should have sought supposed or- 
nament from tlie moral common-places of 
Thomson, rather than from that illustration 
of philosophy which is really to be found in 
his picturesque strokes. 

Much more need not be said of Dr. Brown's 
own poetr)', — somewhat voluminous as it is, 
— than that it indicates fancy and feeling, 
and rises at least to the rank of an elegant 
accomplishment. It may seem a paradox, 
but it appears to me that he is really most 
poetical in those poems and passages which 
have the most propcrhj metaphysical charac- 
ter. For every varied form of lile and nature, 
when it is habitually contemplated, may in- 
spire feeling; and the just representation of 
these feelings may be poetical. Dr. Brown 
observed Man, and his wider world, with 
the eye of a metaphysician ; and the dark 
results of such contemplations, when he re- 
viewed them, often filled his soul with feel- 
ings \yhich, being both grand and melan- 
choly, were truly poetical. Unfortunatelj-, 
however, few readers can be touched with 
fellow-feelings. He sings to few, and must 
be content with sometimes moving a string 
in the soul of the lonely visionary, who, in 
the day-dreams of youth, has felt as well as 
meditated on the mysteries of nature. His 
heart has produced charming passages in all 
his poems ; but, generally speaking, they are 
only beautiful works of art and imitation. 
The choice of Akenside as a favourite and a 
model may, without derogation from that 
writer, be considered as no proof of a poeti- 
cally formed mind.* There is more poetry 

* His accomplished friend Mr. Erskine con- 
fesses that Brown's poems " are net written in 
the language of plain and gross emotion. The 
string touched is too delicate for general sympa- 
thy. They are in an unltnown tongue to one 



in many single lines of Cowper than in vo- 
lumes of sonorous verses such as Akenside's. 
Philosophical poetry is very diftcrejil from 
versitied philosophy : the former is tire lu'gh- 
est exertion of genius; the latter cannot be 
be ranked above the slighter amusements 
of ingenuity. Dr. Brown's poetry was^ it 
must be owned, composed either of imita- 
tions, which, with some exceptions, may be 
produced and read without feeling, or of 
efiusious of such feelings only as meet a 
rare and faint echo in the human breast. 

A few words only can here be bestowed 
on the intellectual part of his philosophy. I; 
is an open revolt against the authority of 
Reid ; and, by a curious concurrence, he be- 
gan to lecture nearly at the moment when 
the doctrines of that philosopher came to be 
taught with applause in France. Mr. Stew- 
art had dissented from the language of Reid, 
and had widely departed from his opinions 
on several secontlary theories : Dr. Brown 
rejected them entirely. He very justly con- 
sidered the claim of Reid to the mcnt of de- 
tecting the imivcrsal delusion which had 
betrayed philosophers into the belief that 
ideas which were the sole objfcts of know- 
ledge had a seixxrate existence, as a proof 
of his having mistaken their illusti.Mive lan- 
guage for a metaphysical opinio!i ;* but he 
Joes not do justice to the service which Reid 
really rendered to m.ental science, l)y keep- 
ing the attention of all future speculators in 
a state of more constant watchfulness against 
the transient influence of such an illusion. 
His choice of the term '' feeling"t to denote 
the operations which wo usually refer to the 
Understanding, is evidently loo wide a de- 
parture from its ordinary use, to have any 
probability of general adoption. No delinitiori 
can strip so familiar a word of the thoughts 
and emotions which have so lotig accornpa- 
nied it, so as to lit it for a technical term of 
the highest abstraction. If we can be said 
to have a feeling "of the equality of the 
angle of forty-five to half the angle of ninety- 
degrees,"}: we may call Geometry and Arith- 
metic sciences of •'' feeling." He has very 
forcibly staled the necessity of assuming 
'^ the primary universal intuitions of direct 
5f/;c/," which, in their nature, are incapable 
of all proof. They seem to be accurately- 
described as notions which cannot be con- 
ceived separafelj-, but without which nothing 
can be conceived. They are not only neces- 
sary to reasoning and to belief, but to thought 
itself. It is equally impossible to prove or to 
disprove them. He has very justly blamed 
the school of Reid for ''an extravagant and 
ridicidous" multiplication of those principles 
which he truly represents as inconsistent 
with sound philosophy. To philosophize is in- 
deed nothing more than to simplify securely.^ 



half" (he might have said nineteen twentieths) '| ot 
the reading part of tlie community." — Wcish's 
Life of Brown, p. 431. 

* Brown's Lectures, vol. ii. pp. 1 — 19. 

t Ibid. vol. i. p. 220. t Il)id. vol. i. p. 222. 

§ Dr. Brown always expresses himself best 
p2 



174 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



The subslilution of " suggestion" for the 
former phrase of "association of ideas/' 
would hardly deserve notice in so cursory a 
view, if it had not led him to a serious mis- 
conception of the doctrines and deserts of 
other philosophers. The fault of the latter 
phrase is rather in the narrowness of the last 
than in the inadequacy of the first word. 
'Association' presents the fact in the light 
of a relation between two mental acts : ' sug- 
gestion' denotes rather the pou-cr of the one 
to call up the other. But whether we say 
that the sight of ashes 'suggests' lire, or that 
the ideas of fire and ashes are 'associated,' 
we mean to convey the same fact, and, in 
both cases, an e.vact thinker means to ac- 
company the fact with no hypothesis. Dr. 
Blown has supposed the word "association" 
as intended to atlirm that there is some "in- 
termediate process"* between the original 
succession of the mental acts and the power 
which they acquired therefrom of calling up 
each other. This is quite as much to raise 
up imaginary antagonists for the honour of 
conquering them, as he 'justly reprehends 
Dr. Reid for doing in the treatment of pre- 
ceding philosophers.- He falls into another 
more important and unaccountable error, in 
representing his own reduction of Mr. Hume's 
principles of association ( — resemblance, 
contrariety, causation, contiguity in time or 
place) to the one principle of contiguity, as a 
discovery of his own, by which his theory is 
distinguished from "the universal opinion 
of philosophers. "t Nothing but too exclu- 
sive a consideration of the doctrines of the 
Scottish school could have led him to speak 
thus of what was hinted by Aristotle, dis- 
tinctly laitl down by Hobbes, and fully un- 
folded both by Hartley and Condillac. He 
has, however, extremely enlarged the proof 
and the illustration of this law of mind, by 
the exercise of "a more subtile analysis" 
and the disclosure of "a finer species of 
proximity.''}" As he has thus aided and 
confirmed, though he did not discover, the 
general law, so he has rendered a new and 
very important service to mental science, by 
drawing attention to what he properly calls 
" secondary laws of Suggestion"^ or Asso- 
ciation, which modify the action of the gene- 
ral law, and must be distinctly considered, 
in order to explain its connection with the 
phenomena. The enumeration and exposi- 
tion are instructive, and the example is wor- 
thy of commendation. For it is in this lower 



where he is short and familiar. "An hypothesis 
is nothing more than a reason for making one ex- 
periment or observaiion rather than another." — 
Lectures, vol. i. p. 170. In 1812, as the present 
writer observed to him that Reid and Hume dif- 
fered more in words than in opinion, he answered, 
" Yes, Reid bawled out, we must believe an out- 
ward world, but added in a whisper, we can give 
no reason for our belief: Hume cries out, we can 
give no reason for such a notion, and whispers, I 
3\vn we cannot get rid of it." 

♦ Brown's Lectures, vol. ii. pp. 335 — 317. 

t Ibid. vol. ii. p. 349. X Ibid. vol. ii. p. 218. 

<i Ibid. vol. ii. p. 270. 



region of the science that most remains to 
be discovered J it is that which rests most 
on observation, and least tempts to contro- 
versy: it is by improvements in this part of 
our knowledge that the foundations are se- 
cured, and the whole building so repaired as 
to rest steadily on them. The distinction 
of common language between the. head and 
the heart, which, as we have seen, is so 
often overlooked or misapplied by metaph)'- 
sicians, is, in the system of Brown, sigtiified 
by the terms ''mental states" and "emo- 
tions." It is unlucky that no single word 
could be found for the former, and that the 
addition of the generic term " feeling" should 
disturb its easy comprehension, v.hen it is 
applied more naturally. 

In our more proper province Brown fol- 
lowed Butler (who appears to have been 
chiefiy known to him through the -writings 
of Mr. Stewart), in his theory of the social 
affections. Their disinterestedness is en- 
forced by the arguments of both these phi- 
losophers, as well as by those of Hutcheson.* 
It is observable, ho\Aever, that Brown ap- 
plies the p«nciple of Suggestion, or Associa- 
tion, boldly to this part of human nature, and 
seems inclined to refer to it even Sympathy 
itself.t It is hard to understand how, v. i;h 
such a disposition on the subject of a jjrinei- 
ple so gvnicially thought ultimate as Sympa- 
thy, he should, inconsistently with himself, 
follow Mr. Stewart in representing the theory 
which derives the affections from Associa- 
tion as " a_jnodification of the Selfish sys- 
tem. "j: He mistakes that theory when he 
states, that it derives the affections from our 
experience that our own interest is connect- 
ed with that of others; since, in truth, it 
considers our regard to our own interest as 
formed from the same original pleasures by 
association, which, by the like process, may 
and do dircc'hj generate affections towards 
others, without passing through the channel 
of regard to our general happiness. But, says 
he, this is only an hypothesis, since the^form- 
ation of these aflections is acknowledged to 
belong to a time of which there is no re- 
membrance ;§ — ail objection fatal to every 
theory of any mental functions, — subversive, 
for example, of Berkeley's discovery of ac- 
qi^ired visual perception, and most strangely 
inconsistent in the mouth of a philosopher 
whose numerous simplifications of mental 
theory are and must be founded on occur- 
rences which precede experience. It is in 
all other cases, and it must be in this, suffi- 
cient that the principle of the theory is really 
existing, — that it explains the appearances, 
— that its supposed action resembles what we 
know to be its action in those similar cases 
of which we have direct experience. Last- 
ly, he in express words admits that, accor- 
ding to the theory to which he objects, we 
have affections which are at present disin- 

* Brown's Lectures, vol. iii. p. 243. 

t Ibid. vol. iv. p. 82. \ Ibid. vol. iii. p. 282. 

$ Ibid. vol. iv. p. 87. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



175 



leiested.* Is it not a direct contradiction in 
terms to call such a theory "a modification 
of the Selfish system V His language iq 
the sequel clearly indicates a distrust of his 
own statement, and a suspicion that he is 
not only inconsistent with himself, but alto- 
gether mistaken. t 

As we enter farther into the territory of 
Ethics, we at lensth discover a distinction, 
origiiiatiiig with Brown, the neglect of which 
by preceding speculators we have more than 
once lanienled as productive of obscurity 
and confusion. '-The moral affections," 
says he, '• which I consider at present, I con- 
sider lather physiologically" (or, as ne else- 
where better expresses it, "psychologically") 
'•' than ethically, as parts of our mental con- 
stitution, not as involving the fulfilment or 
violation of duties.'''' I He immediately, how- 
ever, loses sight of this distinction, and rea- 
sons inconsistently with it, instead of follow- 
ing its proper consequences in his analysis 
of Conscience. Perhaps, indeed, (for the 
words are capable of more than one sense) 
he meant to distinguish the virtuous affec- 
tions from those sentiments which have 
jMorality exclusively in view, rather than to 
distinguLsh the theory of Moral Sentiment 
from the attempt to ascertain the character- 
istic qualit}^ of right action. Friendship is 
conformable in its dictates to Morality; but 
it ma)', and does exist, without any view to 
it : he who feels the affections, and performs 
the duties of friendship, is the object of that 
distinct emotion which is called "moral ap- 
probation." 

It is on the subject of Conscience that, in 
imitation of Mr. Stewart, and with the argu- 
ments of that philosopher, he makes his 
chief stand against the theory which con- 
siders the formation of that master faculty 
itself as probably referable to the necessary 
and universal operation of those laws of hu- 
man nature to which he himself ascribes 
almost every other state of mind. On both 
sides^of this question the supremacy of Con- 
science isalike held to be venerable and ab- 
solute. Once more, be it remembered, that 
the question is purely philosophical, and is 
only whether, from the impossibility of ex- 
plaining its formation by more general laws, 
we are reduced to the necessity of consider- 
ing it as an original fact in human nature, of 
which no further account can be given. Let 
it, however, be also remembered, that we 
are not driven to this supposition by the mere 
circumstance, that no satisfactory explana- 
tion has yet appeared ; for there are many 
analogies in an unexplained state of mind 
to states already explained, which may jus- 
tify U3 in believing that the explanation re- 
quires only more accurate observation, and 
more patient meditation, to be brought to 
that completeness which it probably will 
attain. 



* Rr-nvn's Lectures, vol. iv. p. 87. 
t ;i..il. vol. iv. pp. 94—97. 
t luiJ. vol. id. p. 231. 



SECTION VII. 



GENERAL REMARKS. 



The oft-repeated warning with which the 
foregoing section concluded being again pre- 
mised, it remains that we should ofier a few 
observations, which naturally occur on the 
consideration of Dr. Brown's argument in 
support of the proposition, that moral appro- 
bation is not only in its mature state inde- 
pendent of, and superior to, any other prin- 
ciple of human nature (regarding which there 
is no dispute), but that its origin is altogether 
inexplicable, and that its existence is an ulti- 
mate fact in mental science. Though th*se 
observations are immediately occasioned by 
the writings of Brown, they are yet, in the 
main, of a general nature, and might have 
been made without reference to any particu- 
lar writer. 

The term "suggestion," which might be 
inoffensive in describing merely intellectual 
associations, becomes peculiarly unsuitable 
when it is applied to those combinations of 
thought with emotion, and to those unions 
of feeling, which compose the emotive na- 
ture of Man. Its common sense of a sign 
recalling the thing signified, always embroils 
the new sense vainly forced upon it. No one 
can help owning, that if it were consistently 
pursued, so as that we Avere to speak of 
"suggesting a feeling" or "passion," the 
language would be universally thought ab- 
surd. To "suggest love" or "hatred" is a 
mode of expression so manifestly incongru- 
ous, that most readers would choose to un- 
derstand it as suggesting reflections on the 
subject of these passages. " Suggest" would 
not commonly be understood as synonymous 
with "revive" or "rekindle." Defects of 
the same sort may indeed be found in the 
parallel phrases of most, if not all, philoso- 
phers; and all of them proceed from the er- 
roneous but prevalent notion, that the law of 
Association produces only such a close union 
of a thought and a feeling, as gives one the 
power of reviving the other ; — the truth being 
that it forms them into a new compound, in 
which the properties of the component parts 
are no longer discoverable, and which may 
itself become a substantive principle of hu- 
man nature. They supposed the condition, 
produced by the power of that law, to re- 
semble that of material substances in a state 
of mechanical separation ; whereas in reality 
it may be better likened to a chemical com- 
bination of the same substances, from w hich 
a totally new product arises. Their language 
involves a confusion of the question which 
relates to the orispn of the principles of hu- 
man activity, with the other and far more 
important question which relates to their 
nature; and as soon as this distinction is 
hidden, the theorist is either betrayed into 
the Selfish system by a desire of clearneps 
and simplicity, or tempted to the needless 
multiplication of ultimate facts by mistaken 
anxiety for what ho supposes to be tha 



ITd 



MACKIXTO^rS ^kll^^ELLAXEOl'S E&>A\'S. 



jjnarvls of our social luul moral nature. Tho 
doteot is ivminun to Bwwu with hi* preilt»- 
cessin^ but in him it is less oxousjiblo ; for 
ho s;»\v th;> truth uikI rxvotK\l fixnu it. It is 
the niatii dotVct of tho torm •■a&svK'iation" 
ilself, that it «.Uvs jjot, till aftor loii^us*', oon- 
rov tiie notion of a iH»rftvt union, Init rathor 
h\iJs to that of a otimbination which may Iv 
disSv'lvtsl, if not at ploiisurt\ at least with tho 
help of caiv and exertion ; which is utterly 
aiul dauiivrously lalst* in tho imixnlant castas 
whert» siioh luiions an^ i\>nsiden;xl as ix>usti- 
tiitiuir the most o^stNitial principles of hniuan 
nalurx>. Men can no niorx> iliss<>lve thest* 
\tnions than they can disus<' their habit of 
JHviging of distiuico by tho eve, and otten by 
\\fi> ear. Rut " sugi^^stion"" implies, that 
what sug^^sts is seixirate frv>m wtiat is sug- 
gx^stevl. and const\juently iioirativesthat unity 
in an activt> princii>lo whii^lx tho whole au- 
aliwry of natniv. as well as our own dirt<>t 
Cv«is»."iousnes*, sliows to W jvrUx^tly coiu- 
jKi'.ible with its origin in conijx^sition. 

Lan:r\> concessions art\ in the tii^t place, 
to K> rxMuarkt\l. which must K> statt\l. K^ 
c;\uso they very much nar;ow the matter in 
dispute. Those whiv lvtort> Pivwn, cvni- 
tendtxi a^viinst " Knjexicial tendency" as the 
standarvl of Morality, have either shut their 
eves on tho ci>nneotu^n of Virtue with irt^u*- 
ral utilitv, or carx^lessly and obs^niivly al- 
lowovl. w^ithout further ivmark, a connev'tion 
which is at least one of the miVj^t rxMuarkable 
and importmit of ethical tacts. He acts rnort* 
boldly, and a^^nvt^^ly discus#t^s " the rt^la- 
tiou of Virtue to I'tiliiy." He w;\s cv>m}H«llt\l 
bv that dis<ntss;on to make thv^se cvnivs^ions 
w'hich so much abridge this c^nuiwersy. 
•• Utility and Virtue arx;> so rclattxl, that thert> 
is jH>rhap>s no action s^nierally felt to b«» vir- 
tuous, w-hich it would not bo Ivneticial that 
all men in similar ciantmstances should 
imitate."* '"In every case of benetit or iti- 
jury willingly dojie. tlien> arist'' ct^rtain emo- 
tions of moral apprv^lwtion or disapprv^lxi- 
tion."^ "The intentional prvxluco ot evil. 
as puro evil, is always hatt\l. and that of 
gixM, as purt> goov.!, always lovt\l."J All 
virtuous acts art> thus admittt\l to K^ univer- 
sally btMieticial ; Morality and the gxi^neral 
benetit arx^ acknowU\lgi\l always to cvMncide. 
It is han.1 to say. then, why they should not 
ly> r»viprwally tesUs c»t" each other, though in 
a very ditlereut way ; — the virtuous ftvling*, 
titttvl as thev art^ by immt\liate apjH\»rance, 
by quick an^l ixnverful action, to bt' sutKcieut 
tests of Morality in the moment of action, 
and for all practical pur^x^ses; whilo tho 



• lHH-««r«»s», Tv>l. Jv. pk 45. Th* unphitosophtoal 
worvl " |x>rh,*ps" must be struck ovn of thepropo- 
¥•,..■'., unless the wholij be vvus-dorxNl *s a njens 
i-.viu-.!iirp ; 1! limits rK'> atlirmauvMi, but ilestrv>ys 
i;. by (.vnvrrtinsi it tnto a jucss, !?<>* ttw like c\vi- 
cvssion. vol. iv. vv S3. wii"h s^^mo worvis interisml- 

oJ. which K*""" ' -- • ■' ■■■ ■ •' ■ ■ 

lion, iiul'.o.it N 

Urtijiji'.od to ^- -- 

* Ibid. v»>l. ui. p. 5<57. * 



consideration of tendency of tho*«» acts to 
cvMUribute to gtMieral happiness, a more ob- 
scure and slowly dis«.x>verable iiuality. should 
be applitxl in gx>neral rt\is«.Mui;g, as a test i>f 
the sentiments and disixvsltions themst^lves. 
In castas where such last-mentioned test has 
btvn applievl, no prvx^f has Ixvu atlemptevl 
that it has ever dixvivtxl those who ustnl it 
in the j»rv>ix>r place. It has uniformly servetl 
to justify our moral cvvisiitution, and to show 
how ivasor.able it is for us to be guidevl in 
action bv our higher feelings. At all events 
it should be, but has not K>en considered, 
that fivm these cxnicessions alotie it t'ollows, 
that Knieticial tendency is at K\ist one iint- 
stunt prv>ptntv of Virtue. Is not lhis> in ff- 
ftH't. an adiwssion that K'neticial tendency 
dtx's distinsnish virtuous acts and disposi- 
tions fnmi ihivjo whicJi we call vicious ♦ If 
the criterion be incomplete or de!usivt\ let 
its faults bo sixx^iiitxl, ai\d let s<.vme other 
quality K> p^nnttxl out, which, either singly 
or in c\nubination with beneliciai tendency, 
may n\ort> }xn|:Vx''tly indicate the distinction. 
But let us not K' asf<tiiU\l by argume;U3 
which leave untouchevl its value as a test, 
and ar^ in truth dirwtevl only against its Ill- 
ness as an imme^hUt inctative ard ^uide to 
right action. To those who contend for its 
use in the latter charnc!er, it ir.v.s: be left to 
defend, if they can, so untenable a pvv«:tion : 
but all others must rog;\i\l as pur<> sv^phislry 
the use of ariruments against it as a test, 
which nwlly show nothing mor^> than its ac- 
ktiowKxlg^xl untitness to bt^ a motive. 

When volnv.tary K'uetit and voluntary in- 
jury are jx^inicvl vnit as the main, if not the 
s«.>le objtX"ts of moral apprv»bat;on, and disaj>- 
prolxition. — when we aro toKl truly, that the 
prixluction of cvxxl, as goovl. is always loved, 
and that of e\-il, as such, alwt\\^ hatsxl. cau 
we rtv.uiro a mon? clear, short, and unan- 
swerable pnx^f, that btnieticial leuvler.cv is 
an essential quality of Virtue ? It is ifdeed 
an evidently neot^ssary ^x>ns*xiuence of this 
statement, that if Knievolence po amiable iu 
itstMf. our aiftx-timt for it must it.crtxise with 
its extei't, and that no man c;m b«^ in a jH^r- 
t\x-tly riiiht state of n\ind, who, if he cin;s:der 
general liappiness at all. is not ready to ac- 
; knowltxlgt^ tnat a gvxxl man must n»gar\l it 
as btnn>r in its own naturv the mcvst desirable 
of all objtx'ts, however the constituritni anvl 
cirvumsliuices of human naturo may rt^nler 
it untit or impossible to pursue it dirr<:'.: ;is 
the objtX't of life. It is at the same tine .-j- 
part^at that no such matt can c^^nsider auy 
habitual disjxvsitivMi, clearly disoenuxl to bti 
in its whole result at >-arianct» with gvuer.U 
happiness, as f.ot uuwx»rthy of bt^i-.g culti- 
j vattxl. or as not til to bo rooteil out. It is 
I manitest that, if it wero otherwise, he would 
i cease to K» bone\-olont. As soott as we cort- 
1 ceive the sublime idea of a Beii^s: w ho tto" 
' only for»»sees, but cvvi^mands, all the consc- 
<Mux's of the actions of all voluntary agents, 
s scheme of reasoniitg appears ^ar mor^ 
c ear. In such a case, if our moral senti- 
I ments rxMuain the saraej they cinwpel us t« 



niSSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL rillLOSOniY. 



177 



attribulo His wholo c:overnnioiit of the worKl 
to boMovoloiioo. Tlio consoqiuMuv is as lu*- 
coss;uv as in any pixuvss ot reason; tor if 
our moral naluro bo snpposoJ, it will appear 
solf-ovidont. that it is as ninoh inipossiblo for 
us to love and rovoio suoh a Hoinii', if wo as- 
cribo to Him a m xoJ or imperfoct bonovo- 
lonoo. as to boliove tho most positive oontra- 
diotion in terms. Now, as Religion consists 
in that love and reverence, it is evident that 
it oamiot snbsist withont a belief in benevo- 
lence as the sole principle of divine Lixnern- 
mont. It is nolhinij- to tell ns that this is not 
a process of reasoning, or, to speak more ex- 
actly, that thetirst propositions are assumed. 
The tirst proixisitions in every discussion re- 
lating to intellectual operations must likewise 
bo assumed. Conscience is not Reason, but 
it is not less an essential jxirt of human na- 
ture. Principles which are essential to all its 
operations are as much entitled to immediate 
and implicit assent, as those principles w hich 
stand in the s;\me relation to the reasoning 
faculties. The laws prescribed by a bene- 
volent Being to His creatures must necess;\- 
rily be founded on the principle of pnimoling 
their happiness. It would be singular indeed, 
if the proofs of the goovlness of God, legible 
in every part of Nature, should not. above 
all others, be most discovenible and conspi- 
cuous in the benelicial tendency of His moral 
laws. 

But we are asked, if tendency to general 
weltare be the standard of Virtue, whv is it 
not always present to the contemplation of 
every man who does or prefers a virtuous 
action ? Must not Utility be in that case 
'"the felt essence of Virtue?"* Whv are 
other ends, besides general happiness, fit to 
be morally pursued ? 

These questions, which are all founded on 
that confusion of the theory of actions with 
the theory of snitimcnis. ag-ainst which the 
reader was so early warned, t might be dis- 
missed with no more than a reference to that 
distinction, trom the lorgtMfulness of w hich 
they have arisen. By those advocates of the 
principle of Utility, indeed, who hold it to be 
a necess;iry part of their system, that some 
glimpse at least of tendency to personal or 
general well-l eing is an es.sential jxut of the 
motives which render an action virtuous. 
these questions caimot be Siitisfactorilv an- 
swered. Ag-ainst such thev are arguments 
of irresistible force; but agtinist the doctrine 
itself", rightly undei-stood and justly bounded, 
they are altogether iwwerless. The reason 
why there may, and must be many ends mo- 
rally more fit to be pursued in practice th,in 
general happiness, is plainly to be Jonnd in 
the limited cajxicify of Man. A pertectlv 
gvxxl Being, who foresees and commands ail 
the consequences of action, cannot indeed be 
conceived by us to have any other end in 
view than general well-being. Why evil 
exists under that jx^rfect government, is a 

• Lectures, vol. iv. p. 38. 
t See ntprH. p. 97. 
23 



question towards the solution of which the 
human understanding can scarcely advance 
a single step. Rut all who lu>ld liie evd to 
exist only for good, and own their inability 
to explain why or how, are perfectly exempt 
from any charge of inconsistency in their 
obedience to the dictates of their moral na- 
ture. The measure of the faculties of ISlan 
renders it absolutely necessary for him to 
have many other pnictical ends; the pursuit 
of all of which is moral, when it actually 
tends to general happiuess,,though that last 
end never entered into the contemplation of 
the agent. It is impossible tor us to calcu- 
late the elFects of a single action, any more 
than the chances of a sinde life. But let it 
not be hastily concluded, tnal the calculation 
of consequences is impossible in moral sub- 
jects. To calculate the general tendency of 
every sort of human action, is a possi\»le. 
easy, and common operation. The general 
good etrects of temiHM-ance, prudence, forti- 
tude, justice, benevolence, gratitude, vera- 
city, tidelity, of the aifections of kindred, 
and of love for our counfiy, are the subjects 
of calculations which, taken as generalities, 
are absolutely unerring. They are founded 
on a larger and firmer basis of more uniform 
experience, than any of those ordinary cal- 
culations which govern prudent men in the 
whole business of life. An appeal to these 
daily and familiar transactions furnishes at 
once a decisive answer, both to those advo- 
cates of Utility who represent the considera- 
tion of it as a neces.sary. ingredient in virtu- 
ous motives, as well as moral approbation, 
and to those opj>onents who turn the unwar- 
rantable inferences of unskilful advocates 
into pivofs of the absurdity into which the 
dix'trine leads. 

The cultivation of all the habitual senti- 
ments from which the various classes of vir- 
tuous actions flow, the constant practice of 
such actions, the strict observance of rules 
in all that province of Ethics which can be 
subjected to rules, the watchtul care of all 
the outworks of every part of duty, and of 
that descending series of useful habits w hich,, 
being securities to Virtue, become themselves 
virtues, — are so many ends which it is abso- 
lutely necessary lor num to pursue and to 
seek for their own sake. " I s;iw D'Alcm- 
bert,'' says a very late writer, "congratulate 
a young man very coldly, who brought him 
a solution of a problem. The young man 
said, • I have done this in oiiler to have a seat 
in the Academy.' 'Sir,' answered D'Aleni- 
bert, 'with such dispositions you never 
will earn one. Science must be loved for 
I its own sake, and not for the advantage to 
I be derived. No other principle w ill enable 
I a man to make uri-vgress in the sciences."'* 
j It is singular tnat D'Alembert should not 
I perceive the extensive auplicafion of this 
truth to the whole nature oi Man. No man 
can make progress in a virtue who does 
not seek it for its own sake. No man is h 

* Memoircs de Montlosicr, vol. i. p. 50. 



ITS 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESS^Vi"?. 



friend, a lover of hi? country, a kind father, 
a dutiful son, who does not consider the oulti- 
>-ation of atieotion and the porfornianoe of 
duty in all these o;ises, respectively, as iii- 
cnnibent on him for their own siike, and 
not tor the adnxntage to be derivi\l fn.Mn 
them. Whv>ever serves another with a view 
of advantaire to himself is nnivers;\lly ac- 
knowledjivd not to act fanii atfection. But 
the nioiv immediate application of this truth 
to our pnrjHise is, that in the case of those 
virtues wh'.ch are the means of culti\-ating 
and proservin^other virtues, it is neces^fiiry 
to acquire love and reverence for the si»- 
cotuiary virtues tor their own s;ike, without 
which they never will be elfectnal means of 
shelterin>r and Strengthening those intrinsi- 
cally higher qualities to which they are ajv 
I'winted to minister. Every moral act must 
be considerovl as an end, and men must ba- 
nish fr\>m their practice the reg^ard to the 
most natnmlly subon.linate duty as a means. 
Those who are perplexed by the supposition 
that secoiidary virtues, making up by the 
extfiit of their benetJcial tendency for what 
in e;\ch ^xirticular instance they may want 
in via^nitud:. may become of as great im- 
jxirtance as the primary virtues themselves, 
would do well to consider a jxirallel though 
very hon^ely case. A house is useful for 
many pur^xises: many of these pur^x^ses 
are in tliemselve,*, for the time, more im- 
portant than sheUer. The destruction of the 
K.>u.*e mav. nevertheless, become a greater 
evil than llie defeat of several of these pur- 
p^xjes, because it is permanently convenient, 
aiid indeed ne«;ess;\ry to the execution of 
most of them. A floor is made for warmth, 
for dryness, — to supfx^rt tables, chairs, bed.s, 
and all the household implements which 
co;itrlb»ite to accommovlation and to plea- 
sure. The tlvHir is valuable only as a means ; 
but, as the oaly means by which manv ends 
are attained, it may be n\uch more v,iluable 
than some of them. The table might be, 
and generally is, of more \-aluable timber 
than the lloor; but tho workman who should 
for that reason take mort^ pains in making 
the table sta^ng, than the tloor socurv«, would 
not long be employeil by customers of com- 
mon sense. 

The connection of that jvirt of Morality 
which regulates the intercourse of the sexes 
with benevolence, atforvls the most striking 
instance of the very great importance w hich 
mav belong to a virtue, in itself secondary, 
but on which the g\Mieral cultivation of the 
highest virtues permanently deix»nds. FK^li- 
c-icy and modesty may be thought chietly 
worihy of c«hi\-atiou. btH'an.se thev guard 
purity; but they must be lovt\l for .their 
own sake, without whch they cannot flou- 
rish, rarity is the solt> school of domestic 
fidelity, and domestio tidelity is the only 
iiu.-sery of the atTcctions Ix^tweon jwrvMits 
auil chiMicu, trom children towarvls each 
oiher, and, thnnigh these atTcctions, of all 
ihe kindness which renders the world ha- 
oitaWo. At eacli step iu the prugress, the 



appropriate end must be loved for its own 
s;ike ;" and it is easy to see how the only 
means of sowing the sctxls of benevolence, 
in all its forms, ^llay become of far greater 
imiHMiance than many of the mod iticat ions 
and exertions even of benevolence itself. 
To those who will consider this subject, it 
will not long seem strange that the sweetest 
and most giMitle affections jjrow up only 
under the apivuently cold and dark shadow 
of stern duty. The oblig-alion is striM:gth- 
ened, not we;ikened, by the consideration 
that it arises from human imix^rfectiou; 
which only proves it to be four.ded on the 
naturiMif man. It is enough that the pursuit 
of all these sejwrate ends leads to general 
well-being, the pi\imotion of which is the 
final purjxise of the Creation. 

The last and most specious aigumcnt 
;^~ainst beneficial tendency, even as a test, 
is coiiveyed in the question. Why moral ap- 
probation is not bestowed on everv thing 
beneficial, instead of being ctnifined, as i« 
confessedly is, to voluntary acts! It may 
plausibly te s;iid, that the establishmer.t of 
the beneficial tendency of all those voluntary 
acts which are the objects of moral appivba- 
tion, is not snthcient ; — since, if such ten- 
dency be the standard, it ought to follow, that 
whatever is useful should also be morally 
appiwcil. To answer, as has before been 
done,* that exix^rieisce graduallv limits mo- 
ral approlwtion and disiipprolvition to volun- 
tary acts, by teaching us that they influence 
the Will, but are wholly wasted if they bo 
applied to any other object, — though the 
fact be true, and ct^itributes s^niu what to 
the result. — is certainly not enough. It is 
at best a ^xittial solution. Perhaps, on ivcon- 
sideration, it is entitled only to a secondary 
place. To seek a foundation for univers\l, 
arvlent. early, and imn\eiliate feelings, in pro- 
ce,<st"s of aix intellectual nature, has, since 
the origin of pJiilosoplr)*, been the grand 
error of ethical inquiivrs info human nature. 
To seek tor such a foundation in Association, 
— ;\n early and insensible process which 
confessedly mingles itself with the comjx)- 
sition of our first and simplest feeliiigs, and 
which is common to IxUh parts of our nature^ 
i* not liable to the s;uue animadversion. It 
Conscience be uniformly prxxluced by the 
regular and harmonious eo-<<pei-ation of many 
pau-esses of ass^x-iation, the objection is in 
n^alily a challenge to prxxUice a cinnplete 
iheory^of it, founded on that principle, by 
exhibiting such a full account of all these 
proivsses as may s;itisfiictorily explain why 
It prtxvtxls thus far and no faither. This 
would Iv a very aaluous attempt, and i">er 
hai\s it may be premature. But something 
mav K' more mixlestlv tried towarvls an 
outUnf. which, though it may leave many 
pirliculai^ unexplained, may justify a rea- 
sor.aWe exixvtation that they aiv not incapa- 
ble of explanation, and may even now assign 
such reasons (or the limi^ation of appaib;»tion 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



179 



to voluntary acts, as may convert the objec- 
tion derivod from that fact into a corrobora- 
tion of the doctrines to wliich it has been 
opposed as an insnnnoiuitable ilifiiculty. 
Such an attempt will naturally lead to the 
close of the present Dissertation. The at- 
tempt has indeed been already made,* but 
not without great apprehensions on the part 
of the author that he has not been clear 
enough, especially in those parts which ap- 
pearetl to himself to owe most to his own 
rellection. He will now endeavour, at the 
expense of some repetition, to be more satis- 
factory. 

There must be primary pleasures, pains, 
and even appetites, which arise* from no 
prior state of mind, and which, if explained 
at all, can be derived only from boiiily 
org-anizalion ; for if there were not, there 
could be no secondary desires. What the 
number of the underived principles may be. 
is a question to which the answers of phi- 
losophers have been extremely various, and 
of which the consideration is not necessary 
to our present purix)se. The rules of phi- 
losophizing, however, require that causes 
should not be multiplied without necessity. 
Of two explanations, therefore, which give 
an equally satisfactory account of appear- 
ances, that theory is manifestly to be pre- 
ferred which supposes the smaller number 
of ultimate and inexplic^ible principles. This 
maxim, it is true, is subject to three indis- 
pensable conditions : — 1st, That the priuci- 
i)les employed in the explanation should be 
Luown really to exist; in which consists the 
main distinction between hypothesis and 
theory. Gravity is a principle universally 
known to exist; ether and a nervous iluid 
are mere suppositions. — 2dly, That these 
principles should be known to produce ef- 
fects like those which are ascribed to them 
in the theory. This is a further distinction 
between hypothesis and theory; for there 
are an infinite number of degrees of Ukcneys, 
from the faint resemblances which have led 
some to fancy that the functions of the 
nerves depend on electricity, to the remark- 
able coincidences between the appearances 
of projectiles on earth, and the movements 
of the heavenly bodies, which constitutes 
the Newtonian system, — a theory now per- 
fect, though exclusively founded on analogy, 
and in which one of the classes of pheno- 
mena brouslit together by it is not the sub- 
ject of direct experience. — 3dly, That it 
should correspond, if not with all the facts 
to be explained, at least with so great a ma- 
jority of them as to render it highly proba- 
l)Ie that means will in time be found of re- 
conciling it to all. It is only on this ground 
that the Newtonian system justly claimed 
the title of a legitimate theory during that 
long period when it was unable to explain 
many celestial appearances, before the la- 
bours of a century, and the genius of La- 
place, at length completed it by adapting it 

* See sHpra p. 149, et stq. 



to all the phenomena. A theory may be 
just before it is complete. 

In the application of those canons to the 
theory which derives most of the principles 
of hiunan action from the tran.sfer of a small 
lumiber of pleasures, perhaps organic ones, 
by the law of Association to a vast variety 
of new objects, it cannot be denied, 1st, 
That it Kitisties the first of the above condi- 
tions, inasmuch as Associatioii is rcaUy one 
of the laws of human nature; 2dly, That it 
also satisfies the second, for Association cer- 
tainly proiluces elfects like those which are 
referred to it by this theory; — otherwise 
there would be no secondary desires, no 
acquired relishes and dislikes. — facts uni- 
versally a*.*kuowleiIged, which are, and can 
be explained only by the principle called by 
Hobbes ''Mental Discourse," — by Locke, 
Hume, Hartley, Cond iliac, and the majority 
of speculators, as well as in common speech, 
''Association," — by Tucker, "Translation," 
— antl by Brown, ''Suggestion." The facts 
generally referred to the principle rcscntble 
those facts which are claimed for it by the 
theory in this important particular, that in 
both cases equally, pleasure becomes at- 
tached to perfectly new things, — so that the 
derivative desires become perfectly inde- 
pendent of the primary. The great dissimi- 
larity of these two classes of passions has 
been supposed to consist in this, that the for- 
mer ahvavs regards the interest of the indi- 
vidual, while the latter regards the welfare 
of others. The philosophical world has been 
almost entirely divided into two sects, — the 
partisans of Selfishness, comprising mostly 
all the predecessors of Butler, and the greater 
part of his successors, and the advocates of 
Benevolence, who have generally contended 
that the reality of Disinterestedness depends 
on its being a primary principle. Enough 
has been said by Butler against the more 
fatal heresy of Selfishness: something also 
has already been said against the error of the 
advocates of Disinterestedness, in the pro- 
gress of this attempt to develope ethical 
truths historically, in the order in which 
inquiry and controversy brought them out 
with increasing brightness. The analogy of 
the material world is indeed faint, and often 
delusive ; yet we dare not utterly reject that 
on which the whole technical language of 
mental and moral science is necessarily 
grounded. The whole creation teems with 
instances where ihe most powerful agents 
and the most lasting bodies are the acknow- 
ledged results of the composition, sometimes 
of a few, often of many elements. These 
compounds often in their turn become the 
elements of other substances; and it is with 
them that we are conversant chiefly in the 
pursuits of knowledge, and solely in the con- 
cerns of life. No man ever fancied, that 
because they were compounds, they were 
therefore less real. It is impossible to c«wi 
found them with any of the separate ele- 
ments which contribute towards their forma 
tion. But a much more close resemblanoa 



180 



IkL\CKINTOSnS I^nSCELT ANEOVS ESSA'VIn. 



presents itself: every secondary desir<», or | 

aoviuiiixi rt^lish. involves in it a transfer of 
pleasure' to st^nuMhip.i: which was Ivfoiv in- I 
ditfcrtMit or dis«\i:nvable. Is ihe new plea- j 
snr*' the less rtnil for Ivin^ artiuireil ? Is it ] 
not otien prt^ferrtnl to theoruiinal enjoyment ? i 
Arx» not nwny of the stX'\>njary nleasurt^s in- | 
destructible J l\> tiot many of tnem snrvive i 
primarv apjx'tites ? Ij»slly. the imixMiant \ 
principle of r«^i:^»r\l to our own iriMieral wel- j 
lart>, which disjx>ses us to prefer it to inimt*- ! 
diate pleasure* (unfortnnatelv eallt\l "St»lf-' 
love," — jis it\ in any iutellip\>le sense of the | 
term " love," it wert» jxvssiblo for a man to j 
love himself), is {vrtWtly intellisrible. if its j 
ori«rin Iv asv.-rjbtM to AssvKMatiojK but utteily I 
iuvvv.uprt^hensible, if it be ixvisidertxl as prior ' 
to the apivtites and desirt^s, which alone i 
furnish it with materials. As happinesj? con- 
sists of satisfactions. S»lf-love prt>supix>ses 
apjxMites and desirt»s which are to lx> sttis- 
titxi. If the oaler of time werx^ im{X>rtant, 
live atUx'tions art» tormevl at an earlier writxl 
than many selt"-rx^i;v.i\linsr jxissions, auvl they 
always precede the formation of St^ll'-lo\-*>. 

Alanv of the later ad>-\H'ates of the Pisin- 
tert^sttxl system, thouirh rtxxnlinjr fivm an 
ap{x»rxMit apptvvich to the S<'ltishness into j 
which the puivst of their antaj^>nists had ' 
OiXMsionally fallen, were srnxdnally oblii^txl | 
to make concessions to the IX^rivative s\-stem. I 
Ihoiijih cloiTirtxl with thecvVUnidictory asser- I 
tion, that it was only a rtMinement of S^Mtish- 
ness : atul we have seen that Brv^wn, the last 
and not the Knist in genius of them, has ' 
nearly alKindontxl the srreater. though not 
indtwl the inivst important, {xut of the terri- ; 
torv in dispute, and scarcely ivntends for any \ 
underinxl principle but the Moral Faculty, j 
This Knng the state of opinion among ifte ' 
very small nnmK^r in Grwit Britain who still ■ 
pres»»rr*^ some remains of a taste for such ' 
speculations, it is ntx?\lles* here to trace the ; 
application of the law of Ass^xvation to the 
formation of the stxvMulary deslrr^s, whether ' 

8ri>i"ate or siX'ial. For our pr^^sent punx»ses, ' 
te explanation of their origin may be as- 
sumtxl to be Ssitislactory. In what follow**, ! 
i: must, howwcr, bt' steadily Ixmie in mind, j 
that this ixnuvssion in>\>lves an admission i 
that the pleasure* vlerivtxi frv^m low objtvts [ 
may Iv transferrtxl to the most purtv — that 
frv^m a jxirt of a st>lf-reg^\n.ling apjx^tile such ^ 
a pleasure may btxvme a portion of a ^vr^ ^ 
ftxsly disintert^stcvl desirt\ — and that the 
disinterestevi nature and abs«.>lute indejx^u- ' 
denct^ of the latter art^ not in the slightest ' 
dejrrtv imjviirtxl by the c-^nsideration. that 
it ^is foniuxl by one of those grand mental 
prvxvss<»s to which the formation of the other > 
habitual srates of the human mind hart> 
be«Mi, with gr^wt prv>KibiIity. ascribtxl. 

When the svXMal atVtx'tions ar*> thus lomi- 
evl. thev arx> naturally t'ollow^xl in every in- 
stance by the will to do whatever csm pr\>- 
motsj their objtx't. Connxission excites a 
Toluniary determination to do whatev\»r rt^ 
Jieves the pt»rson pititxl : the like |voiH>ss 
juusJ o»'cur m every case of gratitude, aene- ; 



rt>sity. and aflVxMion. Nothinsr so nmformlr 
follows the kind disjx^siiion as the act of 
Will, btx-ause it is the onlv means bv which 
the Ivnewlent desirx^ canlvgratitied. The 
result of what Brown justly calls "a finer 
analysis." shows a mental contiguity of the 
afVection to the volition to be mudi closer 
than apjxwi^on a ctxn^erevaminatiiyi of this 
[\»rt ot our natuiv. N'o wonder, then, that 
the striMigvst as*ix>iation. the nuvst active 
ix>wer of rtHMPrix-al suggvstion, shouKl sub- 
sist Ix'twtHMi tliem. As all theatlVvtionsar© 
delightful, s<< the volitions. — voluntary acts 
which are the only means of their gratitica- 
tioiK — Kxx^me agr^vjible objtvts of vXMitem- 
plation fo the mind. The habitual diSiH>si- 
lion to jx^rform them is felt in ourselves, and 
obstMveil in others, with satisfaction. As 
these feelings btHXMiie more lively, the ab- 
s*Mice of them may l>e viewcvl in ours^Mves 
with a jviin, — in others with an alienation 
cajvible of indetinite increase. They lxxx>me 
entirt^ly imlejxMident .«<Mitiments. — still, how- 
ewr, riveiving constant supplies of nourish- 
ment fix>m their j\»r^Mit atiWMions, — w hich. in 
well-lvilanctxl minds, reciprocally strt^jgthen 
each other; — unlike the \inkind rassions, 
which are ix>nstantlv engtigetl in tne most 
angry cv^ntlicts of civ^d war. In this state wo 
desire to exjx^rience the bfnejicifnt «>Wi7»o«.<, 
to cultivate a disix^sition towarvls them, and 
to do every cv^rr\'S{X">ndent voluntary act : 
thev are for their own s;ike the objtxMs of 
desire. They thus constitute a large jx>rtioi\ 
of tha-<t» emotions, desirt^s. and adec'ionSj 
which rt^gaixl certain dis)x>sitionsof the mind, 
and vieterminations of the Will as their s«^!e 
aiul ultimate end. Thest^ arx» what an» calhxl 
the "Moral S^Mise." the "Moral Stvitiments," 
or bt^st, though most simply, by the ancient 
name of Conscienix\ — wntch has the n>erit, 
in our language, of K^ng applievl to no other 
purixv«<\ — which ptHniliarly uKuks the sttviig 
worKing of thcs<> ftH^lingis on ciwdnct, — aid 
which, fn^m its si>lemn and sacreil character, 
is well adaotcvl to denote the venerable au- 
thority of the highest principle of hur;>.an 
nature. 

Nor is this allr it has already been stn^n 
that iK^t only sym|>alhy with tW sut!erer, 
but indigtiatKMi apinist ihe wrong-dvvr, ct>n- 
tributes a larg«» auvl important share lownnls 
the moral fet^lings. We are angrv at those 
who disixppoint our wish for ihe happiness 
of others ; we make the rt^stMitment of the 
innvxvnt jx^rstMi wrongtxi our own : our mo- 
derate anger approves all well-pn^|x^rtiontHl 
punishment of tne wrong-<loer. We hence 
approve tluvse disjx^sitions and actions of 
voluntary agxMits w hich prxnnote such suit- 
able putn,<hmer.t. and dis;ippri->ve tho<<» which 
hinder its infliction, or dcstixn- its etlect ; at 
the head of which may N» plactxl that excess 
of punishment bt^\-ond the avera>::\^ feeling^ 
of gvxxl men which turns the indigriatitMi of 
the calm bv-stander against the culprit inh» 
pitv. In this state, when ang\»r is duly mo- 
derate^!, — when it is pn->ix-»rt iontxl to the 
wwijg, — when it is detaohevl frv>m jx^rs^nai 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETIUCAT. PHILOSOniY 



181 



eonsiilomtioiis, — when dispo:fitious and actiotis 
are ils ultimate objrds, it bocoiiu>s ;i soiiso of 
justice, and is so iniiitiod as to bo liltod to 
be a new element ot Ci>iiseieiice. There is 
no ixiit of INloiality \vl\ieh is so (/i>rd/i/ aided 
by a eoMviotioM of the neoessity of ils observ- 
ance to llie i;enenil interest, as justice. The 
comuvtion between them is discoverable by 
the most common understand inij. All jnib- 
lic deliberations profess the public welfare 
to be their object ; all laws propose it as their 
end. This calm principle of public utility 
serves to mediate between the sometinu-s 
repuirnant feelinirs which arise in the punisli- 
ment of criminals, bv repressiuii' undue pity 
on one liand, and reilncing resentment to its 
proper level on the other. Hence the un- 
speakable importance of criminal laws as a 
pirt of the moral education of mankind. 
Whenever they carefully conlorm to the Mo- 
ral Sentiments of the a^eand country. — when 
thev are withheld from approachin<j- the 
limits within which the disapprobation of 
gvH>d men would confine punishment, they 
contribute in the highest deiiree to increase 
the ignominy of crimes, to make men recoil 
fivm the tirst suggestions of criminality, and 
to nourish and mature the sense of justice, 
which leuils new vigxnir to the conscicnco 
with which it has been united. 

Other contribntary streams present them- 
Belves : qualities which are necess!\ry to Vir- 
tue, but may be subservient to Vice, may, 
independent iy of that excellence, or of that 
defect, be in themselves admirable : courage, 
energy, decision, are of tliis nature. In their 
wild state they are often savage and destruc- 
tive: when tliey are tamed by the society 
of the ailections, and trained up in obedience 
to the Moral Faculty, tliey become virtues 
of the highest order, and, by their name of 
"magnanimity," proclaim llie general sense 
of mankind that they are the characteristic 
qualities of a great soul. Thi\v retain wliat- 
ever was admirable in their unreclaimed 
state, together with all that they borrow Irom 
their new associate and their high ruler. 
Their nature, it must be owned, is prone to 
evil ; but this propensity does not hinder 
them fixMn being rendered capable of being 
ministers of good, when in a state where the 
gentler virtues require to be vigorously 
guarded against the attacks of daring de- 
pravity. It is thus that the strength of the 
well-educated elephant is sometimes eiu- 
ployed in vanquishing the licrceness of the 
tiger, ami sometimes use^l as a nu^ms of de- 
fence ag-ainst the shock of his brethren of the 
same species. The delightlul contempla- 
tion, however, of these qualities, when purely 
applied, becomes one of the sentiments of 
which the dispositions and actions of volun- 
tary agents are the direct and linal object. 
By this resemblance they are as.<ociatetl with 
the other moral principles, and with them 
contribute to torm Conscience, which, as the 
master taculty of the soul, levies such large 
contributions on every pioviiice of human 
nature. 



It is important, in this ]ioint of view, to 
consider al.<o the moral approbation which 
is undoubtedly bestowcil on tlio^r dispositions 
and aitiona 0/ voluntarii ai^cnts which termi- 
nate in their own sjilisfaction, security, and 
well-being. They have been called "duties 
to ourselves," as absuivUy as a regard to our 
owi\ greatest happiness is called " selt-love." 
Ihit It cannot be reasonably doubtcil, that in- 
temjie ranee, improvidiMice, timidity. — even 
when considered only in relation to the indi- 
vidual, — are not only regretted as imprudent, 
but bhuned as nuirally wrong. It was ex- 
cellently observed by Aristotle, that a mau 
is not couunended as tcmperatt; so long as it 
costs him ellorts of self-denial to persevere 
in the jnaciice of temperance, but only when 
he prefers that virtue for its own sake. Ho is 
not meek, nor brave, as long as the most 
vigorous self-C(Mnmand is necessary to bridle 
his anger or his fear. On tlie sanu> princi- 
ple, he may be judicious or prudent, but he 
is not benevolent, if he confeis benelits with 
a view to his own greatest happiness. In 
like manner, it is ascertaiiu'd by experience, 
that all the masters of science and of art, — 
that all those who have successfully pursued 
Truth and Knowledge, love them for their 
own s;ike, without regard to the generally 
imaginary dower of interest, or even to the 
tlaz/ling crown which Fame may place on 
thtMr heads.* But it may still be reasonably 
askeil, why these useful qualities are morally 
improved, and how they become cajiable of 
being combined with those public and disin- 
terested sentiments which principally con- 
stitute Conscience ? The answer is, because 
they are entirely convers;int with volitions 
and voluntary actions, and in that respect 
resemble the other constituents of Con- 
science, with which they are thereby fitted to 
mingle and coalesce. Like those other prin- 
ciples, they may be detached from what is 
personal and outward, an<l fixed on the dis- 
positions and actions, whch are the only 
means of promotiiiij their ends. The se- 
quence of these principles and acts of Will 
becomes so frequent, that the association 
between both may be as lirm as iu the for- 



* See tlie Pursuit of Knowledffp under Difficul- 
lies. n discourse forniinsi the tirst pari of ihe ihird 
volinue of the Lilirary of Emcriaining Kiunvlodgc, 
London, 1SC9. The auihor of liiis essay, for it 
can be no other than i\lr. HnMighnni. will liy 
otiiers be placed at the head of tliose wlio, in the 
n\id>;t of arduous employments, nnd surrounded 
by all the nihiremenis of society, yet find leisure 
tor e.xerting tlio unwearied vigour of their minds 
in every mode of rendering periiianent service to 
tlto human species; more especially in spreading 
a love of knowtedire, nnd difl'using useful Iruih 
among all classes of men. These voluntary occu- 
pations deserve our attention still less as examples 
of prodigious power than as proofs of an intimate 
conviciion, whicli binds them by unity of purpose 
wiih his public duties, that (10 use the almost dying 
words of an excellent person) '' man can neither bo 
happy without virtue, nor actively virtuous without 
liberty, nor securelv free without rational kti'^w- 
ledge."— Close ot t^ir W. Jones' last Discaoiv* 
1 to the Asiatic Society of Calcutta. 

a 



182 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



mer cases. All those sentiments of which 
the final object is a state of the Will, become 
thus intimately ami insejiarably blended ; 
and of that perfect stale of solution (if such 
words may be allowed) the result is Con- 
science — the jiulge and arbiter of human 
conduct — which, though it does not super- 
sede ordinarti motives of virtuous feelings and 
habits (equally the ordinary motives of good 
actions), yet exercises a lawful authority 
even over them, and ought to blend with 
them. Whatsoever actions and dispositions 
are approved by Conscience acquire the name 
of virtues or duties: they are pronounced to 
deserve commendation; and we are justly 
considered as under a moral oWigafjon to prac- 
tise the actions and cultivate the dispositions. 
The coalition of the private and public 
feelings is very remarkable in two points of 
view, fi-om which it seems hitherto to have 
been scarcely observed. 1st. It illustrates 
very forcibly all that has been here oflered 
to prove, that the peculiar character of the 
Moral Sentiments consists in their exchisii'e 
reference to stah's of IVill. and that every 
feeling which has ihat quality, when it is 
purified trom all admixture with dilferent 
objects, becomes cajxible of being absorbed 
into Conscience, and of being assimilated to 
it, so as to become a part of it. For no feel- 
ings can be more unlike each other in their 
object, than the private and the social ; 
and yet, as both employ voluntary actions 
as their sole immediate means, both may 
be transferred by association to states of the 
Will, in which case they are transmuted into 
moral sentiments. No example of the coali- 
tion of feelings in their general nature less 
widely asunder, could atlord so much sufv 
port to this position. 2d. By raising quali- 
ties useful to ourselves to the rank of virtues, 
it throws a strong light on the relation of 
Virtue to individual interest ; very much as 
Justice illustrates the relation of Morality to 
general interest. The coincidence of ^lo- 
rality with individual interest is an impor- 
tant truth in P'lhics: it is most manifest in 
that part of the science which we are now 
considering. A calm regard to our general 
interest is indeed a taint and infrequent mo- 
tive to action. Its chief advantage is, that 
it is regular, and that its movements may be 
Ciilculated. In deliberate conduct it may 
often be relied on, though perhaps never 
6;ifely without knowledge of the whole tem 



is inconsistent with it. It may be impossiblo 
indeed to show, that while his disposition 
continues the same, he can derive anv en- 
joyment from the practice of virtue; but it 
may be most clearly shown, that every ad- 
vance in the amendment of that disposition 
is a step towards even temporal happiness. 
If he do not amend his character, we may 
compel him to own that he is at variance 
with himself and ollends against a principle 
of which even he must recognise the reason- 
ableness. 

The formation of Conscience from so many 
elements, autl esjiecially from the combina- 
tion of elements so unlike as the private de- 
sires and the social atfections, early con- 
tributes to give it the appearance of that 
simplicity and independence which in its 
mature state really distinguish it. It be- 
comes, from these circumstances, more diffi- 
cult to distinguish its separate principles j 
and it is impossible to exhibit them in sepa- 
rate action. The atlinity of these varrous 
passions to each other, which consists in 
their having no object but states of the Will, 
is the only common property which strikes 
the mind. Hence the facility with which 
the general terms, first probably limited to 
the relations between ourselves and others, 
are gradually extended to all voluntary acts 
and dispositions. Prudence and temperance 
become the objects of moral approbation. 
When imprudence is immediately disap- 
proved by the by-stander, without deliberate 
consideration of its consequences, it is not 
only displeasing, as being pernicious, but is 
blameil as tcromx. though with a censure so 
much inferior to lliat bestowed on inhumani- 
ty and injustice, as may justify those \vriters 
who use the milder term •improper.' At 
length, when the general words come to sig- 
nify the objects of moral approbation, and 
the reverse, they denote merely the power to 
excite feelings, which are as independent as 
if they were underived, and which coalesce 
the more perfectly, because they are de- 
tached from objects so various and unlike as 
to render their return to their primitive state 
very difficult. 

The question,* Why we do not morally 
approve the useful qualities of actions which 
are altogether involuntary? may now be 
shortly and satisfactorily answered : — be- 
cause Conscience is in perpetual contact, as 
it were, with all the dispositions and actions 



per and character of the agent. But in moral of vohtntartf agents, and is by that nutans in 
reasoning at least, the fore-named coinci- dissolubly associated with them exclusively, 
dence is of unspeakable ad\-antage. If there It has a direct action on the Will, and a 
be a miserable man who has cold affections, ! constant mental contiguity to it. It has 
a weak sense of justice, dim perceptions of I no such mental contiguity to involuntary 
right and wrong, and taint feelings of them, — j changes. It has never perhaps been eb- 
if, still more wretched, his heart be con- served, that an operation of the conscience 
tjtantlt torn and devoured by malevolent pas- precedes all acts deliberate enough to be in 
sions — the vultures of the soul, we have one - - - 
iesource still left, even in cases so dreadful 



the highest sen.se voluntary and does so as 
much when it is defeated as when it pre- 



Even he still retains a human principle, to | vails. In either case the association is re- 
which we can speak : he must own that he ; peated. It extends to the whole of the ac- 



has some wish for his own lasting welfare 
We can prove to him that his. state of mind 1 



* See supra, p. 178. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 183 



tive man. All passions have a definite ont- 
ward obji^ct to vvliich they tend, anil a limited 
sphere within which they act. But Con- 
science has no object but a state of Will ; 
and as an act of Will is the sole means of 
gratifying any passion, Conscience is co-e.v- 
tensive with the whole man, and without en- 
croachment curbs or aids every feeling, — 
even within the peculiar province of that 
feeling itself. As Will is the universal 
means, Conscience, which regards Will, must 
be a universal principle. As nothing is in- 
terposed between Conscience and the Will 
when the mind is in its healthy state, the 
dictate of Conscience is followed by the de- 
termination of the Will, with a promptitude 
and exactness which very naturally is likened 
to the obedience of an inferior to the lawful 
commands of those whom he deems to be 
rightfully placed over him. It therefore 
seems clear, that on the theory which has 
been attempted, moral approbation must be 
limited to voluntary operations, and Con- 
science must be universal, independent, and 
commanding. 

One remaining difiicnlty may perhaps be 
objected to the general doctrines of this Dis- 
sertation, though it does not appear at any 
time to have been urged against other modi- 
fications of the same principle. "If moral 
approbation," it may be said, "involve no 
perception of beneficial tendency, whence 
arises the coincidence between that princi- 
ple and the Moral Sentiments'?" It may 
seem at first sight, that such a theory rests 
the foundation of Morals upon a coincidence 
altogether mysterious, and apparently ca- 
pricious and fantastic. Waiving all olher 
answers, let us at once proceed to that which 
seems conclusive. It is true that Conscience 
rarely contemplates so distant an object as 
the welfare of all sentient beings; — but to 
what point is every one of its elements di- 
rected ? What, for instance, is the aim of 
all the social affections'? — Nothing but the 
production of larger or smaller masses of 
happiness among those of our fellow-crea- 
tures who are the objects of these afTections. 
In every case these afTections promote hap- 
piness, as far as their foresight and their 
power extend. What can be more condu- 
cive, or even necessary, to the being and 
well-being of society, than the rules of jus- 
tice '? Are not the angry passions themselves, 
as far as they are ministers of Morality, em- 
ployed in removing hindrances to the welfare 
of ourselves and others, and so in indirectly 
promoting it ? The private passions termi- 
nate indeed in the happiness of the indi- 
vidual, which, however, is a part of general 
happiness, and the part over which we have 
most power. Every principle of which Con- 
science is composed has some portion of hap- 
piness for its object : to that point they all 
converge. General happiness is not indeed 
one of the natural objects of Conscience, be- 
cause our voluntary acts are not felt and per- 
ceived to afiect it. But how small a step is 
left for Reason ! It only casts up the items 



of the account. It has only to discover that 
the acts of those who labour to promote sepa- 
rate portions of happiness must increase the 
amount of the whole. It may be truly said, 
that if observation and experience did not 
clearly ascertain that beneficial tendency is 
the constant attendant and mark of all virtu- 
ous dispositions and actions, the same great 
truth would be revealed to us by the voice 
of Conscience. The coincidence, instead of 
being arbitrary, ari.ses necessarily from the 
laws of human nature, and the circumstances 
in which mankind are placed. We perform 
and approve virtuous actions, partly because 
Conscience regards them as right, partly be- 
cause we are prompted to them by good af- 
fections. All these affections contribute 
towards general well-being, though it is not 
necessary, nor would it be fit, that the agent 
should be distracted by ihe contemplation of 
that vast and remote object. 

The various relations of Conscience to Re- 
ligion we have already been led to consider 
on the principles of Butler, of Berkeley, of 
Paley, and especially of Hartley, who was 
brought by his own piety to contemplate as 
the last and highest stage of virtue and hap- 
piness, a sort of self-annihilation, which, 
however unsuitable to the present condition 
of mankind, yet places in the strongest light 
the disinterested character of the system, of 
which it is a conceivable, though perhaps 
not attainable, result. The completeness 
and rigour acquired by Conscience, when all 
its dictates are revered as the commands of 
a perfectly wise and good Being, are so ob- 
vious, that they cannot be questioned by any 
reasonable man, however exiensive his in- 
credulity may be. It is thus that she can 
add the warmth of an afl^ection to the in- 
flexibility of principle and habit. It is true 
that, in e.vamininir the evidence of the divine 
original of a religious system, in estimating 
an imperfect religion, or in comparing the 
demerits of religions of human origin, hers 
must he the standard chiefly applied : but it 
follows with equal clearness, that those who 
have the happiness to find satisfaction and 
repose in divine revelation are bound to con- 
sider all those precepts for the government 
of the Will, delivered by her. which are 
manifestly universal, as the rules to wh'ch 
all their feelings and actions should conform. 
The true distinction between Conscience and 
a taste for moral beauty has already been 
pointed out;* — a distiiK-tion which, notwith- 
standing its simplicity, has been unobserved 
by philosophers, perhaps on account of the 
frequent co-operation and intermixture of 
the two feelings. Most speculators have 
either denied the existence of the taste, or 
kept it out of view in their theory, or exalted 
it to the place which is rightfully filled only 
by Conscience. Yet it is perfectly obvious 
that, like all the other feelings called " plea- 
sures of imagination," it terminates in de- 
lightful contemplation, while the Moral 

• See supra, p. 151. 



184 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Faculty al\va3-s aims exclusively at voUuitary 
actiou. Nothing can more cloaily show that 
this last quality is tho characteristic of Con- 
science, than its being thus found to distin- 
guish that faculty from the sentiments which 
most nearly resemble it, most frequently at- 
tend it, and are most easily blended with it. 



Some attempt has now been made to de- 
velope the fumlamental principles of Ethical 
theory, in that historical onler in which me- 
ditation and discussion brought them suc- 
cessively into a clearer light. That attempt, 
as far as it regards Great Britain, is at least 
chronologically complete. The spirit of bold 
speculation, conspicuous among the English 
of the seventeenth century, languished after 
the earlier part of the eighteenth, and seems, 
from the time of Hulcheson, to liave passed 
into Scotlanti, where it producctl Mume, the 
greate.st of sceptics, and Smith, the most 
eloquent of modern moralists; besides giving 
rise to that sober, modest, perhaps timid phi- 
losophy which is commonly called Scotch. 
and which has the singular merit of having 
first strongly and largely inculcated the abso- 
lute necessity of admitting certain principles 
as the foundation of all rea.soning, antl the 
indispensable conditions of thought itself. 
In the eye of the moralist all the philoso- 
phers of Scotland, — Hume and Smith as 
much as Reid, Campbell, and Stewart. — have 
also the merit of having avoided the Sellish 
system, and of having, under whatever va- 
rietj- of representation, alike maintained the 
disinterested nature of the social alfections 
and the supremo authority of the ]\Ioral 
Sentiments. Brown reared the standanl of 
revolt ag-ainst the ma.sters of the Scottish 
School, and in reality still more than in words, 
adopted those very doctrines against which 
his predecessors, after their war against 
scepticism, uniformly combated. The law 
of Association, though expressed in other 
language, became the nearly universal prin- 
ciple of his system ; aiul perhaps it would 
have been absolutely universal, if he had not 
been restrained rather by respectful findings 
than by cogent r(>asons. With him the love 
of speculative philosophy, as a pursuit, ap- 
pears to have expired in Scotland. There 
are some symptoms, yet however very faint, 
of the revival of a taste for it among the Eng- 
lish youth: while in France instruction in it 
has been received with approbation from IM. 
Royer Collard, the scholar of Stewart more 
than of Reid. and with enthusiasm from his 
pupil and successor iVI. Cousin, who has 
clothed the doctrines of the Schools of Ger- 
many in an unwonted eloquence, which al- 
ways adorns, but sometimes disguises them. 
The history of political philosophy, even 
if its extent and subdivisions were better 
defined, would manifestly have occupied 
another dissertation, at least equal in length 
to the present. The most valuable parts of 
it belong to civil history. It has too much 
of the spiri^ of faction and turbulence in- 



fused into it to be easily combined with the 
calmer history of the progress of Science, or 
even with that of the revolutions of specu- 
lation. In no age of the world were its prin- 
ciples so interwoven with political events, 
and so deeply imbued with the passions and 
divisions excited by them, as in the eigh- 
teenth century. 

It was at one time the purpose, or rather 
perhaps the hope, of the writev. to close this 
discourse by an account of the Ethical sys- 
tems which have prevailed in (Jermany 
during the last half century; — which, main- 
taining the same spirit amidst great changes 
of technical language, and even of specula- 
tive principle, have now exclusive possession 
of Europe to the north of the Rhine. — have 
been welcomed by the French youth with 
open arms, — have roused in some measure 
the languishing genius of Italy, but are still 
little known, and unjustly estimated by the 
mere Engli.sh reader. He found himself^ 
howev(^r, soon reduced to the necessity of 
either being superficial, and by consequence 
uninstrnctive, or of devoting to that subject 
a far longer time than he can now spare, and 
a much larger space than the limits of this 
work wouki probably allow. The majority 
of readers will, indeed, be more disposed 
to require an excu.se for the extent of what 
has been done, than for the relinquishment 
of projiH'ted atldilions. All readers must 
agree that this is peculiarly a subject on 
which it is better to be silent than to say too 
little. 

A very few observations, however, on the 
German philosophy, as far as relates to its 
ethical bearings and influence, may perhaps 
be pardoned. These remarks are not so 
much intended to be applied to the moral 
doctrines of that school, considered in them- . 
selves, as to those apparent defects in the 
prevailing sy.stems of Ethics throughout Eu- 
rope, which seem to have suggestetl the ne- 
cessity of their adoption. Kant has himself 
acknowledged that his whole theory of the 
percipient and intellectual faculty was in- 
teiuled to protect the first principles of human 
knowleilge against the assaults of Hume. 
In like manner, his Ethical system is evi- 
dently framed' for the purpose of guarding 
certain principles, either directly governing, 
or powerfully afiecting practice, which seem- 
etl to him to have been placed on unsafe 
foundations by their advocates, and which 
were involved in perplexity and confusion, 
especially by those who adapted the results 
of various ami sometimes contradictory sys- 
tems to the taste of multitudes, — more eager 
to know than prepared to be taught. To the 
theoretical Reason the iormer superadded the 
Practical Reason, which had peculiar laws 
and principles of its own, from which all the 
ruU>s of Morals may be deduced. The Prac- 
tical Reason caimot be conceiveil without 
these laws ; therefore they are itihercnt. It 
perceives them to be necessary and wxiycrsal. 
Hence, by a process not altogether dissimilar, 
at least iii its gross results, to that which waa 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



185 



employed for the like purpose by Cudworth 
and Clarke, by Price, and in sonne degree by 
Stewart, he raisers the social affections, and 
still more the Moral Sentiments, above the 
sphere of enjoyment, and beyond that series 
of enjoyments which Ls called happiness. 
The performance of duty, not the pur.suit of 
happiness, is in this system the chief end of 
man. By the same intuition we discover 
that Virtue deserves happiness; and as this 
desert is not uniformly so requited in the 
present state of existence, it compels us to 
believe a moral government of the world, 
and a future state of existence, in which all 
the conditions of the Practical Rea.son will 
be realized ; — truths, of which, in the opinion 
of Kant, the argumentative proofs were at 
least very defective, but of which the reve- 
lations of the Practical Reason afforded a 
more conclusive demonstration than any pro- 
cess of reasoning could supply. The Un- 
derstanding, he owned, saw nothing in the 
connection of motive with volition different 
from what it discovered in every other uni- 
form sequence of a cause and an effect. But 
as the moral law delivered by the Practical 
Reason issues peremptory and inflexible 
comrnands, the power of always obeying 
them is implied in their very nature. All 
individual objects, all outward things, must 
iiadeed be viewed in the relation of cause 
and effect: these last are necessary condi- 
tions of all reasoning. But the act.s of the 
faculty which 7vills, of which we are imme- 
diately conscious, belong to another province 
of mind, and are not subject to these laws of 
the Theoretical Reason. The mere intellect 
must still regard them as necessarily con- 
nected ; but the Practical Reason distinguish- 
es its own liberly from the necessity of nature, 
conceives volition without at the same time 
conceiving an antecedent to it, and regards 
all moral beings as the original authors of 
their own actions. 

Even those who are unacquainted with 
this complicated and comprehensive system, 
will at once see the slightness of the above 
sketch; those who understand it, will own 
that so brief an outline could not be other- 
wise than slight. It will, however, be suf- 
ficient for the present purpose, if it render 
what fullow.s intelligible. 

With respect to what is called the "Prac- 
tical Reason," the Kantian system varies, 
from ours, in treating it as having more re- 
semblance to the intellectual jwwers than to 
sentiment and emotion : — enough has al- 
ready been said on that question. At the 
next step, however, the difference seems to 
resolve itself into a misunderstanding. The 
character and dignity of the human race 
surely depend, not on the state in which 
they are born, but on that which they are all 
destined to attain, or to approach. No man 
would hesitate in assenting to this observa- 
tion, when applied to the intellectual facul- 
ties. Thus, the human infant comes into 
the world imbecile and ignorant ; but a vast 
»»aJority acquire some vigour of reason and 
24 



extent of knowledge. Strictly, the human 
infiint is born neither selfish nor social ; but 
a far greater part acquire some provident 
regard to their own welfare, ancLa number, 
probably not much smaller, feel some sparks 
of affection towards others. On our princi- 
ples, therefore, as much as on those of Kant, 
human nature is capable of disinterestea 
sentiments. For we too allow and contend 
that our Moral Faculty is a necessary part of 
human nature, — that it universally exists in 
hiiman being.s, — and that we cannot conceive 
any moral agents without qualities which 
are either like, or produce the like effects. 
It is necessarily regarded by us as co-exten- 
sive with human, and even with moral nature. 
In what other sense can universality be pre- 
dicated of any proposition not identical'? 
Why should it bo tacitly assumed that all 
these great characteristics of Conscience 
should necessarily presuppose its being un- 
formed and uuderived ? What contradiction 
is there between them and the theory of 
regular and uniform formation ? 

In this instance it would seem that a ge- 
neral assent to truth is chiefly, if not solely, 
obstructed by an inveterate prejudice, arising 
from the mode in which the questions relat- 
ing to the affections and the Moral Faculty 
have been discussed among ethical philo- 
sophers. Generally speaking, those who 
contend that these parts of the mind are 
acquired, have also held that they are, in 
their perfect state, no more than modifica- 
tions of self-love. On ihe other hand, phi- 
losophers "of purer fire," who felt that Con- 
science is sovereign, and that affection is 
disinterested, have too hastily fancied that 
their grouncl was untenable, without con- 
tending that these qualities were inherent or 
innate, and absolutely underived from any 
other properties of Mind. If a choice were 
necessary between these two systems as 
masses of opinion, without any freedom of 
discrimination and selection, I should un- 
questionably embrace that doctrine which 
places in the clearest light the reality of 
benevolence and the authority of the Moral 
Faculty. But it is surely easy to apply a 
tept which may be applied to our conceptions 
as effectually as a decisive experiment is 
applied to material substances. Does not 
he who, whatever he may think of the origin 
of these parts of human nature, believes 
that actually Conscience is supreme, and af- 
fection terminates in its direct object, retain 
all that for which the partisans of the un- 
derived principles value and cling to their 
system? "But they are made," these phi- 
losophers may say, " by this class of our 
antagonists, to rest on insecure foundations : 
unless they are underived, we can see no 
reason for regarding them as independent." 
In answer, it may be asked, how is connec 
tion between these two qualities established ? 
It is really assumed. It finds its way easily 
into the mind under the protection of another 
coincidence, which is of a totally diffeieni 
nature. The great majority of those specu 



186 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



lators who have represented the moral and 
social feelings as acquired, have also consi- 
dered them as being mere modifications of 
self-love, aiid sometimes as being casually 
formed and easily eradicated, like local and 
temporary prejudices. But when the nature 
of our fLH'Iings is thoroughly explored, is it 
notevident that this coincidence is the result 
of superficial confusion 1 The better moralists 
observed accurately, and reasoned justly, on 
the province of the Moral Sense and the 
feelings in the formed and mature man : they 
reasoned mistakenly on the origin of these 
principles. But the Epicureans were by no 
means right, even on the latter question ; 
and they were totally wrong on the other, 
and far more momentous, part of the subject : 
iheir error is more extensive, and infinitely 
more injurious. But what should now hin- 
der an inquirer after truth from embracing, 
but amending their doctrine where it is par- 
tially true, and adopting without any change 
the just description of the most important 
principles of human nature which we owe 
to their more enlightened as well as more 
generous antagonists'? 

Though unwilling to abandon the ail- 
ments by which, from the earliest times, 
the existence of the Supreme and Eternal 
]\Iind has been established, v.'e, as well as 
the German philosophers, are entitled to call 
in the help of our moral nature to lighten 
the burden of those tremendous difficulties 
which cloud His moral government. The 
moral nature is an actual part of man, as 
much on our scheme as on theirs. 

Even the celebrateil questions of Liberty 
and Necessity may perhaps be rendered 
somewhat less perplexing, if we firmly bear 
in mind that peculiar relation of Conscience 
to the Will which we have attempted to il- 
lustrate. It is impassible for Reason to con- 
sider occurrences otherwise than as bound 
together by the connection of cause and ef- 
fect ; and in this circumstance consists the 
strength of the Necessitarian system. But 
Conscience, which ia equally a constituent 
part of the mind, has other laws. It is com- 
posed of cmolions and dcsins, ickich contcm- 
pJate only those dixpositions tchieh depend mi 
the ]VilL Now, it is the nature of an emotion 
to withdraw the mind from the contemplation 
of every idea but that of the object which 
excites it : while every desire exclusively 
looks at the object which it seeks. Every 
attempt to enlarge the mental vision alters 
the state of mind, weakens the emotion, or 
dissipates the desire, and tends to extin- 
guish both. If a man, while he was pleased 
with the smell of a rose, wei-e to leflect on 
the chemical combinations frnm which it 
arose, the condition of his mind would be 
changed from an enjoyment of the senses 
to an exertion of the Understanding. If. 
in the view of a beautiful scene, a maii 
were suddenly to turn his thoughts to the 
disposition of water, vegetables, and earths, 
on which its appearance depended, he might 
eidarge his knowledge of Geology^ but he 



must lose the pleasure of the prospect. The 
anatomy and analysis of the fiesh and blood 
of a beautiful woman necessarily suspend 
admiration and atfection. ]\Iany analogies 
here present themselves. When life is in 
danger either in a storm or a battle, it is cer- 
tain that less fear is felt by the commander 
or the pilot, and even by the private soldier 
actively engaged, or the common seaman la- 
boriously occupied, than by those who are 
exposed to the peril, but not employed in 
the means of guarding against it. The rea- 
son is not that the one class believe the dan- 
ger to be less: they are likely in many in- 
stances to perceive it more clearly. But 
having acquired a habit of instantly turning 
their thoughts to means of counteracting the 
danger, their minds are thrown into a state 
which excludes the ascendency of fear. — 
IMental fortitude entirely depends on this 
habit. The timid horseman is haunted by 
the fear of a fall : the bold and skilful thinks 
only about the best way of curbing or sup- 
porting his horse. Even when all means of 
avoiiling danger are in both cases evidently 
unavailable, the brave man still owes to hi.9 
fortunate habit that he does not sufl'er the 
agony of the coward. Many cases have 
been known where fortitude has reached 
such strength that the fiiculties. insteail of 
being confounded by danger, are never raised 
to their highest activity by a loss violent 
stimulant. The distinction between such 
men and the coward does not depend on dif- 
ference of opinion about the reality or extent 
of the danger, but on a state of mind which 
renders it more or less accessible to fear. 
Though it must be owned that the Moral 
Sentiments are very different from any other 
human faculty, yet the above observations 
seem to be in a great measure applicable to 
every state of mind. The emotions and de- 
sires which compose Conscience, while they 
occupy the mind, must exclude all contem- 
plation of the cause in which the object of 
these feelings may have originated. To their 
eye the voiuntary dispositions and actioiis, 
their .sole object, must appear to he the first 
link of a chain; in the view of Conscience 
these have no foreign origin, and her view, 
constantly associated as she is with all roh- 
tions, becomes habitual. Being always pos- 
sessed of some, and capable of intense 
warmth, it predominates over the habits of 
thinking of those few who are employed in 
the analysis of mental occupations. 

The reader who has in any degree been 
inclined to adopt the explanations attempted 
above, of the imperative character of Con- 
science, may be disposed also to believe that 
they afford some fountlation for that convic- 
tion of the existence of a power to obey its 
commands, which (it ought to be granted to 
the German philosophers) is irresistibly sug- 
gested by the commanding tone of all its 
dictates. If such an explanation .should be 
thought worthy of consideration, it must be 
very carefully distinguished from that illu- 
sive sense by which some writers have !»• 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



187 



boured to reconcile the feeling of liberty with 
the reality of necessity.* In this case there 
is no illusion ; nothing is required but the 
admission, that every faculty observes its 
own laws, and that when the action of the 
one fills the mind, that of every other is sus- 
pended. The ear cannot see, nor can the 
eye hear: why then should not the greater 
powers of Reason and Conscience have dif- 
ferent habitual modes of contemplating vo- 
Junlary actions ? How strongly do experience 
and analogy seem to require the arrange- 
ment of motive and volition under the class 
of causes and effects! With what irresisti- 
ble power, on the other hand, do all our mo- 
ral sentiments remove cvtrinsic agency from 
view, and concentrate all feeling in the agent 
himself ! The one manner of thinking may 
predominate among the speculative few in 
their short moments of abstraction; the other 
will be that of all other men, and of the 
speculator himself when he is called upon 
to act, or when his feelings are powerfully 
excited by the amiable or odious disposi- 
tions of his fellow-men. In these work- 
ings of various faculties there is nothing 
that can be accurately described as cqntra- 
viety of opinion. An intellectual state, and 
a feeling, never can be contrary to each 
other: they are too utterly incapable of com- 
parison to be the subject of contrast; they 
are agents of a perfectly different nature, 
acting in diff'erent spheres. A feeling can 
no more be called true or false, than a de- 
monstration, considered simply in itself, 
can be said to be agreeable or disagieeable. 
It is true, indeed, that in consequence of 
the association of all mental acts with each 
other, emotions and desires may occasion 
habitual errors of judgment : but liability to 
error belongs to every exercise of human 
rea.son ; it arises from a mullitu?le of causes ; 
it constitutes, therefore, no difficulty peculiar 
to the case before us. Neither truth nor 
falsehood can be predicated of the percep- 
tions of the senses, but they lead to false 
opinions. An object seen through different 
mediums may by the inexperienced be 
thought to be no longer the same. All men 
long concluded falsely, from what they saw, 
that the earth was stationary, and the pun 
in perpetual motion around it : the greater 
part of mankind still adopt the same error. 
Newton and Laplace used the same language 
with the ignorant, and conformed, — if we 
ma J' not say to thei"- opinion, — at least to 
their habits of thinking on all ordinary occa- 
eions, and during the far greater part of their 
lives. Nor is this all : the language which 
represents various states of mind is very 
vague. The word which denotes a com- 
pound state is often taken from its 'principal 
fact, — from that which is most conspicuous, 
most easily called to mind, most warmly felt, 
or most frequently recurring. It is some- 
times borrowed from a separate, but, as it 

* Lord Karnes, in his Essays on Morality and 
Natural Religion, and in his Sketches of the His- 
tory of Man. 



were, neighbouring condition of mind. The 
grand distinction between thought and feel- 
ing is so little observed, that we are pecu- 
liarly liable to confusion on this subject. — 
Perhaps when we nse language which indi- 
cates an opinion concerning the acts of the 
Will, we may mean little more than to ex- 
press strongly and warmly the moral senti- 
ments which voluntary acts alone call up. It 
would argue disrespect fof the human un- 
derstanding, vainly employed for so many 
centuries in reconciling contradictory opi- 
nions, to propose such suggestions without 
peculiar diffidence; but before they are alto- 
gether rejected, it may be well to consider, 
whether the constant success of the advo- 
cates of Necessity on one ground, and of the 
parli.sans of Free Will on another, does not 
seem to indicate that the two parties con- 
template the subject from different points of 
view, that neither habitually sees more than 
one side of it, and that they look at it through 
the medium of different states of mind. 

It should be remembered that these hints 
of a possible reconciliation between seeming- 
ly repugnant opinions are proposed, not as 
perfect analogies, but to lead men's minds 
into the inquiry, whether that which certain- 
ly befalls the mind, in many cases on a small 
scale, may not, under circumstances favour- 
able to its development, occur with greater 
magnittule and more important conscquen- 
cer.. The coward and brave man, as has 
been stated, act differently at the approach 
of danger, because it produces exertion in the 
one, and fear in the other. But very brave 
men must, by force of the term, be few : 
they have little aid in their highest acts, 
therefore, from fellow-feeling. They are 
often too obscure for the hope of praise ; and 
they have seldom been trained to cultivate 
courage as a virtue. The very revertie oc- 
curs in the different view taken by the Un- 
derstanding and by Conscience, of the nature 
of voluntary actions. The conscientious 
view must, m some degree, present itself to 
all mankind ; it is therefore unspeakably 
strengthened by general sympathy. All men 
respect themselves for being habitually 
guided by it : it is the object of general com- 
mendation ; and moral discipline has no other 
aim but its cultivation. Whoever does not 
feel more pain from his crimes than from 
his misfortunes, is looked on with general 
aversion. And when it is considered that a 
Being of perfect wisdom and goodness esti- 
mates us according to the degree in which 
Conscience governs our voluntary acts, it ia 
surely no wonder that, in this most impor- 
tant discrepancy between the great faculties 
of our nature, we should consider the best 
habitual disposition to be that which the cold- 
est Reason shows us to be most conducive 
to well-doing and well-being. 

On every other point, at least, it would 
seem that, without the multiplied supposi 
tions and immense apparatus of the Germa.i 
school, the authority of Morality may bo 
vindicated, the disinterestedness of humaa 



188 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



nature asserted, the first principles of know- 
ledge secured, and the hopes and consola- 
tions of mankind preserved. Ages may yet 
be necessary to give to ethical theory all the 
forms and language of a science, and to ap- 
ply it to the multiplied and complicated facts 
and rules which are within its province. In 
the mean time, if the opinions here unfolded, 
or intimated, shall be proved to be at vari- 
ance with the reality of social affections, and 
%Yith the feeling of moral distinction, the 



author of this Dissertation •will be the first to 
relinquish a theory which will then show 
itself inadequate to explain the most indis- 
putable, as well as by far the most import- 
ant, parts of human nature. If it shall be 
shown to lower the character of Man, to 
cloud his hopes, or to impair bis sense of 
duty, be will be grateful to those who may 
point out his error, and deliver him from the 
poignant regret of adopting opinions which 
lead to consequences so pernicious. 



NOTES AND ILLUSTIUTIONS. 



Note A. page 103. 

The remarks of Cicero on the Stoicism of Cato 
are perhaps the most perfect specimen of that re- 
fined raillery which attains the abject of the ora- 
tor without general injustice to the person whose 
authority is tor the moment to be abated : — 

" Accessit his lot doctrina non moderata, nee 
mitig, sed, ut mihi videtur, paulo asperior et durior 
quam aut Veritas auC natura patiatur." After an 
enumeration of the Stoical paradoxes, he adds r 
*' Haec homoingeniosissimus, M. Cato, auctdribus 
eruditissimis inductus, arripuit ; neque dispniandi 
causa, ut magna pars, sed ita vivcndi . . .Nosiri 
autem isti (fatebor enim, Cato, me qiioque in ado- 
lesceniia difBsum ingenio meo qtiaesisse adjumenta 
doclrinae) nostrt, inquam, illi a Piatone atque Aris- 
toteie moderati homines et temperaii aiunt apud 
sapienlem valere aliqiiando gratiani ; viri boniesse 
misereri ; . . . omnes virtutes mediocritate quadam 
esse moderatas. Hos ad magistros si qua te for- 
tuna, Cato, cum ista natusa detulisset, non tu qui- 
dem vir meh"or esses, nee foriior, nee temperantior, 
nee justior (neque enim esse potes), sed paulo ad 
lenitatem propensior." — Pro Murena. — Cap.xxix. 
— xxxi. 

Note B. page 106. 

The greater part of the following extract from 
• Groiius' History of the Netherlands is inserted 
as the best abridgment of the ancient history of 
these still subsisting controversies known in our 
time. I extract also the introduction as a model 
of the manner in which an historian may state a 
religious dispute which has influenced political af- 
fairs ; but far more because it is an tmparalleled 
example of equity and forbearance in the narra- 
tive of a contest of which the historian was him- 
self a victim : — 

" Habuit hie annus (1608) haudspernendiquoque 
mali semina, vix ut arma desierant, exorto pub- 
licae religionis dissidio, latentibus initiis, sed ut 
paulaiim in majus erumperet. Lugduni sacras 
literas docebant viri eruditione praestanies Goma- 
rus et Arminius ; quorum ille aeterna Dei lege 
fixurn memorabat, cui hominumsalusdestinaretur, 
quis in exitium tenderet; inde alios ad pieiatem 
trahi, et tractos custodiri ne elabaniur; relinqui 
alios communi humanitatis vitio et suis criminibos 
involutes: hie vero contra integrum judicem, sed 
eundem optimum patrem, id reorum fecisse dis- 
crimen.ut peccandi pertaesisfiduciamque in Chris- 
tum reponentibus veniam ac vitam daret, contu- 
macibus pcenam ; Deoque gratum, ut omnes re- 
fipiscant, ac meliora edocti retineant; sed cogi 



neminem. AcGttsabanfqxre invieem; Arminrns 
Gomarum, quod peccandi causas Deo ascriberet, 
ac fati persunsione teneret immobiles animos; 
Gomarus Arminium, quod longuis ipsis Roman- 
ensium sctiis hominem arroganiia impleret, 7ice 
pateretttr soli Deo acceptam ferri, rem maxhnamf 
banam inentem. Constat his queis cura legere 
veterutn libros, antiquos Christianorum tribuisse 
hominum voluniati vim liberam, tarn in accep- 
landa, quam in retinenda disciplina; unde sua 
pra;miis ac suppliciis Kquitas. Neque iiJem tameni 
omissre cuncta dirinam ad boniiateuT relerre, 
cujus mnnere salutare semen ad nos pervenisset, 
ac cujus singnlariauxilio pericula nostra indigerent. 
Primus omnium Augivstinus, ex quo ipsi cum Pe- 
lagio et earn secutis certamen ijiam ante aliter et 
ipse se7iserel), acer disputandi, ita libertaiis voceni 
relinquere, ut ei decreta qucedam Dei pia3poiieier, 
qu£E vim ipsam desiruere viderentur. At per Graj- 
ciam quidem Asiamque reienta vetus ilia ac siin- 
plicior sententia. Per Occidentem magnum Aii- 
gustini nomen mviltos traxii in consensum, repertis- 
tafnen per Galliam et afibi qui se opponereni, pos- 
tcrioribus secutis, cum schola non aiii) magis 
qaam Augusiinodoctore uteretur, qnis rpsisensus, 
quis dexier pugnare visa conciliandi modus, din 
inter Francisci et Dominici fainiltam dispiitaio, 
doctissimi Jesustanmi, cum exactiori sui)ti!itaie 
nodum solvere laborassent, Ronise accasati asgre 
damnaiionem efTugere. At Protestantium prin- 
ceps, Lutherus, egressus moiiasterio quod Augus- 
tini ut nomen, ita sensus sequebatur, parte Au- 
gusiini arrepta, id quod is reliquerat, libertatis 
nomen, ccepit exscindere ; qtiod tam grave Eras- 
mo visum, ut cum caetera ipsiiis aut pioharet aut 
silentio transmitteret, hie oljiciat sese : cujus ar- 
gumentis motus Philippus Melanchthon, Lutheri 
adjutor, qiise prius scripserat immulavit, auctorque 
fiiit Luthero, quod mulii volunt, cene quod con- 
stat Lutheranis, deserendi decreta rigida et con- 
ditionem respuenlia ; sic tamen ut hbertatis vo- 
cabulum quam rem magis perhorrescerent. At 
in altera Protestantium parte dux Calvinus, primis 
Lutheri dictis in hac controver.sia inha^rescens, 
novis ea fulsit praesidiis, addiditqxte iiitactum Au- 
gusiiuo, vcram ac salutarcm fidcin rem esse per- 
petiiam et amilli nesciam : cujus proinde qui sibi 
esseni conscii, eos agternae felicitatis jam nunc 
certos esse, quos interim in crimina, quantutnvis 
gravia, prolabi posse non diffitebatur. Auxit sen- 
tentiae rigorem Generse Beza, per Germaniam 
Zanchius, Ursinus, Piscaior, saepe eo usque pro- 
vecti, ut, quod alii anxie vitaveranf, apertins non- 
nunquam iraderent, etiam peccandi neeessitatem a 
prima causa pendere : quae ampla Lutheranis erU 
minandi materia." — Lib. ivii. p. 552. 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



189 



Note C. page 106. 

The Calvinism, or ral'ier Augustinianism, of 
Aquinas is placed beyond all doubt by the follow- 
ing passages: "PraBdesiinalio est causa gratiae et 
glorias." — Opera, (Paris, 16G4.) voL vii. p. 356 
■" Numerus praedesiinatorum certusest." — p. 363. 
■" Praesdentia meritoruin nullo niodo est causa 
praedestinationis divinae." — p. 370. " Liberum 
arbiirium est facultas qua bonum eligitiir, gratia 
assistente, vel malum, eadem d'sistente." — vol. 
viii. p. 222. " Deus inclinat ad bonum adminis- 
trando virtutem agendi et monendo ad bonum. 
Sed ad malum diciiurinclinare in quantum gratiam 
lion praebet, per quam aliquis a malo retrahere- 
tur." — p. 364. On the other side: " Accipitur 
fides pro eo quo creditur, et est virtus, et pro eo 
quod creditur, et non est vLrius. Fides qua credi- 
tur, si cum cariiate sit, virtus est." — vol. ix. p. 
236. "Divina bonitas est prinsum principium 
communicationis totius quam Deus creaiuri!»lar- 
gitur." " Quamvis omne quod Deus vult juefuin 
sit, non tamen ex hoc justum dicitur quod Deus 
iJIud vult.^'— p. 697. 

Note D, page 106, 

The Augustinian doctrine is, with some hesita- 
tion and reluctance, acquiesced in by Scotiis, in 
that milder form which ascribes election to an ex- 
press decree, and considers the rest of mankind as 
only left to the deserved penalties of their trans- 
gressions. " In hujus quaesiionis soTutione mallem 
alios audire quam docere." — Opera, Lugd. 1639. 
vol. V. p. 1329. This modesty and prudence is 
foreign to the dogmatical genius of a Schoolman ; 
and these qualities are still more apparent in the 
very remarkable language which he applies to the 
tremendous doctrine of reprobation. *' Eorum 
autem non miseretur (scil. Deus) quihus gratiam 
non prmhendam esse cequitate occuldssimd et ah 
humanis sensibus remotissima judicata — p. 1329. 
In the commentary on Scotus which follows, it 
appears that his acute disciple Ockham disputed 
very freely against the opinions of his master^ 
■"ilia/a fieri bonum est'" is a startling paradox, 
quoted by Scotus from Augustin. — p. 1381. It 
appears that Ockham saw no difference between 
election and reprobation, and considered those 
who embraced only the former as at variance with 
themselves. — p, 1313. Scotus, at great length, 
contends that our thoughts (consequently our 
opinions) are not subject to the will. — vol. vi. pp. 
1054 — 1056. One step more would have led him 
to acknowledge that all erroneous judgment is in- 
voUintary, and therefore inculpable and unpunish- 
able, however pernicious. His attempt to recon- 
cile foreknowledge with contingency (vol. v. pp. 
1300 — 1327), is a remarkable example of the power 
of human subtl&ty to keep up the appearance of a 
struggle where it is impossible to make one real 
effort. But the most dangerous of all the devia- 
tions of Scotus from the system of Aquinas is, 
that he opened the way to the opinion that the 
distinction of right and wrong depends on the 
mere will of the Eternal Mind. The absolute 
power of the Deity, according to him, extends to 
all but contradictions. His regular power {ordinata) 
is exercised conformably to an order established 
by himself: " si placet voluntaii, sub qua libera 
est, recta estlex." — p. 1368, et seq. 

... ■ Note E. page 106. 

'AWa //W •I'Vp^'iv yt ts-juw cU'ZUTAV ■n-uT^y Tray 
etyioovT'jDi. Plat. Op. cBipont. 1781.) vol. ii. p. 224. 
— na<raii a)t.'.uTtoi df^iiBUv tivuj. — p. 227. Plato is 
quoted on this subject by Marcus Aurelius, in a 
manner which shows, if there had been any doubt, 
the meaning to be, that all error is involuntary. 



n?.a.Tai». Every mind is unwillingly led from 
truth. — Epict. Dissert, lib. i. cap. xxviii. Auwustiii 
closes the long line of ancient tes:imony to iTie in- 
voluntary character of error : " Quis est qui velit 
decipi ? Fallere nolunt boni ; falli autem nee boni 
volunt nee mali." — Sermo de Verbo. 

Note F. page 106. 

From a long, able, and instructive dissertation 
by the commentator on Scotus, it appears that this 
immoral dogma was propounded in t€rms more 
bold and startling by Ockham, who openly affirm- 
ed, that " moral evil was only evil because it was 
prohibited." — Ochamus, qui putat quod nihil pos- 
set esse malum sine voluntate proliibitiva Dei, 
hancqiie voluntatera esse liberam ; sic ut posset 
earn non habere, et consequenier ut posset fieri 
quod nulla prorsus essent mala." — Scot. Op. vol. 
vii. p. 859. But, says the commentator, " Dico 
primo legem naiuralem non consisteie in jussione 
ulla quae sit actus voluntatis Dei. Hasc est com- 
munissima theologorum sententia." — p. 858. And 
indeed the reason urged against Ockhain complete- 
ly justifies this approach to unanimity. '• For," he 
asks, " why is it right to obey tJie will of God ? 
Is it because our moral faculties perceive it to be 
right ? But they equally perceive and feel the 
authority of all the primary principles of morality ; 
and if this answer be made, it is obvious that those 
who mak« it do in effect admit <he independence 
of m«ral distinctions on the will of God." " If 
God," said Ockham, " had commanded his crea- 
tures to hate himself, hatred of God would have 
been praiseworthy." — Domin. Soto de Justiiia et 
Jure, lib. ii. quaest. 3. " Ulrum prcecepta Deca- 
logi sint dispeTisabilia ;" — a book dedicated to 
Don Carlos, the sou of Phillip II. Suarez, the 
last scholastic phifosopher, rejected the Ockhami- 
cal doctrine, but allowed will to be a pert of the 
foundation of Morality. " Voluntas Dei non est 
tola ratio bonitatis aut malitiae. — De Legibus, 
<Lond. 16790 p. 71. As the great majority of the 
Schoolnten supported their opinion of this subject 
by th-e consideration of eternal and immutable 
ideas of right and wrong in the Divine Intellect, it 
was natural that the Nominalists, of whom Ock- 
ham was the founder, who rejected all general 
ideas, should also have rejected those moral dis- 
Jinclions which were then supposed to orisinate 
in such ideas. Gerson was a celebrated Nomi- 
nalist ; and he was the more disposed to follow 
the opinions of his master because they agreed ia 
maintaining the independence of the State on the 
Church, and the superiority of the Church over the 
Pope. 

Note G. page 107. 
It must be premised that Charilaa among the 
ancient divines corresponded with E^f of the Pla- 
tonists, and with the <))/a.(* of later philosophers, 
as comprehending the love of all that is loveworthy 
in the Creator or liis creatures. It is the theologi- 
cal virtue of charity, and corresponds with no term 
in use among modern moralists. " Cum objeclum 
amoris sit bonum, dupliciier potest aliquis lendere 
in bonum alicujus rei ; uno modo, quod bonum 
illius rei ad allerumreferat, sicut amat quis vinuni 
in quantum dulcedinem vini peropiat ; el hie amor 
vocatur a quibusdam amor concupisceniiaB, Amor 
autem iste non terminal iir ad rem quae dicitur amari , 
sed reflectitur ad rem illam cui oplatur bo7inm illius 
rei. Alio modo amor fortior in bonum alicujus rei, 
ita quod ad rem ipsam termiiiatur; et hie est amor 
bencvolentiae. Qua bonum nostrum in Deo peifcc- 
tum est, sicut in causa universali bonorum ; ideo bo- 
num in ipso esse magis naturaliter complncet quam 
in nobis ipsis : el ideoetiam amore aniicitiae natu- 
raliter Deusab homine plusseipsodiligiiur." 'I'lie 
above quotations from Aquinas will probably be 
I sufficient for those who are acquainted with these 



\90 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



quostions, nnd thoy will certainly bo thought (oo 
large by those who are not. In iho next iiuosiion 
he inquires, whether in the love of CJoil there eon 
be any view to resvard. He n|)pinrs to consider 
hiniaelf as boinid by authority to answer in the 
nftirniniive ; and he employs nuieh iiigenuiiy in 
reconeihno; a certain expeoiation ot" reward wiih 
the disinterested eharacier ascribed by him to piety 
in common with all the allectioiis wliich tertiiinaie 
in other beings. " Sihil aliiul est mtrcvf tioslni 
quivn vt-r/nti Deo. Ergo chaiiias non solum non 
excliulit, scd etiani faeit habere oeulum ad nier- 
cedein." In this answer he seems to have anti- 
cipated the rcprcsetitations of Jeremy Taylor 
(Scriiion on lirowih in Grace), of Lord Shat'ics- 
bury (Inquiry concerning Virtue, biK)k i. part iii. 
sect. 3), ol Air. T. Erskine (Freetiess of the Gos- 
pel, Ellin. 18J8), and more especially of Mr. John 
Smith (Discourses, Lond. 1660). No extracts 
could convey a just conception of the observations 
which follow, unless they were accompanied by a 
longer examination of the technical language of 
the Schoolmen than would be warranted on this 
occasion. It is clear that he distinguishes well 
the artection of piety frotn the hapjiy fruits, which, 
ns he cautiously expresses it, " are in the nature 
of a reward ;" — just ns the consideration i>f the 
pleasures and advantages of friendship may enter 
into the atlection and strengthen it, thougli they 
are not its objects, and never could inspire such a 
feeling. It seems to mo al.-o that he had a dim- 
mer view of another doctrine, by which we tire 
taught, that though our own happiness be not the 
end which we pursue in loving others, yet it may 
be the final cause of the insertion of disinterested 
aft'ections into the nature of man. " Ponere mer- 
cedein aliquatti tinem amoris ex parte amati, est 
contra rationem amicitiie. Sed ponere nuicedem 
esse finem amoris ex parte amantis, non tamen 
oltimam, prout scilicet ipse amor est quaxlam 
oper.ttio amantis, non est contra rationem amicitiav 
Possum operatioiuMn amoris amare propter aliquid 
aliud, salvii amicititi. Potest hal>eas charilatcm 
habere oeulum ad mereedem, uti poiuil heatitiidinem 
creatam finem amoris, non aiilem Jinem amati," 
I'pon the last words my interpretation chiefly de- 
pends. The immediately preceding sentence 
must be owned to have been founded on a distinc- 
tion between viewing the good fruits of our own 
alVections as enhancttig their ititrinsic pleasures, 
and feeling love for another on account of the ad- 
vantage to be derived from him ; which last is in- 
conceivable. 

Note H. p. 107. 

" Potestas spiritualis ct secularis utraqvre de- 
ducitur a potestate divina; ideo in tatitum secu- 
laris est sub spirituah. in quanturo est a Deo 
supposita ; scilicet, in his quie ad sahitem nnimje 
pertinent. In his autem qua? ad bonum civile 
spectant, est masis obediendum potestati secu- 
lari ; sicut illud Matthwi, ' Reddite quse sunt Cae- 
saris Caesari.' " What follows is more doubtful. 
"... Nisi /orfe potestati spirituali etiam potestas 
secularis conjungalur, ut in Papa, qui utriusquo 
poiestatis apicem tenet." — Op. vol. viii. p. 435. 
Here, says the French editor, it may be doubted 
whether Aquinas means the Pope's temporal 
pv>wer in his own dominions, or a secular auiho- 
Xity indirectly extending over all for the s;tke of 
religion. My reasons for adopiina the more ra- 
tional cons:ruction are shortly these : — 1. The 
text ot Matthew is so plain an assertion of the in- 
JepeiHlence of both powers, that it would be the 
height of extravagance to quote it as an authorlti/ 
for the dependence of the state. At most it could 
only be represented as recoucilable with such a 
dependence in o;ie case. 2. The word 'forte' 
•ceins manifestly to reler to the territorial "sove- 
reignty acquired by the Popes. If thoy have a 
^etieral power in secular aflairs, it must be be- 



cause it is necessary to their spiritual authority 
and in that case to call it fortuitous woald be to 
ascribe to it an adjunct destructive of its nature. 
3. His lormer reasoning on the same question 
seetns to be decisive. The power of the Pope 
over bishops, he says, is not founded merely in 
his superior nature, but in their aiithi>rity being 
altogether derived from his, as the pioconsular 
power irom the imperial. Therefore he infers 
that this case is not analogous to the relation be- 
tween the civil and spiritual power, which are 
alike derived from CJod. 1. Had an Italian monk 
of the twelfih century really intended to atlirm 
the Pope's temporal authority, he probably would 
have laid it down in terms more explicit and more 
acceptable at Rome. Hesitation and ambiguity 
are here indicatit>ns of utibelief. Mere veneration 
for the apostolical See might presetit a more pre- 
cise determination against it, as it caused the quo- 
tation which follows, respecting the primacy of 
Peter. — A mere abridgment oT these very cu- 
rious passages might excite a suspicion that I had 
tinctured Aquinas unconsciously with a colour of 
my own opinions. Extracts are very ditlicull, 
from the scholastic method of stating objections 
and answers, as well as from the mixture of theo- 
logical authorities with philosophical reasons. 

NoTK I. page lOS. 

The debates in the first assembly of the Coun- 
cil of Trent (A. D. 1316) between the Douiinicana 
who adhered to Aquinas, and the Franciscans who 
followed Scotus on Oriiiinal Sin. Justification, and 
(rracc, are to be fwind in Fia Paolo (Istoria del 
Concilio Tridentino, lib.ii.) They show how much 
metaphysical contr()versy is hid in a theological 
form ; how many disputes of our times are of no 
very ancient origin, and how strongly the whole 
Western Church, through all the divisions into 
which it has been separated, has manifested the 
same unwillingness to avow the Auiiustinian sys- 
tem, and the same fear of contradicting it. To 
his admirably clear ntid short statement of these 
abstruse controversies, must be added that of liia 
accomplished opponent Cardinal Pallavicino (Isto- 
ria, &.C. lib. vii. et viii.), who shows still more 
evidently the strength of the Augustinian party, 
and the disposition of the Council to tolerate 
opinions almost Lutheran, if not accom}>anied by 
revolt from the Church. A little more compro- 
mising disposition in the Reformers might have 
betrayed reason to a prolonged thraldom. We 
must esteem Erasmus and Melanchthon, but we 
should reserve our gratitude for Luther and Cal- 
vin. The Scotists maintained their doctriife of 
merit of coiigruity, waived by the Council, and 
soon after condemned by the Church of England ; 
by which they meant that they who had good dis- 
positions always received the Divine grace, not 
mdeed as a reward of which they were worthy, 
but as aid whidi they were fit and willing to re- 
ceive. The Franciscans denied that belief was in 
the power of man. " I Francescani lo negavano 
seguendo Scoto, qual vuole che siccome dalle 
dimostrazioni per necessita nasce la scienza, cos- 
dalle persuasioni nasca la fede ; e ch' essa e nell' in- 
teltetto, il quale e agente naturale, e mosso natural- 
mente dall' oggetto. AUegavano 1' esperienza, ch« 
nessuno puii credere quelk) che vuole, ma quello che 
gli par vero." — Fra. Paolo, Istoria, «S:c. (Helm- 
stadt, 1T63, 4to.), vol. i. p. Iil3. Cardinal Sforza 
Pallavicino, a learned and very able Jesuit, waa 
appointed, according to his own account, in 1651, 
many years after the death of Fra Paolo, to write 
a true history of the Council of Trent, as a cor- 
rective of the misrepresentalitinsof the celebrated 
Venetian. Algernon Sidney, who knew this court 
historian at Rome, and who may be believed w hen 
he speaks well of a Jesuit and a cardinal, com- 
mends the work in a letter to his father, Lord 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGP.ESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHy. 



lyi 



Lcioc«if!r. At ili(! Olid of F'allavicino's work i« 
■ iJMt of ihriti: liiiiidrcd mid nixiy ftrror» in mniicrH 
of fin;', «lil''li \Ut: I'iipal [larly j)ri;lctid':d to Invf; 
di:\i!i:\i:il in liir; iii(ii'|ii'iidrril liiftlorimi, wlmiii tUcy 
cliiirgc Mtih h<:rcMy ur iiifidcliiy, find in either 
COiif, will) liyjxicriMy. 

Note K. page 110. 

*' floe tempore, Ferdirinndo el lM»hella roirnari- 
(i))UM, in ric;id<'iiiia Halrnnniiii/i jacin Hiint roliiif.ti- 
orid llieolot'iif; >^erriiiia ; iii((eniiH e/jirii fain;/; vir 
FranciHciiH de Vieioria, noii tniri liicijltrationiliiif! 
ediiix, nuarnvis Uv.c tioii rnajfria* rrioliM mil niajjiii 
pretii Kinl, r,<.(\ doeiihHitnoriim lhf;olo(foriirri edii- 
catiorie, (|uairidiii liierit Haer;e neictiiia: hoiioH inU'r 
morlalcd, velicirieuier laiidaliiiiir." — Anionio, |{i- 
bliotheea Ilinpaniea Nova, (Madrid, 17H'A,) in preef 
" .Si ad niorurri iiiHirtietorea rc-spiciaa, Sotiwitcrum 
noiniiiabiiur." — Ihi/l. 

Note L. page 110. 

The title of the piihliHiuil aeeount of the con- 
ference nt Valliidolid in, " 'I'lie fintroverHy he- 
(wceii the Hinhop of fJhiapa and Dr. Hepiilvcda; 
in which the Doeior contended that the conf|i)e«t 
of the IndicB from the natives w:m hiwfiil, and the 
BiHliop iiiairilained that it wan uidntwfiil, tyrnn- 
nieul, and iinjimt, in the prcw;ncc of iriany t[i<,o!o- 
^iarifi, jawyern, and other hjarned men aMKJtnhicd 
by liiH Majenty.''-Ijihl. IliKp. Nova, lorn. i. p. 192. 

La*) Ca«aH died in l.Vifi, in the 'J2d year of Uin 
nc;e ; Hennlveda died in J.071, in Imh 82d year. 
Hcpiilvcda waB ihs B''holar of I'omponaiiuH, and » 
friend <>i KraHtnuH, Cardinal I'ole, Ahlii« Maini- 
tiuH, &,c. In hiH hook " I)e JuHiis IJclli Caiinifl 
contra Indos KiiHccpti," he conl'jnded ordy that 
the kinj; oui^iii jimily " ad ditioii<;ni fndo«, non 
hcrilern fK:d r<(^iatn et eivilcin, Ic'^e helli rcdiKcre." 
—Antonio, vorn .Sepiiiveda, ['lUI. Ui'-p. Nova, 
torn. i. p. yo'.i. But thm Hmrxtth and Hp<'eiouH ian- 
giinne concealed p'liHon. Had it entirely pre- 
vailed, tile cruel e/jiiw^inence oi the d<d''at of ihc 
odvocale of the f)ppreKHcd would alone have re- 
mained ; the lirniiaiionw and BoficniiigH employed 
l»y their onponent to obtain Rocceas would have 
been Bpecflily diKrej^arded and fori;otten. Covnr- 
rtivian, another eminent Jurist, wan pent by J'hi- 
lip II. to the f'ouncil of Trent, at its renewal in 
LOW, and, with 'Cardinal J?uoneam|iap;ni, drew up 
the decrees of reformation. KranctH Sanchez, liie 
father of philoRophical fjrarnmar, piihlifihed lii« 
Minerva at Kalamanca in \!>H7 ; — no active waH 
the cultivation of philosophy in Spain in the age 
of Cervantce. 

Note M. page 120. 

" Aloracn repri»««nt<lan«mon esprit lexdivcrsefl 
opinion« qui m'avoient totir-a-toiir cntraine depuis 
ma naiHKance, je vis qoe bien qii'aocune d''elle8 no 
flit aHRez /jvidente pour prodnirc immediatemenl 
la conviction, olles ovoicnt diverH degres de vrai- 
Bomhlancc, et que rasnentirncnt inlerieiir w'y pre- 
toit ou ft'y refuHoit a diflerenies mefurcfi. .Siir 
ceite premi-'re ohRcrvation, crmipnranl cntr'cllea 
toiites ce»i differenten ide«"« dans le tiilen'*e den 
Itvi-yt'^f-ff, je trouvai qtie la premiere, et la [ilus 
commune, etoit aiiHsi la pluH tiirnplc ewla pins rai- 
»ennable ; et qu'il ih* l«i rnanqiioit, poiir rennir 
toitfl lew Rw<Traj(Cfl, que d'avoir eie projiosee la der- 
nicre. IrnaRiriez tons vos piiiloHoph'CH aticiens et 
moderne«, ayant d'aliord epuice leiir Kizarres f>y«- 
temea de lorcfw, de chanec.<!, de laialite, de iieceR- 
eite, d'HtoincH, de mondc tnime, de matierc vi- 
vantc, de maierialifme de loiiio epjiece ; el apres 
cux long rilliislre Clarke, eclairant !e mondc, 
nnnoncant enfiii TKire des eires, ct le difpeiifa- 
teiir dcH choM-3. Avec quelle univcreclle adn)i- 
ration, avec quel applaudissement unanimc n'cut 



point 6..ii re^ii ce nouvcau ayareme (i grand, si 
coimolafit, «i oulilime, n'l proprc ri clever I'ame, a 
donner une ba«e a la verm, et en rn/ime tenm si 
Irajipant, tii lumineux, n'l oimple, el, ce me Hcmble, 
oflrant moina de chojiea incornpreheriftibiea ^ 
I'cKprit hiirnain. qu'il ii'eii Irouve d'alfj-urdca en 
lout autre wyMtenic! Je me dixoi«, l<:« (jlijeeiiond 
in^ohiblea hont commiineM a toij«, )»nrceniif; I'ea- 
prit de I'hornme CHt trop borne pour le» retvjudrc; 
ellea ne prouvent done rien contrc auciin par pre- 
ference: maid quelle difl'erence cnire lea prenvcs 
direciea!" — KouaKcaii. OOuvrea, tome ix. p. 2.0. 

Note N. page 128. 

" Rat autem jnn qua;darn potcntia moralig, et 
of/lit^alio nececHitas moraliM. Moralt-m autrrn In- 
tel ligo, qua; apud virum bomirn acouipollet nam- 
rali : Nam ut pr;celare juriHconHullua Hotnanu* 
ait, r/uir; rovtra hiinnn ntorrx nuiil., la hit f net re. non 
jioifHc f.ridiiJidi/.m f.r,l. Vir honv.n autem est, qui 
amat ornneH, quantum ratio p'-rmiltil. Juntitian 
i£;itur, qua; viriii« eat hiijiia affcctiis rectrix, qucm 
"t// air^farr/'/r Crx-ci vocatit, comrnodiflsimf^, ni 
fallor, defiiiiemiift cariiatcm napientia, hoc cat, 
Hcquentem aapientia; dictaia. Itaque, qtiod Car- 
niiidn* dixinw; lerttir, jiiHtitiam cum; summam sltjl- 
titiam, quia alienia uuliiatibuM consuli iubeai, ne- 
gleciis propriis, ex ignoratn rjua definitionc natum 
CBt. (UirilfiK eat benevolentia iiniversnlia, cl hrMe- 
volcntui arnandi aive diiigeridi habitus. Amare 
aiitern hive ddii;ere est felicitate alteriua delectari, 
vel, quod eodem redit, felicita'em alienam adecis- 
cere in Buam. fJndc difTicilis nodus solvitur, 
ma(;ni etiarn in Theologia momenti, quomodo 
amor non merccnarius deiiir, qui ait o spe rnetuqiie 
et omrii utilitatin rcspectii aeparaliis: scilicet., quo- 
rum utilitas deleclal, eorum felicitas nostram in- 
grediiur; nam qii:r; delectant, f»f;r ae expetuntur. 
V'a uti pulehroriim contemplatio ipsa juciindaest, 
piciaquc tabula RfiphndiK inielligentem afFicit, elsi 
milloa cenaus ferat, adeo ut in ociilis deliciisque 
(eraliir, quodam aimulaero amoris ; iia qimm res 
piilclira cimul ctiam feliciiatis eat capax, transit 
ufTectuH in verum amorcm. Huf>erat autem di- 
vinus amor alios amores, quos Deus cum maximo 
aucceHfii amare potest, quarido Deo simiil et feli- 
eius nihil est, ct nihil pulchrius felicitateque dig- 
nius intelligi potest. Et quum idem fit potentiaa 
sapient i»;f|iie *umma;, felicitas ejus non tanlum 
ingreditur n'tstram (si sapimus, id est, ipsum 
amamu!'), Hcd et facit. Quia autem sapienlia cari- 
taiem dirigere debet, hujus qufxpie definitionc opus 
erit. Arbitror autem notioni nomintim optioiesatis- 
ftcri, si napirnliam nihil aliiid chrc dicamiis, quam 
ipsam seientiam felicitatis." — Leibniiii f)pera, vol. 
iv. par« iii. p. 2'J4. " Et jus quidcm rnerurn siva 
stricturn nascitur ex principio servandar: pacis ; 
acqtiitas aive caritaa ad majuitaliquid contendit, ut, 
dtim quirx}ue alteri prodest, quantum p'ltcst, fell- 
eitatcm suam augeat in aliena ; ct, ut verbo dicam, 
jusHtrieium miseriam vital, jus nuperiiia ad fclici- 
latern tcndii, scd qualis in banc mortalitateni cadit. 
Quod vero ipsam vitam, cl quicquid bane vi'ann 
expeteiidam Indt, magno commodo alicno postha- 
bere (b-bcamtiii, ita ut maximos etiam dolores in 
aliornm gratiam perferre oporieat ; magi<i piilchre 
prtrcipiiiir a philosophis <pnm Bolide demonaira- 
twr. Nam decus ct gloriam, ct atiimi cni virtuie 
caudcntis MMiMim. an qiijR sub honeslaiiH nomine 
provocani, co^itationis five montia bona i-^hv con- 
stat, magna qiiidem, scd non omnibus, ncc omni 
malorum neerbitati prtevaliiur;., qiiantlo noii om- 
nes rr^que imaginando afTiciuntur; pracseriirn quos 
neque cducniio liberalis, rK!que consuetudo virendi 
ingenua, vcl vita; sedative disciplina ad honorid 
aRsiimaiioncm, vel animi bona sentiendaassucfiecit. 
Ul vcro universali dcmonstralioni conficialui, 
omnc honcstum esse utile, ct omne turpe damno 
sum, assiimcnda est immortalitas anima;, et rector 
universi Deus. Ita fit, ut omnes in civitaie per- 



192 



MACKINTOSH'S mSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



fectissima vivere intelligamur, sub monarcha, qui 
nee ob sapientiam falli, nee ob poteniiain vitari 
potest ; idemque tam aniabilis est, ut felicitas sit 
tali domino servire. Huic igitur qui animam im- 
pendit, Christo docente, earn lucratur. Hujus 
potentia providentiaque efficiiur, ut omne jus in 
factum transeat, ut nemo laedatur nisi a se ipso, ut 
nihil recto gestuni sine piasmio sit, nullum pecca- 
tum sine poena." — p. 296. 

Note O. page 130. 

The writer of this Discourse was led, on a for- 
mer occasion, by a generally prevalent notion, to 
coniouiid the theological doctrine of Predestination 
with the philosophical opinion which supposes the 
determination of the Will to be, like other events, 
produced by adequate causes. (.See a criticism on 
Mr. Siewan's Dissertation, Edinb. Review, vol. 
x.wvi. p. 225.) More careful reflection has cor- 
rected a confusion common to him with most writ- 
ers on ihe subject. What is called " Sublapsarian 
Calvinism," which was the doctrine of the most 
eminent men, including Augustin and Calvin him- 
self, ascribed to God, and to man before the Fall, 
what is called " free-will," which they even own 
still to exist in all the ordinary acts of life, though 
it be lost with respect to religious moraliiy. The 
decree of election, on this scheme, arises from 
God's foreknowledge that man was to fall, and 
thai all men became thereby with justice liable to 
eternal punishment. The election of some to sal- 
vation was ati act of Divine goodness, and the pre- 
terition of the rest was an exercise of holiness and 
justice. This Sublapsarian predestination is evi- 
dently irreconcilable with the doctrine of Neces- 
sity, wluch considers free-will, or volitions not 
causedby motives, as absolutely inconsistent with 
the detiniiion of an intelligent being, — which is, 
that he acts from a motive, or, in other words, 
with a purpose. The Supralapsarian scheine, 
which represents the Fall itself as fore-ordained, 
may indeed be built on necessitarian principles. 
But on that scheme original sin seeins wholly to 
lose that importance svhich the former system 
gives it as a i;evolution in the state of the world, 
requiring an interposition of Divine power to re- 
medy a part of its fatal effects. It becomes no 
more than the first link in the chain of predestined 
offences. Yet both Catholic and Protestant pre- 
destinarians have borrowed the arguments and 
distinctions of philosophical necessitarians. One 
of the propositions of Jansenius, condemned by 
the bull of Innocent X. in 1653, is, that " to merit 
or dement in a stale of lapsed nature, it is not 
necessary that there should be in man a liberty 
free from necessity ; it is sufficient that there be a 
liberty free fronj constraint." — Dupin, Histoire de 
I'Eglise en abrege, livre iv. chap. viii. Luther, in 
his once famous treatise De Servo Arbitrio against 
Erasmus (printed in 1526), expresses himself as 
follows: " Hie est fidei summus gradus, credere 
ilium esse clementem qui tam paucos salvat, tam 
multos damnat ; credere justum qui sua voluntate 
nos necessario damnabiles facit, ut videatur, ut 
Erasmus refert, delectari cruciatibus miserorum, 
et odio potius quam amore dignus." (My copy 
of this stern and abusive book is not paged.) In 
another passage, he states the distinction between 
co-action and necessity as familiar a hundred and 
thirty years before it was proposed by Hobbes, or 
condemned in the Jansenists. " Necessario di- 
co, non coacte, sed, ut illi dicunt, necessitate im- 
mutabilitatis, non coactionis ; hoc est, homo, cum 
vocat Spiritus Dei, non quidem violentia, veliit 
raptus obtorto collo, nolens facit malum, qiiemad- 
modum fur aut latro nolens ad pcenam dueitur, 
sed spoiile et libera voluntate facit." He uses 
also the illustration of Hobbes, from the difference 
between a stream forced out of its course, and 
f'e.ely flowing in its channel. 



[The foUowin^is the whole of the passage in 
the Edinburgh Review, referred to above : the 
reader, while bearing in mind the modification of 
opinion there announced, may still fijid suflicient 
interest in the general statement of the argument 
to justify its admission here. — Ed.] 

"... It would be inexcusable to revive the 
mention of such a controversy as that which re- 
lates to Liberty and Necessity, for any other pur- 
pose than to inculcate mutual candour, and to 
censure the introduction of invidious topics. If 
there were any hope of terminalitig that endless 
and fruitless controversy, the most promising ex- 
pedient would be a general agreement to banish 
the technical terms hitherto employed on both 
sides from philosophy, and to limit ourselves rigor- 
ously to a statement of those facts in which all 
men agree, expressed in language perfectly puri- 
fied from all tincture of system. The agreement 
in facts would then probably be found to be much 
more extensive than is often suspected by either 
party. Experience is, and indeed must be, equally 
appealed to by both. All mankind feel and own, 
that their actions are at least very much affected 
by their situation, their opinions, their feelings, 
and their habits ; yet no man would deserve the 
compliment of confutation, who seriously profess- 
ed to doubt the distinction between right and 
wrong, the reasonableness of moral approbation 
and disapprobation, the propriety of praising and 
censuring voluntary actions, and the justice of re- 
warding or punishing them according to tlieir in- 
tention and tendency. No reasonable person, in 
whatever terms he may express himself concern- 
ing the Will, has ever meant to deny tint man 
has powers and faculties which justify the moral 
judomenis of the human race. Every advocate 
of Free Will admits the fact of the influence di 
motives, from which the Necessarian infers the 
truth of his opinion. Every Necessarian must 
also admit those attributes of moral and responsi- 
ble agency, for the sake of which the advocate of 
Liberty considers his own doctrine as of such 
unspeakable importance. Both parlies ought 
equally to own, that the matter in dispute is a 
question of fact relating to the mind, which must 
be ultimately decided by its own consciousness. 
The Necessarian is even bound to admit, that no 
speculation is tenable on this subject, which is not 
reconcilable to the general opitiions of mankind, 
and which does not afford a satisfactory expla- 
nation of that part of common language which at 
first sight appears to be most at variance with it. 

"After the actual antecedents of volition had 
been thus admitted by one party, and its moral 
consequences by another, the subject of conten- 
tion would be reduced to the question, — What is 
the state of the mind in the interval which passes 
between motive and action ? or, to speak with still 
more strict propriety. By what words is that state 
of the mind most accin-ately described? If this habit 
of thinking could be steadily and long preserved, 
so evanescent a subject of dispute might perhaps in 
the end disappear, and the contending parties might 
at length discover that they had been only looking 
at opposite sides of the same truth. But the terms 
" Liberty" and " Necessity" embroil the contro- 
versy, inflame the temper of disputants, and in- 
volve them in clouds of angry zeal, which render 
them incapable not only of perceiving their nume- 
rous and important coincidences, but even of 
clearly discerning the single point in which they 
differ. Every generous sentiment, and every hos- 
tile passion of human nature, have for ages been 
connected with these two words. They are the 
badges of the oldest, the widest, and the most 
obstmate warfare waged by metaphysicians. — 
Whoever refuses to try the experiment of re- 
nouncing them, at least for a time, can neither be 
a peace-maker nor a friend of dispassionate dis- 
cussion ; and, if he stickles for mere words, ho 



DISSERTATION Oi\ THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



193 



may be. justly euspected of being almost aware 
That he'is contending for nothing but words. 

" But if projects of perpetuaf peace should be 
as Utopian in the schools as in the world, it is the 
more necessary to condemn the use of weapons 
which exaspera'e animosity, without conlribuiinsr 
to decide the contest. Of this nature, in our 
opinion, are the imputations of irreligion and im- 
morality which have forages been thrown on those 
divines and philosophers who have espoused Ne- 
cessarian opinions. Mr. Stewart, though he anx- 
iously acquits individuals of evil intention, has too 
much lent the weight of his respectable opinion to 
these useless and inflammatory charges. We are 
at a loss to conceive how he could imagine that 
there is the slightest connection between the doc- 
trine of Necessity and the system of Spinoza. 
That the world is governed by a Supreme Mind, 
which is invariably influenced by the dictates of 
its own wisdom and goodness, seems to be the 
very essence of theism; and no man who sub- 
stantially dissents from that proposition, can de-. 
serve the name of a pure theist. But this is pre- 
cisely the reverse of the doctrine of Spinoza, 
which, in spite of all its ingenious disguises, uii- 
doubtedly denies the supremacy of mind. This 
objection, however, has already been answered, 
not only by the pious and profound Jonathan Ed- 
wards (Inquiry, part iv. chap. 7.), an avowed Ne- 
cessarian, but by Mr. Locke, (whoso opinions, 
however, about this question are not very distinct,) 
and even by Dr. Clarke himself, the ablest and 
most celebrated of the advocates of liberty. (De- 
monstration of the Being and Attributes of God.) 
" The charge of immoral tendency, however, 
deserves more serious consideration, as it has 
been repeatedly enforced by Mr. Stewart, and 
brought forward also by Dr. Copplestone.* (Dis- 
courses, Lond. 1821), — the only writer of our time 
who has equally distinguished himself in paths so 
distant from each other as classical literature, po- 
htical economy, and metaphysical philosophy. His 
eneral candour and temperance give weight to 
is accusation ; and it is likely to be conveyed to 
posterity by a volume, which is one of the best 
models of philosophical style that our age has pro- 
duced, — a Sermon of Archbishop King, repub- 
lished by Mr. VVhately,t an ingenious and learned 
member of Oriel College. The Sermons of Dr. 
Copplestone do indeed directly relate to theology ; 
but, in this case, it is impossible to separate that 
subject from philosophy. Necessity is a philoso- 
phical opinion relating to the human will : Pre- 
destination is a theological doctrine, concerning 
the moral government of the world. But since 
the writings of Leibnitz and Jonathan Edwards, 
all supporters of Predestination endeavour to 
show its reasonableness by the arguments of the 
Necessarian. It is possible, and indeed very com- 
mon, to hold the doctrines of Necessity, without 
adopting many of the dogmas which the Calvinist 
connects with it : but it is not possible to make 
any argumentative defence of Calvinism, which 
is not founded on the principle of Necessity. The 
moral consequences of both (whatever they may 
be) must be the same ; and both opinions are, ac- 
cordingly, represented by their opponents as tend- 
ing, in a manner very similar, to weaken the mo- 
tives to virtuous action. 

" There is no topic which requires such strong 
grounds to justify its admission into controversy, 
as that of moral consequences ; for, besides its 
incurable tendency to inflame the angry passions, 
and to excite obloquy against individuals, which 
renders it a practical restraint on free inquiry, the 
employment of it in dispute seems to betray ap- 
prehensions derogatory from the dignity of Morals, 
and not consonant either to the dictates of Reason 



f^ 



* Afterwards Bishop of Llandaff. — Ed. 
t Afterwards Archbi.shop of Dublin. — Ed. 
25 



or to the lessons of experience. The rules of 
Morality are too deeply rooted in human nature, 
to be shaken by every veering breath of metaphy- 
sical theory. Our Moral Sentiments spring from 
no theory : they are as general as any part of our 
nature ; the causes which generate, or unfold and 
nourish them, lie deep in the unalterable interests 
of society, and in those primitive feelings of the 
human heart which no circumstance can eradicate. 
The experience of all ages teaches, that these 
deep-rooted principles are far less affected than is 
commonly supposed, by the revolutions of philo- 
sophical opinion, which scarcely penetrate beyond 
the surface of human nature. Exceptions there 
doubtless are : the most speculative opinions are 
not pretended to be absolutely indifferent in their 
moral tendency ; and it is needless to make an 
express exception of those opinions which directly 
relate to practice, and which may have a consider- 
able moraLeffect. But, in general, the power of 
(he moral feelings, and the feebleness of specula- 
tive opinions, are among the most striking pheno- 
mena in the history of mankind. What teacher, 
either philosophical or religious, has ever been 
successful in spreading his doctrines, who did not 
reconcile them to our moral sentiments, and even 
recommend them by pretensions to a purer and 
more severe inorality ? Wherever there is a seem- 
ing, or a real repugnance between speculative 
opinions and moral rules, the speculator has al- 
ways been compelled to devi.se some compromise 
which, with whatever sacrifice of consistency, 
may appease the alarmed conscience of mankind. 
The favour of a few is too often earned by flatter- 
ing i}!cit vicious p:issions; but no immoral .system 
ever acquired popularity. Wiierever there is a 
contest, the speculations yield, and the principles 
prevail. The victory is equally decisive, witeiher 
the obno.xious doctrine be renounced, o; so modi- 
fied as no longer to dispute the legitimate authority 
of Conscience. 

" Nature has provided other guards for Virtue 
against the revolt of sophistry and the inconstancy 
of opinion. The whole system of morality is of 
great extent, and comprehends a variety of prin- 
ciples and sentiments, — of duties and virtues. 
Wiierever new and singular speculation ha? been 
at first sight thought to weaken some of the mo- 
tives of moral activity, it has almost unif'^rmly 
been found, by longer experience, that the same 
speculation itself makes amends, by f 'rengihen- 
ing other inducements to right conduct. ^I'here 
is thus a principle of compensation in the opinions, 
as in the circumstances of man ; which, though' 
not sufficient to level distinction and to exclude- 
preference, has yet such power, that it ought to 
appease our alarms, and to soften our controver- 
sies. A moral nature assimilates every specula- 
tion which it does not reject. If these general 
reasonings be just, with what increased force do 
they prove the innocence of error, in a case where, 
as there seems to be no possibility of di/Tcreiice 
about facts, the mistake of either party must be 
little more than verbal I 

" We have much more ample experience re- 
specting the practical tendency of religious than 
of philosophical opinions. The latter were for- 
merly confined to the schools, and are still limited 
to persons of some education. They are generally 
kept apart from our passions and our business, 
and are entertained, as Cicero said of the Stoical 
paradoxes, " more as a subject of dispute than as 
a rule of life." Religious opinions, on the con 
trary, are spread over ages and nations; they are 
felt perhaps most strongly by the more numcroti» 
classes of mankind ; wherever they are sincereljr 
entertained, they must be regarded as the moat 
serious of all concerns ; they are often incorpo- 
rated with the warmest passions of which the hu- 
man heart is capable ; and, in this slate, from 
their eminently social and sympathetic nature, 
R 



194 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



they are capable of becoming the ruling principle 
of action in vast muliitndes. Let us iherefbro 
appeal to experience, on the moral influence of 
Necessarian opinions in their theological form. 
By doing so, we shall have an opportunity of con- 
templating the principle in its most active state, 
operating upon the greatest masses, and for the 
longest time. Predestination, or doctrines much 
inclining towards it, have, on the whole, prevailed 
in the Christian churches of the West since the 
days of Angustine and Aquinas. Who were the 
first formulalilo opponents of these doctrines in 
the Church of Rome? The Jesuits — the con- 
trivers of courtly casuistry, and the founders of 
lax morality. Who, in the same Church, inclined 
to the stern theology of Augustine ? The Jan- 
scniats — th.i teachers and the models of austere 
morals. What are we to think of the nioraliiy 
of Calvinistic naii5ns, especially of the most nu- 
merotis classes of them, who seem, beyond all 
Other men, to be most zealously attached to their 
religion, and most deeply penetrated wiih its 
spirit ? Hero, if any where, we have a practical 
and a decisive test of the moral influence of a 
belief in Necessarian opinions. In Protestant 
Switzerland, in Holland, in Scotland, among the 
English Nonconformists, and the Protestants of 
the north of Ireland, in the New England States, 
Calvinism long was the prevalent iaiih, and is 
probably still the faith of a considerable majority. 
I'hcir moral education was at least completed, atul 
theircolleciive character formed, during the preva- 
lence of Calvinistic opinions. Yet where are 
coinmuniiies to be found of a more pure and ac- 
tive virtue? Perhaps these, and other very strik- 
ing facts, might justify speculations of a somewhat 
singular nature, and even authorize a retort upon 
our respectable antagonists. But we have no such 
purpose. It is sufficient for us to do what in us 
lies to mitigate the acrimony of controversy, to 
teach disputants on both sides to respect the sacred 
neutrality of Morals, and to show that the provi- 
dent and parental care of Nature has sufficiently 
provided for the permanent security of the princi- 
ples of Virtue. 

" If we were to amuse ourselves in remarks on 
the practical tendency of opinions, we might with 
some plaufihility contend, that there was a ten- 
dency in infidelity to produce Toryism. In Eng- 
land alone, we miwht appeal to the examples of 
Hobbes, Bolingbroke, Hume, and Gibbon; and 
to the opposite cases of Milion, Locke, Addison, 
Clarke, and even Newton himself; for the last 
of these great men was also a Whig. The only 
remarkable example which now occurs to us of a 
zealous believer who was a bigoted Tory, is that of 
Dr. Johnson ; and we may balance against him the 
whole, or the greater part of the life of his illus- 
trious friend, .Mr. BurUe. We would not, how- 
ever, rest much on observations founded on so 
small an experience, that the facts may arise from 
ciusos wholly independent of the opinion. But 
another unnoticed coincidence may serve as an 
introduction to a few observations on the scepti- 
cism of the eighteenth century. 

" The three most celebrated sceptics of modern 
f lines have been zealous partisans of high autho- 
rity in government. It would be rash to infer, 
from the remarkable exainples of this coincidence, 
in Montaigne, Bayle, and Hume, that there is a 
natural connection between scepticism and Tory- 
ism ; or, even, if there were a tendency to such a 
connection, that it might not be counteracted by 
more powerful circumstances, or by stronger prin- 
ciples of human nature. It is more worth while, 
therefore, to consider the pariicnlars in the history 
of tnese three eminent persons, which may have 
etrengthcned or created this propensity. 

" Montaigne, who was methodical in nothing, 
does not indeed profess systematic scepticism. He 
was a freethinker who loosened the ground about 



received opinions, and indulged his humour in 
arguing on both sides of most questions. But tho 
sceptical tendency of his writings is evident ; and 
there is perhaps nowhere to be found a more vigor- 
ous attack on popular innovations, than in the lat- 
ter part of the 2-.3d Essay of his first book. But 
there is no need of any general speculations to 
account for the repugnance to change, felt by a 
man who was wearied and exasperated by tho 
horrors of forty years' civil war. 

" The case of Bayle is more remarkable. 
Though banished from France as a Protestant, 
he pul)lished, without his name, a tract, entitled, 
" Advice to the Refugees," in the year 1G90, 
which could be considered in no other light than 
that of an apology for Louis XIV., an attack on 
the Protestant cause, and a severe invective 
against his companions in exile. He declares, in 
this unavowed work, for absolute power and pas- 
sive obedience, and inveighs, with an intemper- 
ance scarcely ever found in his avowed writings, 
against "the execra!)le doctrines of Buchanan," 
and the " pretended sovereignty of the people," 
without sparing even the just and glorious Revo- 
lution, which had at that moment preserved the 
constitution of lOngland, the Protestant religion, 
and the independence of Europe. It is no wonder 
therefore, that he was considered as a partisan of 
France, and a traitor to the Protestant cause ; nor 
can we much blame King William for regarding 
him as an object of jealous policy. Many years 
alier, he was represented to Lord Sunderland as 
an enemy of the Allies, and a deinicior of their 
great captain, the Duke of Marlboronsih. The 
generous friendship of the ilhisinons author of the 
Characteristics, — the opponent of Bayle on almost 
every question of philosophy, iroveriiment, and, 
we may add, religion, — preserved him, on that 
occasion, from the sad iiecessilv of seeking a new 
place of refuge in the very year'of his deaiVi. The 
vexations which Bayle underwent in Holland from 
the Calvinist ministers, and his long warfare 
against their leader Jnrieu, who was a zealous as- 
sertor of popular opinions, may have given this 
bias to his mind, and disposed him to "fly from 
petty tyrants to the throne." His love of para- 
dox may have had its share ; for passive obedi- 
ence was considered as a most obnoxious paradox 
in the schools and societies of the oppressed Cal- 
vinists. His enemies, however, did not fail to 
im|)ute his conduct to a design of paying his court 
to Louis XIV., and to the hope of being received 
with open arms in France ; — motives which seem 
to be at variance both with the general integrity 
of his life, and with his favourite passion for the 
free indulgence of philosophical speculaiion. 'I'he 
scepticism of Bayle must, however, be distin- 
guished from that of Hume. I'he former of 
these celebrated writers examined many ques- 
tions in succession, and laboured to show that 
doubt was, on all of them, the result of examina- 
tion. His, therefore, is a sort of inductive scepti- 
cism, in which general doubt was an inference 
from numerous examples of uncertainty in par- 
ticular cases. It is a kind of appeal to experience, 
whether so many failures in the search of truth 
ought not to deter wise men from continuing the 
pursuit. Content with proving, or seeming to 
himself to prove, that we have not attained cer- 
tainty, he does not attempt to prove that we can- 
not reach it. 

" The doctrine of Mr. Hume, on the other hand, 
is not that we have not reached truth, but that we 
never can reach it. It is an absolute and universal 
system of scepticism, professing to be derived from 
the very structure of the Understanding, which, 
if any man could seriously believe it, would 
render it impossible for him to form nn opinion 
upon any subject, — to give the faintest assent to 
any proposition, — to ascribe any meaning (o ihfc 
words ' truth' and ' falsehood,' — to believe, to in- 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 



195 



qu'rc, 01- to reason, and, on the very same ground, 
to disbelieve, to dissent, or to doubt, — to adhere 
to his own principle of universal doubt, and lastly, 
if he be consistent with himself, even to thivk. It 
is not easy to believe that speculations so siiadowy, 
which never can pretend to be more than the 
amusements of idle ingenuity, should have any in- 
fluence on the opinions of men of great understand- 
ing, concerning the most important concerns of 
human li(e. But i)erhaps it may be reasonable to 
allow, that the same character which disposes men 
toacepiicism, may dispose them also to acquiesce in 
considerable abuses, and even oppressions, rather 
tlian to seek redress in forcible resistance. Men 
of such a character have misgivings in every en- 
terprise ; their acutcness is exercised in devising 
objections, — in discovering difficulties, — in fore- 
seenig obstacles ; they hope little from human 
wisdom and virtue, and arc rather secretly prone 
to that indolence and indifference which forbade 
the Epicurean sage to hazard his quiet for the 
doubtful interests of a contemptible race. They 
do not lend a credulous ear to the Utopian projec- 
tor ; they doubt whether tlie evils of change will 
be so httle, or the benefits of reform so great, as 
the sanguine reformer Ibretells that they will be. 
'I'he scepiical temper of Mr. Hume may have thus 
insensibly moulded his political opinions. But 
causes still more obvious and powerful had proba- 
bly much more share in rendering him so zealous 
a partisan ot regal power. In his youth, the Pres- 
byterians, to whose enmity his opinions exposed 
him, were the zealous and only friends of civil 
liberty in Scotland ; and the close connection of 
liljerty with Calvinism, made both more odious to 
him. " The gentry in most parts of Scotland, ex- 
cept in the west, wei^e then Jacobites; and his 
early education was probably among that party. 
The prejudices which he perhaps imbibed iu 
France against the literature of England, extended 
to her institutions ; and in the state of English 
opinion, when his history was published, if he 
Bought distinction by paradox, he could not so 
effectually have obtained his object by the most 
startling of his metaphysical dogmas, as by his 
doubts of the genius of Shakespeare, and the vir- 
tue of Hampden." 

Note P. page 139. 
Though some parts of the substance of the fol- 
lowing letter have already appeared in various 
forms, perhaps the account of Mr. flume's dlncss, 
in the words of his friend and physician Dr. Cul- 
len, will be acceptable to many readers. I owe 
it to the kindness of Mrs. Baillie, who had the 
goodness to copy it from the original, in the col- 
lection of her late learned and excellent husband. 
Dr. Baillie. Some portion of what has been for- 
merly published I do not think it necessary to 
reprint. 

From Dk. Cullen to Dr. Hit.vter. 

" My Dear Friend, — I was favoured with 
yours by Mr. Halket on Sunday, and have an- 
swered some part of it by a gentleman whom I 
was otherwise obliged to write by ; but as I was 
not certain how soon that might come to your 
hand, I did not answer your postscript; in doing 
which, if I can ol)lige you, a part of the merit must 
be that of the information being early, and I there- 
fore give it you as soon as I possibly could. You 
desire an account of Mr. Hume's last days, and I 
give it you with some pleasure ; for though I could 
not look upon him in his illness without much 
concern, yet the tranqnilhty and pleasantry which 
he constantly discovered did even then give me 
satisfaction, and, now that the curtain is dropped, 
allows me to indulge the less allayed reflection. 
He was truly an example dex grands hommes qui 



sont marts en plaisantanl. . . . For many weeks 
before his death he was very sensible of his gradual 
decay ; and his answer to inquiries after his health 
was, several times, that he was going as fast aa 
his enemies could wish, and as easily as his friends 
could desire. He was not, however, without a 
frequent recurrence of pain and uneasiness ; but ho 
passed most part of the day in his drawing-room, 
admitted the visits of his friends, and, with hia 
usual spirit, conversed with them upon literature, 
politics, or whatever else was accidentally started. 
In conversation he seemed to be perfectly at ease, 
and to the last abounded with that pleasantry, and 
those curious and entertaining anecdotes, which 
ever distinguished him. This, however, I always 
considered rather as an eflTorf to be agreeable ; and 
he at length acknowledged that it became too 
much for his strength. For a few days before his 
death, he became more averse to receive visits ; 
speaking became more and more difficult for him, 
and for twelve hours before his death his speech 
failtd altogether. His senses and judgment did 
not fail till the last hour of his life. He constantly 
discovered a strong sensibility to the attention and 
care of his friends ; and, amidst great uneasiness 
and langour, never betrayed any peevishness or 
impatience. This is a general account of his last 
days ; but a particular fact or two may perhaps 
convey to you a still better idea of them. 

" About a fortnight before his death, he added 
a codicil to his will, in which he fully discovered 
liis attention to his friends, as well as his own 
pleasantry. What little wine he himself drank 
was generally port, a wine for which his friend 
the poet [John Home] had ever declared the 
strongest aversion. David bequeaths to his friend 
John one bottle of port ; and, upon condition of 
his drinking this even at two down-sittings, be- 
stows upon him twelve dozen of his best claret. 
He pleasantly adds, that this subject of wine was 
the only one upon which they had ever differed. 
In the codicil there are several other strokes of 
raillery and pleasantry, highly expressive of the 
cheerfulness which he then enjoyed. He even 
turned his attention to some of the simple amuse- 
ments with which he had been formerly pleased. 
In the neighbourhood of his brother's house in 
Berwickshire is a brook, by which the access in 
timeof floods is frequently interrupted. Mr. Hume 
bequeaths lOOl. for building a bridge over this 
brook, but upon the express condition that none of 
the stones for that purpose shall be taken from a 
quarry in the neighbourhood, which forms part of 
a romantic scene in which, in his earlier days, 
Mr. Hume took particular delight : — otherwise 
the money to go to the poor of the parish. 

" These are a few particulars which may per- 
haps appear trifling ; but to me no particulars seem 
trifling that relate to so great a man. It is per- 
haps from trifles that we can best distinguish the 
tranquillity and cheerfulness of the philosopher, 
at a time when the most partof mankind are under 
disquiet, anxiety, and sometimes even horror. . . . 
I had gone so far when I was called to the country ; 
and I have returned only so long before the post 
as to say, that I am most aflcctionately yours, 
" William Cullen. 

" Edinhurgh, llth September, 1776." 

Note Q. page 139. 

Pyrrho was charged with carrying his scepti- 
cism so far as not to avoid a carriage if it was 
driven against him. .^nesidemus, the most fa- 
mous of ancient sceptics, with great probability 
vindicates the more ancient doubter from such 
lunacy, of which indeed his having lived to iho 
age of ninety seems sufficient to acquit him. Aiw- 
0-lSnfA6( a <pH9-i <pD,o<ro<piii> /uh xutoy intra thy Tiif ivn- 



196 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Diogenes Laorlius, lib. ix. sect. 63. Brief and 
impcrtVet as our accounts ofancient sccpiicisin arc, 
it does appear tliut their reasoning on liio subject 
of causation iiail oome resemblance to jliat of IMr. 
Hume. 'AvMpoi/cri Jt to dlTtiV ^Jr TO aiviiv tJv Tfy( 
ti'to-ri, TTfic yuf T^, ctmxT^ ia-Ti* Ta St rpt ti itivcu- 
TeUU'jyov vTi-ip'XJu J* O'J' Xi.1 TO atiTUV oCy iTiycziro »y 
/uiycy. — Ibid, ^^el^ '.t7. It is pcriiaps inipossilile to 
translnie ihe important tecluiical expression Ta rrft 
vi. It comprehends two or more things as rehiieil 
to each oilier; both the relative and correlative 
bcinn; taken together as such. Fire considered as 
having' the power of buriiinE; wood is to :rp^<: ti. 
The words of Laertius nmy tlierciore be nearly 
rendered into the languat;o of modern philosophy 
as follows: "Causation ihcy take away thus :-^ 
A cause is so only in relation to an eflect. What 
is relative is oidy conceived, but does not e.\ist. 
Tlierelore cause is a mere conception." The first 
attempt to prove the necessity of belief in a Divine 
revelation, by demoiisiratinL; that natural reason 
leads to universal sceplicisin, was made by Alija- 
zol, a professor at Bagdad, in the beginning of the 
tweltth century of our era; whose work entitled 
the " Pestruction of the Philosopher" is known 
to us only by the answer of .\verrocs, called " De- 
sirucliouof the Uestructioii." lledenied anccessa- 
ry connection between cause and effect; for of two 
separate things, the atllrmaiion of the existence of 
one does not necessarily contain the atTirmaiion of 
the existence of the other; and the same may be 
said of denial. It is curions enough that this atgii- 
menl was more especially pointed against those 
Arabian philosophers who. from the necesjjary 
connection of causes and i flei-is, reasoned against 
the possibility of miracles ; — thus anticipating one 
doctrine of Mr. Hume, toinip\ign another. — -^ren- 
nemann, (lescbichte der Pliilosophie, vol. viii. p. 
387. The same attempt was made by the learned 
but unphilosopliic:il Iluet, bishop of Avranches. — 
(Quwstiones Alnetanas, Caen, Ki'JO, ami Traiie 
de la Foiblesse de I'Esprit Ilumain, Amsterdam, 
1733.) A similar motive uri^ed l>crkeley to his 
attack on Fluxions. The attempt of Iluet has 
been lately renewed by the .Abbe Lamennais, in 
his treatise on Religious Indillerence ; — a fine 
writer whose apparent reasonings amount to little 
more than well-varied assertions, and well-dis- 
guised assumptions of tlio points to be proved. 
To build religii)!! upon scepticism is the most cx- 
Vravatrantof all attempts; tor it destroys the proofs 
of a divine mission, and leaves no natural means 
of distinguishing between revelation and imposture. 
Tlio Abbe Lamemiais represents authority as the 
note ground of belief. Why? If any reason can be 
given, the proposition must be false; if none, it is 
obviously a mere groundless assertion. 

Note R. page 142. 

Casanova, a Venetian doomed to solitary im- 
prisonnieiu in the dungeons at ^'■enicc in 175;'), 
^hus speaks ot the only books which for a time he 
was allovyed to read. The title of the first was 
" La Cite Mystique de Sffiur Marie de Jesus, ap- 
pellee d' Agrada." " J'y Ins tout ee quo pent en- 
faiitcr riniagination exaliee d'une vierge Espag- 
nole extravagamment devote, cloitree, melancho- 
lique, ayant dcs dircctcurs de conscience, ignorans, 
faux, el devots. Ainoureuse et ainie trea intime 
de la Sainte Vierge, ello avait re^u ordre de Dieu 
menie d'ecrire la vie de sa divine mere. Les in- 
Btrueiions necessaires lui avaient eio fournies par 
« Saint Ksprit. File comnu-n^oit la vie de Marie, 
non pas du jour de sanaissanco, mais du moment 
de son immacule'o conception dans le seiii de sa 
mere Anno. Apros avoir narre en d<5tail tout co 
quo sa divine heroine tit les neuf niois qu'elle a 
passe dans le soin niaternel, elle nous apprend 
qu'a I'nge de trois ans ello balavoit la niaison, 
tidoe par ncuf cents doinesiiqucs, tous aiiges, 



commandes par leur proprc Prince Michel. C» 
qui frappe dans ce livre est I'assurance que tjut 
est dit do bonne ibi. Ce sont les vis-ions d'un es- 
prit sublime, qui, sans ancune ombre d'oiguoil, 
ivre de Dieu, croit lie reveler que ce que I'fispril 
Saint lui inspire." — Memoires de Casanova (Leip- 
sic, 1S27), vol. iv. p. 'M'.^. A week's coiilineinent 
to this volume produced such an efToct on Casa- 
nova, an unbeliever and a debauchee, but who was 
then enfeebled by melancholy, bad air. and bad 
lood, that his slee[) was haunted, and his waking 
hours distnrbi d by its hoiriblo visions. Many 
years after, passing through Agiada in Old Cas- 
tile, he charmed the old priest of that village by 
speaking of the biographer of the virgin. 'I'he 
priest showed him all the spots which were con- 
secrated by her presence, and bitterly lamented 
that tiie Court of Rome had refused io caiionize 
her. It is the natural rellection of Casanova that 
the book was welt qualified to turn a solitary pri- 
soner mad, or to make a man at large an atheist. 
It ought not to be forgotten, that the inquisitors 
of state at Venice, who proscribed this botik, were 
probably of the latter persuasion. It is a striking 
instance of the inlatuaiion of those who, in their 
eagerness to rivet the bii;otry of the ignorant, use 
means which infdlibly tend to spread utter unbe- 
lief among the educated. The book is "a disgnst- 
iii;;, but in its general outline seemingly faithful, 
picture of the dissolute manners spread over the 
Continent of Europe in tlu middle oi the eiglueenth 
century. 

Note S. page 143. 

" The Treatise on the Law of War and Peace, 
the Essay on Human Uuderstandinir, the Spirit 
of Laws, and the Inquiry into the Causes of the 
Wealth of Nations, are the works wliidi have 
most directly inlkienced the gener.il opinion of 
Europe during the two last centuries. They are 
also the most conspicuous landmarks in the pro- 
gress of the sciences to which iliey relate.. It is 
remarkable that ilie defocis of all these great 
works are very similar. The leading notions of 
none of ihem can, in the strictest sense, be said to 
be oriiiinal, though Locke and Smitli in that re- 
sjiect surpass their illustrious rivals. All of them 
employ great care in ascertaining those laws which 
are immediately deduced from experience, or di- 
rectly applicalile 10 practice; but apply meiaphy- 
sical ami abstract principles with considerable 
negligence. Noi one pursues the order of .science, 
beginning wi;h first elements, and advancitig to 
more and more complicated conclusions ; though 
Locke is periiaps less defective in method than 
the rest. All admit digressions which, tliough 
olien intrinsically c\cellent, distract attention and 
break the chain of thought. Not one of them is 
happy in the choice, or constant in the use, of 
technical term--; and in none do we find much of 
that rigorous precision uhich is the first beauty 
of philosophical languan:o. firotius and Montes- 
quieu were imitators of Tacitus, — the first with 
more gravity, the second with more vivacity ; but 
both were tempted to forsake the simple diction 
of science, in pursuit of the poignant brevity whicli 
that great historian has carried to a vicious e.vceas. 
Locke and Smith chose an easy, clear, and free, 
but somewhat loose and verbose style, — more 
concise in Locke, — more elegant in Smith,— in 
both exempt from pedantry, but not void of am- 
biguity and repetition. Perhaps all these apparent 
defects contributed in some degree to the specific 
usclulness of these great works ; and, by render- 
ing their contents more accessible and acceptable 
to the majority of readers, have more completely 
blended their principles with the common opinions 
of mankind." — Edinburgh Review, vol. x.vxvi. p. 
244. [This is a further extract from the article 
alluded to at p. 192. -Eu.] 



DISSERTATION ON THE PROGRESS OF ETHICAL PHILOSOPHY. 197 



Notes T— U. p. 147. 
AtT J" ujTa", Za-TTif «y ■yptfAu^Ttiai ."J^ f/.iiJtv un-ufp^et 

l»T«A«vei-/. yiypjiy.fx.iy(,r lamf <rvfji.^xivu iTrt ToZ vov 

AriMoile. " De Aniina," Opora, (Paris, 1039) 
Ionic ii. p. 50. A liiile helorc, in the SMrne treatise, 
appears a p;reat part of liie substance of the iarnoiis 
maxim, jV// est in inlellectu quod no?i priiixfuit hi 
eeiiitii. ''Hit piVT^tri^ tima-if t« i:nu I'vcti, ku'i oiix. 
an-j aia-fjiis-a,): yiyviTBxt. — Ibid. p. 47. In the tract 
on Memory and Reminiscence we find his enu 
merati ai ot the principles of association. Au k-x) 

TO i-^-irti; ^nfVJ'^y.iV, VCHtroWTSf utI TOU Vl/li il UAACf TiViC, 

K.XI i'<p' lifAoUu )) iVati/ricv, yi Tou cruvr)yv(. — Il)ld. p. 86. 
It tlio lattiT word he applied to time as well as 
Space, and considered as comprehenditig causa- 
tion, the enumeration will coincide with that of 
Hume. The term •^Jipsyai is as pignilicant as if it 
had been chosen by Ilobbes. But it is to be ob- 
eerved, that these principles are applied only to 
€Apl:iin memory. 

iSomoihing has been said on the subject, and 
Bomeihin^ on the present writer, by Mr. Cole- 
ridi,'e, in his unfortunately unfinished work called 
" Bidgraphia Literaria," chap, v., which seems to 
justify, It' not to re(iuire, a lew remarks. That 
learned gentleman seetns to have been guilty of 
an oversight in quoting as a distinct work the 
" Parva Natwralia," which is the collective name 
given by the scholastic translators to those trea- 
tises of Aristotle which form the second v<jlume 
ofDiival's edition o( his works, publisluid at Paris 
in ](>'i\). I have already acknowledged the striking 
reseinl)lance of Mr. Hume's principles of associa- 
tion to tliose of Aristotle. In answer, however, 
to a remark of Mr. Coleridge, I must add, that 
the manuscript of a part of the Aquinas which I 
bought many years ago (on the faith of a bof)ksel- 
ler's catalogue) as being written by Mr. Hume, 
was not a copy of the Commentary on the " Parva 
Naturalia," but of Aquinas' owi; " Secunda Se- 
cunda? ;" and that, on exaniinaiion, it proves not 
to be the handwriting of Mr. Hume, and to con- 
tain nothing written by him. It is certain that, 
in the passages iiTimediaiely preceding the quota- 
tion, Aristotle explains recollection as depending 
on a general law, — that the idea of an oliject v^'ill 
remind us of the objects which immediately pre- 
ceded or followed wiien originally perceived. Rut 
what Mr. ('oleridge has not told us is, that the 
Slagyriie confines the application of tliis law ex- 
cluxireli/ to the plmwmina of recollection (done, 
without" any glimpse of a more general opera- 
tion extending to all connections of thought and 
feeling, — a wonderful proof, indeed, even so limit- 
ed, ot'tlii^ sagacity of the gnat philosopher, but 
which for many ages continued barren of further 
consecpiences. The illusirations of Aquinas throw 
light on the original doctrine, and show that it 
was unenlarged in his lime. " When we recollect 
Socrates, the thought of Plato occurs 'as like 
liim.' When we remember Hector, the thought 
of Achilles occurs 'as contrary.' The idea of a 
father is followed by that of a son ' as near.' " — 
Opera, vol. i. pars ii. p. C2. et seq. Those of Lu- 
doviciis Vives, as quoted by Mr. Coleridrrc, ex- 
tend no fariher. liut if Mr. ColeridL'e will com- 
pare the parts of Ilobbes on Human Nature which 
relate to this subjet't, with those which explain 
general terms, lie will perceive that tlie philoso- 
ph<vr of Malmesbury builds on these two founda- 
ti(ms a sieneral theory of the human understanding, 
of which reasoning is only a parii<!ular case. In 
consequence of the assertion of Mr. Coleiidire, 
that Ilobbes was anticipated by Descartes in his 
excellent and interesting discourse on Method, I 
have twice reperused the hitter's work in quest of 
this remarkable anticipation, though, as 1 thought, 
well acquainted by my old studies with the wri- 
tiu^B of that great philosopher. My labour has, 



however, been vain : I have discovered no trace 
of that or of any .similar speculation. My edition 
is in I^atin by Elzevir, at Amsterdam, in KJ.iO, 
the year of Descartes' death. I am obliged, 
therefore, to conjecture, that Mr. Coleridge, hav- 
ing mislaid his references, has, by mistake, quo- 
ted the discourse on Method, instead of another 
work ; which would affect his inference from the 
[iriority of Descartes to Hobbcs. Il is not to 
be denied, that the opinion of Aristotle, repeated 
by so many commentators, may have found its 
way into the mind of Ilobbes, and also of Hume ; 
though neiiher might be aware of its sotirce, or 
even conscious that it was not originally his own. 
Yet the very narrow view of Association taken 
by Locke, his apparently treating it as a novelty, 
and the silence of common bool<s respecting it, 
afford a presumption that the Peripatetic doctrine 
was so little known, that it might have escaped 
the notice of these philosophers ;— one of whom 
boasted that he was unread, while the other ig 
not liable to the suspicion of unacknowledged 
borrowing. 

To Mr. Coleridge, who distrusts his own power 
of building a brideie by which his ideas rnay pasa 
into a mind so differently trained as mine, 1 ven- 
ture to suggest, with that sense of his genius 
which no cir<Mimsiance has hindered me from 
seizing every fit occasion to manifest, that more 
of my early years were employed in contciTipla- 
tions of an abstract nature, than of those of the 
majority of his readers, — that there are not, even 
now, many of them less likely to be repelled from 
doctrines by singularity or uncouthness ; or many 
more willing to allow that every system has caught 
an advantageous glimpse of some side or corner 
of the truth ; or many more desirous of exliiliit- 
ing this dispersion of the fragments of wisdom by 
attempts to translate the doctrine of one school 
into the language of another ; or many who when 
they cannot discover a reason for an opinion, con- 
sider it more important to discover the causes of 
its adoption by the philosopher ;— believing, as I 
do, that one of the most arduous and useful offices 
of mental philosophy is to explore the subtile illu- 
sions which enable great rninds to sati.sfy them- 
selves by mere words, before they deceive others 
by payment in the same counterfeit coin. My 
habits, together with the natural influence of my 
age and avocations, lead me to suspect that in 
speculative philosophy I am nearer to indifTerenca 
than to an exclusive spirit. I hope that it can 
neitlier be thought presumptuous nor offensive in 
me todonljt, whether the circumstance of its being 
found difiicult to convey a metapliy.sical doctrine 
to a person who, at one part of his life, made such 
studies his chief pursuit, may not imply either 
error in the opinion, or defect in the mode of com- 
munication. 

Note V. page 159. 

A very late writer, who seems to speak for Mr. 
Bentham with authority, tells us that "the first 
time the phrase of ' the principle of utility' was 
brought decidedly into notice, was in the ' Essays,' 
by David Hume, published about the year 1742. 
In that work it is mentioned as the name oi a. prin- 
ciple which 7n.lfr/it be made the foundation of a sy.s- 
tem of morals, in opposition to a si/xlein thtti in 
vof^ue, which was founded on v:hat iims culltd the 
' moral senne.' The ideas, however, there at- 
tached to it, are vague, and defective in practical 
application.''' — Westminster Review, vol. xi. p. 
238. If these few sentences were scrutinised 
with the severity and minuteness of Beniham's 
Fragment on Government, they would be found 
to contain almost as many misremembrances as 
assertions. The principle of Utility is not "men.' 
tioned," but fully discussed, in Mr. Hume's dis- 
course. It is sehloni spoken of by " name" la- 
r2 



19B 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Btead of chnrgiiiff tlie statements of it with " vagtie- 
negs," it would lio more just to admire tlie preci- 
sion wliioli it roinliiiiea with beauly. Instead of 
being " dtfictive in practiral applicdtiQn," per- 
haps ilie de.-iie of rendering it popular lias crowd- 
ed it will) examples and illustrations taken from 
life. To tlie assertion that " it wiig opposed to the 
moral ,<(•«.<(■," no reply can be needt'ul but the fol- 
lowing words extracted from the discourse iiself: 
"I am apt to suspect that reason and seiUimcnl 
concur in almost all moral deierniinntions and 
conclusions. The final sentence which pronounces 
characters and actions amiable or odious, prolxibli/ 
dqyends on so'ne internal sense or feelimr, which 
nature has made universal in the trhole species." — 
Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, sect. 
i. Tlie phrase '' made universal," wliicli is here 
used instead of the more obvious and common 
word ■' implanted." shows the anxious and perfect 
precision of language, by which a philosopher 
avoids the needless decision of a controversy not 
at the moment betore him. 

[Dr. W'hewell puts the case against the present 
fni.f-denomination assumed by the disciples of Mr. 
Beniham thus neatly : — " If the word Irom which 
Deontology is derived had borrowed its meaning 
from the notion of unliiy alone, it is not likely that 
il would liave become more intelligible by being 
translated out of Latin into (Jreek. But the term 
•Deontology' expresses moral science (and ex- 
presses it well), precisely because it signiiies the 
science of duti/, and contains no reference to Uiility. 
Mackintosh, wlio held that to Ji:v, — what men 
ov^ht to do — was the fundamental notion of mo- 
rality, might very probably have termed the 
science '" Deontology." The system of wiiicii 
Mr. Bentham is the representative, — that of those 
who make morality dependent on the produetion 
of happiness, — has long been designated in lier- 
niany by the term ' Eudemonism,' derived from 
tlie (>reek word for happiness (a«f*/,M;v)x). If wo 
were to adopt this term wo should have to oppose 
the L")eontological to the Eudemonist school ; and 
we must necessarily place tiiose who luild a pecu- 
liar moral faculty, — Butler, Stewart, Brown, and 



Mackintosh, — in the former, and those wiio art 
usually called Utilitarian philosophers in the latter 
class." — Preface to this Dissertation, 8vo, Edia- 
burg, 1S37. Ed.] 



j Note \V. page 160. 

A writer of consummate ability, who has failed 
in little but the respect due to the nbiliiies and 
character of liis opponents, has given too much 
' countenance to the abuse and confusion of lan- 
guage exemplified in the well-known verse of 
Pope, 

Modes of self-love the Passions we may call, 

"We know," says he, "no universal proposition 
respeciing human nature which is true but one,^ 
that men always act from self-interest." — Edin- 
burgh Review, vol. xlix. p. 1S5. It is manifest 
from the sequel, that the writer is not the dupe of 
the confusion ; but many of his readers may be so. 
If, indeed, the word ' self-interest' could with pro- 
priety be used for the gratification of every preva- 
lent clesire, he has clearly shown that this change 
in the signification of terms would be of iio ad- 
vantage to the doctrine which he controverts. It 
would make as many sorts of sell-interest as there 
are appetites, and it is irreconcilably at variance 
wiih the system of association embraced by Mr. 
Mill. To the word 'self-love' Hartley properly 
assigns two significations: — 1. gross self-love, 
which Ci)nsists in ilie pursuit of the greaiest plea- 
sures, from all those desires which look to indi- 
viiiual gratification ; or, 2. refined self-love, wliich 
seeks the greatest pleasure which can arise from 
I all the desires of human nature, — the lalter of 
which is an invaluable, though inferior principle. 
The admirable writer whose language lias occa- 
1 sioned this illustration, — who at an early age has 
I mastered every specie.s of composition, — will 
I doubtless hold fast to simplicity, which survives 
' all the fashions of deviation from it, and which a 
man of a genius so fertile has few lempiatious to 
i forsake. 



AN ACCOUNT 



OF 



THE PAHTITION OF POLAND.* 



Little more than fifty years have passed 
since Poland occupied a high place among 
the Powers of Eiiiope. Her natural means 
of wealth atid force were inferior to those of 
few states of the seeonil order. The surface 
of the country exceeded that of France ; and 
the number of its inhabitants was estimated 
at fourteen millions, — i\ population probably 
e.xceeding: that of the British Islands, or of 
the Siutnish Peninsula, at that time. The 
climate was nowhere unfriendly to health, 
or unfavourable to labour j the soil was fer- 

* From the Edinburgh Review, vol. xxxvii., p. 
163. 



tile, the produce redundant : a large iX)rtion 
of the coniitry, still uncleared, allbrded atn- 
ple scope for agricultural enterprise. Great 
rivers aflbrded easy means of opening an in- 
ternal navig;ition from the Baltic to the 
Mediterranean. In addition to these natural 
advantages, there were many of those cii- 
cntnstances in the history and situation of 
Poland which render a people fond and proud 
of their oontitry, and foster that national 
sp'rit which IS the most etiectual instrument 
either of defence or aggrandisement. Till 
the middle of the seventeenth cemury, she 
had been the predominating power of the 
North. With Hungary, and the maritime 



AN ACCOUNT OF THE PARTITION OF POLAND. 



1P9 



strength of Venice, she had formed the east- 
ern defence of Christendom against the Turk- 
ish tyrants of Greece ; and, on the north-east, 
she had boon long its sole barrier against the 
more obscure barbarians of Muscovy. A 
nation which thus constituted a part of the 
vanguard of civilization, necessardy became 
martial, and gained all the renown in arms 
which could be acquired before war had bo- 
come a science. The wars of the Poles, 
irregular, romantic, full of personal adven- 
ture, depending on individual courage and 
peculiar character, proceeding little from the 
policy of Cabinets, but deeply imbued by 
those sentiments of chivalry which may 
pervad« a nation, chequered by extraordi- 
nary vicissitudes, and carried Sn against bar- 
barous enemies in remote and wild provinces, 
were calculated to leave a deep impression 
'on the feelings of the people, and to give 
every man the liveliest interest in the glories 
and dangers of his country. Whatever ren- 
ders the members of a community nu)re like 
each other, and unlike their jieighbours. 
usually strengthens the bonds of attachment 
between them. The Poles were the oidy 
representatives of the Sarmatian mce in the 
assenibly of civilized nations. Their lan- 
gu:xge and their national literature — those 
great sources of sympathy and objects of 
national pride — were cultivated with no small 
success. They contributed, in one instance, 
signally to the progress of science ; and they 
took no ignoble part in those classical studies 
which composed the common literature of 
Europe. They were bound to their country 
by the peculiarities of its institutions and 
usages, — perhaps, also, by those dangerous 
privileges, and by that tumultuary indepen- 
dence which rendered their condition as 
much above that of the slaves of an absolute 
monarchy, as it was below the lot of those 
who inherit the blessings of legal and moral 
freedom. They had once another singu- 
larity, of whicli they might justly have been 
proud, if they had not abandoned it in times 
which ought to have been more enlighteneil. 
Soon after the Reformation, they had set the 
first example of that true religious liberty 
which equally admits the members of ail 
sects to the privileges, the otiices, and dig- 
nities of the commonwealth. For nearly a 
century they had afforded a secure asylum 
to those obnoxious sects of Anabaptists and 
Unitarians, whom all other states excluded 
from toleration : and the Hebrew nation, 
proscribed every where else, found a seconil 
country, with protection for their learned and 
religious establishments, in this hospitable 
and tolerant land. A body, amounting to 
about half a million, professing the equality 
of gentlemen amidst the utmost extremes of 
affluence and poverty, forming at once the 
legislature and the army, or rather constitut- 
ing the commonwealth, were reproached, 
perhaps justly, with the parade, dissipation, 
and levitv, which generally characterise the 
masters of slaves : but their faculties were 
roused by ambition j they felt the dignity of 



conscious independence ; and they joined lo 
the brilliant valour of their ancestors, an un- 
common proportion of the accomplishments 
and manners of a polished age. Even in the 
days of her decline, Poland had still a part 
allotted to her in the European system. By 
her mere situation, without any activity on 
her own part, she in some measure prevent- 
ed the collision, and preserved the balance, 
of the three greatest military powers of the 
Contitient. She constituted an essential mem- 
ber of the federative system of France ; and, 
by her vicinity to Turlkey, and influence on 
the commerce of the Baltic, directly affected 
the geyeral interest of Europe. Hei pre- 
servation was one of the few parts of conti- 
nental policy in which both France and Eng- 
land were concerned ; and all Governments 
dreaded the aggrandisement of her neigh- 
bours. In these circumstances, it might 
have been thought that the dismemberment 
of the territory of a numerous, brave, an- 
cient, and renowned people, passionately 
ilovotod to their native land, without cqIouf 
of right or pretext of defence, in a period of 
profound peace, in defiance of the law of 
nations, and of the common interest of all 
states, was an event not much more proba- 
ble, than that it should have been swallowed 
up by a convulsion of nature. Before that 
dismemberment, nations, though exposed to 
the evils of war and the chance of conquest, 
in peace placed some reliance on each other's 
faith. The crime has, however, been tri- 
umphantly consummated. The principle of 
the balance of power has perished in the 
Partition of Poland. 

The succession to the crown of Poland 
appears, in ancient times, to have been go- 
verned by that rude combination of inherit- 
ance and election which originally prevailed 
in most European monarchies, where there 
was a general inclination to respect heredi- 
tary claims, and even the occasional elec- 
tions were confined to the members of the 
reigning family. Had not the male heirs of 
the House of Jagellon been extinct, or had 
the rule of female succession been intro- 
duced, it is probable that the Polish mon- 
archy would have become strictly heredi- 
tary. The inconveniences of the elective 
principle were chiefly felt in the admission 
of powerful foreign princes as candidates for 
the crown : but that form of government 
proveil rather injurious to Ihe independence, 
than to the internal peace of the country. 
More than a century, indeed, elapsed before 
the mischief was felt. In spite of the as- 
cendant acquired by Sweden in the affairs 
of the North, Poland still maintained her 
hiiih rank. Her last great exertion, when 
John Sobieski, in 1683, drove the Turks 
from the suites of Vienna, was worthy of her 
ancient character as the guardian of Chris- 
tendom. 

His death, in 1696, first showed that the 
admission of such competition might lead 
to the introduction of foreign influence, and 
even arms. The contest which then oo- 



?00 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



curred between the Prince of Conti and Au- 
gustus, Elector of Saxony, liad been decided 
in favour of the latter by his own ami)', and 
by Russian influence, when Charles XII., 
before he liad reached the age of twenty, 
having already compelled Denmark to sub- 
mit, and ilefeated a great Russian army, en- 
tered Warsaw in triumph, deposed him as 
an usurper raised to the royal dignity by 
foreign force, and obliged him, by express 
treaty, to renounce his pretensions to the 
crown. Charles was doubtless impelled to 
these measures by the insolence of a youth- 
ful conqueror, and by resentment against the 
Elector; but he was also influenced b^" Iho.'^e 
rude conceptions of justice, sometimes de- 
generating into cruelty, which were blended 
with his irregular ambition. He had the 
generosity, however, to spare the territory 
of the republic, and the good sense to pro- 
pose the sou of the great Sobieski to fdl the 
vacant throne ; — a proposal which, had it 
been successful, might have banished for- 
eign factions, by gradually conferring on a 
Polish family an hereditary claim to the 
crown. But the Saxons, foreseeing such a 
measure, carried away young Sobieski a 
prisoner. Charles then bestowed it on Sta- 
nislaus Leczinski, a Polish gentleman of 
worth and talent, but destitute of the genius 
and boldness which the public dangers re- 
quired, and by the example of a second king 
enthroned by a foreign army, struck another 
blow at the independence of Poland. The 
treaty of Alt-]?anstadt was soon after an- 
nulled by the battle of Pultowa; and Au- 
gustus, renewing the pretensions which he 
had solemnly renounced, returned triumjih- 
antly to Warsaw. The ascendant of the 
Czar was for a moment suspended by the 
treaty of Pruth. in 1711, where the Turks 
compelled Peter to swear that he would 
withdraw his troops from Poland, and never 
to interfere in its internal afiairs; but as soon 
as the Porte were engaged in a war with 
Austria, he marched an army into it; and 
the first example of a compromise between 
the King and the Diet, under the mediation 
of a Russian ambassador, and surrounded by 
Russian troops, was exhibited in 1717. 

The death of Augustus, in 1733, had near- 
ly occasioned a general war throughout Eu- 
rope. The interest of Stanislaus, the deposed 
king, was espoused by France, partly per- 
haps because Louis XV. had married his 
daughter, but chiefly because the cause of 
the new Elector of Sa.xony, who was his 
competitor, was supported by Austria, the 
ally of England, and by Russia, then closely 
connected with Austria. The court of Pe- 
lersburgh then set up the fatal pretext of a 
guarantee of the Polish constitution, found- 
ed on tlie transactions of 1717. A guarantee 
■of the territories and rights of one indepen- 
ilent state against others, is perfectly com- 
patible with justice : but a guarantee of the 
institutions of a people against themselves, 
is but another name for its dependence on the 
foreign power which enforces it. In pursu- 



ance of this pretence, the country was invad- 
ed by sixty thousand Russians, who ravaged 
with fire and sword every district which 
opposed their progress; and a handful of 
gentlemen, some of them in chain.s, whom 
they brought together in a forest near War- 
saw, were compelled to elect Augustus III, 
Henceforward Russia treated Poland as a 
vassal. She indeed disappeareil from the 
European system, — was the subject of wars 
and negotiations, but no longer a ])arty en- 
gaged in them. Under Augustus HI., she 
was almost as much without government at 
home as without influence abroad, slumber- 
ing for thirty years in a state of pacific anar- 
chy, which is almost without t'xample in 
history. The Diets were regularly assem- 
bled, conformably to the laws'; but each one 
was dissolved, without adopting a single 
measure of legislation or government. Tliis 
extraordinary suspension of public authority 
arose from the privilege which each nuncio 
possessed, of Pto])ping any public measure, 
by declaring his dissent from it, in the well 
known form of the Libcrvm Veto. To give a 
satisfactory account of the origin and pro- 
gress of this anomalous privilege, would 
probably require more industrious and criti- 
cal research than were applied to the subject 
when Polish fintiquaries and lawyers exist- 
ed.* The absolute negative enjoyed by each 
member seems to have arisen from the prin- 
ciple, that the nuncios were not representa- 
tives, but ministers; that their power was 
limited by the imperative instructions of the 
provinces; that the constitution was rather 
a confederacy than a commonwealth; and 
that the Diet was not so much a deliberative 
assembly, as a meeting of delegates, whose 
whole duty consisted in declaring the deter- 
mination of their respective constituents. 
Of such a state of things, unanimity seemed 
the natural consequence. But, as the sove- 
reign power was really vested in the gentry, 
they were authorised, by the law, to inter- 
fere in public affairs, in a maimer most in- 
convenient and hazardous, though rendered 
in some measure necessary by the unreason- 
able institution of unanimity. This interfer- 
ence was effected by that species of legal 
insurrection called a " confederation," ia 
which any number of gentlemen subscribing 
the alliance bound themselves to pursue, by 
force of arms, its avowed object, either of 
defending the country, or preserving the 
laws, or maintaining the privileges of any 
class of citizens. It was equally lawful for 
another body to associate themselves against 
the former; and the war between them was 
legitimate. In these confederations, the so- 
vereign power released itself from the re- 
straint of unanimity; and in order to obtain 
that liberty, the Diet sometimes resolved 
itself into a confederation, and lost little by 
being obliged to rely on the zeal of voluntary 



* The informalion on this subject in Lengnich 
(Jus Publicum Polonioe) is vague and unsaiisfac- 
tory. 



AN ACCOUNT OF THE PARTITION OF POLAND. 



20 



adherents, rather tlian on the legal obedience 
of citizens. 

On the death of Augustus III., it pleased 
the Empress Catharine to appoint Stanislaus 
Poniatowski, a discarded lover, to the vacant 
throne, — a man who possessed many of the 
qualities and accomplishments which are 
attractive in private life ; but who, when he 
was exposed to the tests of elevated station 
and public danger, proved to be utterly void 
of all dignity and energy. Several circum- 
stances in the state of Europe enabled her 
to bestow the crown on him without resist- 
ance from foreign powers. France was un- 
willing to expose herself so early to the 
hazard of a new war, and was farther re- 
strained by her recent alliance with Austria; 
and the unexpected death of the Elector of 
Saxony deprived the Courts of Versailles and 
Vienna of the competitor whom they could 
have supported with most hope of success 
against the influence of the Czarina. Fred- 
eric II., abandoned, or (as he himself with 
reason thought) betrayed by England,* found 
himself, at the general peace, without an 
ally, exposed to the deserved resentment of 
Austria, and no longer with any hope of aid 
from France, which had become the friend 
of his natural enemy. In this situation, he 
thouiiht it necessary to court the friendship 
of Catharine, and in the beginning of vJie 
year 1764, concluded a defensive alliance 
with her, the stipulations of which with re- 
spect to Poland were, that they were to op- 
Eose every attempt either to make that crown 
ereditaryor to strengthen the royal power; 
that they were to unite in securing the elec- 
tion of Stanislaus; and that they were to 
protect the Dissidents of the Greek and Pro- 
testant communions, who, since the year 
1717, had been deprived of that equal admis- 
sibility to public office which was bestowed 
on them by the liberality of the ancient laws. 
The first of these stipulations was intended 
to perpetuate the confusions of Poland, and 
to insure her dependence on her neighbours ; 
while the last would afford a specious pre- 
text for constant interference. In a declara- 
tion delivered at Warsaw, Catharine assert- 
ed, '' that she did nothing but in virtue of the 
right of vicinage, acknowledged by all na- 
tions ;"t and, on another occasion, observed, 
"that justice and humanity were the sole 
rules of her conduct ; and that her virtues 
alone had placed her on the throne :"t while 
Frederic declared, that " he should con- 
stantly labour to defend the states of the 
republic in their integrity ;" and Maria The- 
resa, a sovereign celebrated for piety and 
justice, assured the Polish Government of 

• Memoircs de Frederic II. 1763—1775. Infro- 
duction. Frederick charges the new Administra- 
tion of Geo. in , not with breach of treaty in 
making peace without him, but with secretly 
oflering to regain Silesin for Maria Theresa, and 
with labouring to embroil Peter III. with Prussia. 

t Rulhicre, Histoire de I'Anarchie de Pologne, 
vol. ii. p. 41. 

} Ibid. p. 151. 

26 



" her resolution to maintain the republic in 
all her rights, prerogatives, and possessions." 
Catharine again, when Poland, lor the first 
time, acknowledged her title of Empress of 
all the Russias, granted to the republic a 
solemn guarantee of all it.'* possessions!* 

Though abandoned by tlu^'ir allies and dis- 
tracted by division.s, the Poles made a gallant 
stand against the appointment of the dis- 
carded lover of a foreign piincess to be their 
King. One party, at the; head of which was 
the illustrious house of Czartorinski, by sup- 
porting the influence of Russia, and the elec- 
tion of Stanislaus, hoped to obtain the power 
of reforming the constitution, of abolishing the 
veto, and giving due strength to the crown. 
The other, more generous though less en- 
lightened, spurnccl at foreign interference, 
and made the most vigorous efforts to assert 
independence, but were unhappily averse to 
reforms of the constitution, wedded to ancient 
abuses, and resolutely determined to exclude 
their fellow-citizens of different religions 
from equal privileges. The leaders of the 
latter party were General Branicki, a veteran 
of Roman dignity and intrepidity, and Prince 
Radzivil, a youth of almost regal revenue and 
dignity, who, by a singular combination of 
valour and generosity with violence and 
wildness, e.vhibited a striking picture of a 
Sarmatian grandee. The events which pass- 
ed in the interregnum, as they are related 
by Rulhiere, form one of the rrjost interest- 
ing parts of modern history. The variety of 
character, the elevation of mind, and ihe 
vigour of talent exhibited in the fatal strug- 
^e which then began, aflbrd a memorable 
proof of the superiority of the worst aristo- 
cracy over the best administered absolute 
monarchy. The most turbulent aristocracy, 
with all its disorders and insecurity, must 
contain a certain number of men who re- 
spect themselves, and who have some scope 
for the free exerci.se of genius and virtue. 

In spite of all the efforts of generous pa- 
trioti.sm, the Diet, surrounded by a Russian 
army, were compelled to elect Stanislaus. 
The Princes Czartorinski expected to reign 
under the name of their nephew. They had 
carried through their reforms so dexterously 
as to be almost unobserved; but Catharine 
had too deep an interest in the anarchy of 
Poland not to watch over its preservation. 
She availed herself of the prejudices of the 
party most adverse to her, and obliged the 
Diet to abrogate the reforms. Her ambassa- 
dors were her viceroys. Key-eriing, a crafty 
and smooth German jurist. Saldern, a des- 
perate adventurer, banished from Holstein 
for forgery, and Repnin, a haughty and brutal 
Muscovite, were selected, perhaps from the 
variety of their character, to suit the fluctu- 
ating circumstances of the country : but all 
of them spoke in that toneof authority which 
has ever since continued to distinguish Rus- 
sian diplomacy. Prince Czartorinski was 



* Ferrand, Histoire des frois Demenibrementa 
de la Pologne (Paris, 1820), p. 1. 



202 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



desirous not to be present in the Diet when 
his measures were repealed ; but Eepnin told 
him, that if he was not, his palaces should 
be burnt, and his estates laid waste. Under- 
standing this system of Muscovite canvass, ho 
submitted to the humiliation of proposing to 
abrogate thoso reformations which he thought 
essential to the existence of the republic. 

In September of the same year, the Rus- 
sian and Prussian ministers presented notes 
in favour of the Dissidents,* and afterwards 
urged the claims of that body more fully to 
lh(? Diet of 1766, when they were seconded 
with honest intentions, though perhaps with 
a doubtful right of interference, by Great 
Britain, Denmark, and Sweden, as parties to, 
or as guarantees of, the Treaty of Oliva, the 
foundation of the political system of the north 
of Europe. The Diet, inlluenced by the un- 
natural union of an intolerant spirit with a 
generous indignation against foreign interfer- 
ence, rejected all these solicitations, though 
undoubtedly agreeable to the principle of 
the treaty, and though some of them pro- 
ceeded from powers which could not be sus- 
pected of unfriendly intentions. The Dissi- 
dents were unhappily prevailed upon to enter 
into confederations for the recovery of their 
ancient rights, and thus furnished a pretext 
for the armed interference of Russia. Catha- 
rine now affected to espouse the cause of 
the Republicans, who had resisted the elec- 
tion of Stanislaus. A general confederation 
of malconlents was formed under the au- 
Bpices of Prince Radzivil at Ratlom, but sur- 
rounded by Russian troops, and subject to 
the orders of the brutal Repnin. This ca- 
pricious barbarian used his power with such 
insolence as soon to provoke general resist- 
ance. He prepared measures for assembling 
a more subservient Diet by the utmost ex- 
cesses of military violence at the elections, 
and by threats of banishment to Siberia 
held out to every one whose opposition he 
dreaded. 

This Diet, which met on the 4th of Octo- 
ber, 1767, showed at iirst strong symptoms 
of independence,! but was at length intimi- 
dated ; and Repnin obtained its consent to a 
treatyt stipulating for the equal admission 
of all religious sectaries to civil offices, con- 
taininga reciprocal guarantee "of //ie integri- 
ty of the territories of both •powers in the most 
solemn and sacred manner,^' confirming the 
constitution of Polaml, especially the fatal 
law of unanimity, with a few alterations re- 
cently made by the Diet, and placing this 
'•'constitution, with the government, liberty, 
and rights of Poland, under the guarantee of 
her Imperial Majesty, who most solemnly 
promises to preserve the republic for ever 
entire." Thus, again, under the pretence 
of enforcing religious liberty, were the dis- 
order and feebleness of Poland perpetuated ; 
and by the principle of the foreign guarantee 



* Martens, Recueil ilc Traitea, vol. i. p. 340. 
t Rulhiere, vol. ii. pp. 466. 470. 
t Martens, vol. iv. p. 582. .^ 



was her independence destroyed. Frederick 
II., an accomplice in these crimes, describes 
their immediate effect with the truth and 
coolness of an unconcerned spectator. " So 
many acts of sovereigntj',*' says he, "exer- 
cised by a foreign power on the territory of 
the republic, at length excited universal in- 
dignation : the ofiensive measures were not 
softened by the arrogance of Prince Repnin : 
enthusiasm seized the minds of all. and the 
grandees availed themselves of the fanati- 
cism of their followers and serfs, to throw off 
a )oke which had become insupportable." 
In this temper of the nation, the Diet rose on 
the 6lh of March following, and with it ex- 
pired the Confederation of Radom, which 
furnished the second example, within five 
years, of a Polish party so blind to experi- 
ence as to become the dupes of Russia. 

Another confederation was immediately 
formed at Bar, hi Podolia, for the preserva- 
tion of religion and liberty,* which, in a mo- 
ment, spread over the whole kingdom. The 
Russian officers hesitated for a moment 
whether they could take apart in this intes- 
tine war. Repnin, by pronouncing the word 
"Siberia," compelled those members of the 
Senate who were at Warsaw to claim the 
aid of Russia, notwithstanding the dissent of 
the Czartorinskis and their friends, who pro- 
tested against that inglorious and ruinous 
determination. The war that followed pre- 
sented, on the part of Russia, a series of acts 
of treachery, falsehood, rapacity, and cruelty, 
not unworthy of Ca?sar Borgia. The resist- 
ance of the Poles, an undisciplined and al- 
most unarmed people, betrajed by their 
King and Senate, in a country without fast- 
nesses or fortifications, and in which the 
enemy had already established themselves 
at every important point, forms one of the 
most glorious, though the most unfortunate, 
of the struggles of mankind for their rights. 
The council of the confederation established 
themselves at Eperies, within the frontier 
of Hungary, with the connivance and secret 
favour of Austria. Some French officers, and 
aid in money from Versailles and Constan- 
tinople, added something to their strength, 
and more to their credit. Repnin enter- 
ed into a negotiation with them, and pro- 
posed an armistice, till he could procure re- 
inforcements. Old Pulaski, the tirst leader 
of the confederation, objected: — "Hiere is 
no word," said he, "in the Russian language 
for honour." Repnin. as soon as he was re- 
inforced, laughed at the armistice, fell upon 
the confederates, and laid waste the lands of 
all true Poles with fire and sword. The 
Cossacks brought to his house at Warsaw, 
Polish gentlemen tied to the tails of their 
horses, and dragged in this manner alon» 
the ground. t A Russian colonel, named 
Drewitz, seems to have surpassed all his 
comrades in ferocity. Not content with mas- 
sacring the gentlernen to whom quarter had 



* See iheir Manifesto, Martens, vol. i. p. 456. 
t Rulhiere, vol. iii. p. 55. 



AN ACCOUNT OF THE PARTITION OF POLAND. 



203 



been given, he inflicted on them the punish- 
ments invented in Russia for slaves; some- 
times tying them to trees as a mark for his 
soldiers to lire at ; sometimes scorching cer- 
tain parts of their skin, so as to represent 
the national dress of Poland ; sometimes dis- 
persing them over the provinces, after he had 
cut ofl their hands, arms, noses, or ears, as 
living examples of the punishment to be suf- 
fered by those who should iove their coun- 
try.* It is remarkable, that this ferocious 
monster, then the hero of the Muscovite 
army, was deficient in the common quality 
of military courage. Peter had not civihzed 
the Russians; that was an undertaking be- 
yond his genius, and inconsistent with his fe- 
rocious character: he had only armed a bar- 
barous people with the arts of civilized war. 
But no valour could have enabled the 
Confederates of Bar to resist the power of 
Russia for four years, if they had not been 
seconded by certain important changes in 
the political system of Europe, which at first 
raised a powerful diversion in their favour, 
but at length proved the immediate cause 
of the dismemberment of their country. 
These changes may be dated from the al- 
liance of France wilh Austria in 1756, and 
still more certainly from the peace of 1762. 
On the day on which the Duke de Choiseul 
signed the preliminaries of peace at Fontaine- 
bleau, he entered into a secret convention 
with Spain, by which it was agreed, that the 
war should be renewed against Eixgland in 
eight years, — a time which was thought suf- 
ficient to repair the e.xhansted strength of 
the two Bourbon monarchies. t The hostility 
of the French Minister to England was at 
that time extreme. " If I was master," said 
he, " we should act towards England as Spain 
did to the Moors. If we really adopted that 
system, England would, in thirty years, be 
reduced and destroyed."!: Soon after, how- 
ever, his vigilance was directed to other 
Quarters by projects which threatened to 
eprlve France of her accustomed and due 
influence in the North and East of Europe. 
He was incensed with Catharine for not re- 
suming the alLance with Austria, and the 
war which had been abruptly suspended by 
the caprice of her unfortunate husband. 
She, on the other hand, soon after she was 
seated on the throne, had formed one of 
those vast and apparently chimerical plans 
to which absolute power and immense terri- 
tory have familiarised the minds of Russian 
sovereigns. She laboured to counteract the 
influence of France, which she considered 
as the chief obstacle to her ambition, on all 
the frontiers of her empire, in Sweden, Po- 

* Riilliiore, vol. iii. p. 124. 

t Ferrand, vol. i. p. 76. The failure of this 
perfidious project, is to be ascribed to ihe dechne 
of Choiseul's influence. The affair of the Falk- 
land Islands was a fragment of the dfsign. 

X Despatch from M^ de Choiseul to M. D'Os- 
Bun at Madrid, 5ih April. Flassan. Ilistoire de 
la Diplomaiie Fran5aise, vol. vi. p. 466. About 
thirty years afterwards, the French monarchy 
was destroyed ! 



land, and Turkey, by the formation of a 
great alliance of the North, to consist of 
England, Prussia, Sweden, Detmiark, and 
Poland, — Russia being of course the head 
of the league.* Choiseul exerted himself in 
every quarter to defeat this project, or rather 
to be revenged on Catharine for attempts 
which were alreaily defeated by their own 
extravagance. In Sweden his plan for reduc- 
ing the Russian influence was successfully 
resisted; but the revolution accomplished 
by Gustavus III. in 1772, re-established the 
French ascendant in that kingdom. The 
Count de Vergennes, ambassador at Con- 
stantinople, opened the eyes of the Sultan to 
the ambitious projects of Catharine in Swe- 
den, in Poland, and in the Crimea, and held 
out the strongest assurances of powerful aid, 
which, had Choiseul remained in power, 
would probably have been carried into ef- 
fect. By all these means, Vergennes per- 
suaded the Porte to declare war against 
Russia on the 30th of October, 1768.t 

The Coni"ederates of Ear, vho had esta- 
blished themselves in the neighbourhood of 
the Turkish, as well as of the Austrian pro- 
vinces, now received open assistance from 
the Turks. The Russian arms were fully 
occupied in the Turkish war; a Russian fleet 
entered the Mediterranean ; and the agents 
of the Court of St. Petersburgh excited a 
revolt among the Greeks, m hom they after- 
wards treacherously and cruelly abandoned 
to the vengeance of their Turkish tyrants. 
These events suspended the fate of Poland. 
French offic'ers of distinguished morit and 
gallantry guided the valour of the undis- 
ciplined Confederates: Austria seemed to 
countenance, if not openly to support them. 
Supplies and reinforcements from France 
passed operdy through Vienna into Poland; 
and Maria Theresa herself publicly declared, 
that there was no principle or honour in that 
.country, but among the Confederates. But 
the Turkish war. which had raised up an 
important ally for the struggling Poles, was 
in the end destined to be the cause of their 
destruction. 

The course of events had bronght the Ri}8- 
sian armies into the neighbourhood of tho 
Austrian dominions, and began to fill the 
Court of Vienna with apprehensions for the 
security of Hungary. Frederic had no desire 
that his ally should become stinnL'er; while 
both the great povi'ers of Germany were 
averse to the extension of the Russian terri- 
tories at the expense of Turkey. Frederic 
was restrained from opposing it forcibly by 
his treaty with Catharine, who continued to 
be his sole ally ; but Kaunitz, who ruled the 
councils at Vienna, still adhered to the French 
alliance, seconding the French negotiations 



* Rulhicre, vol. ii. p. 310. Ferrand, vol. i. p. 75. 

t Flassan, vol. iii. p. 83. Vergennes was im- 
mediately recalled, notwilhstaiiumg this success, 
for having lowered {fIeco7isidere) Innisflt by mar 
rying the daughter of physician. He brought 
back wilh him the three millions which had been 
remitted to him to bribe the Divan. Catharine 
called him " MustajAa't Frompter." 



J04 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOl^ ESSAYS. 



at Cnnstajitinoplo. Even so late as the month 
of July, 177 1. he enteied into a secret treaty 
with l\irkey, by which Austria ImiiuuI her- 
self to recover tivni Russia, by negotiation 
or by foix-e. all t!u> conquests nuiilo by the 
latter Uvxn the Porte. Hut thero is reason 
to think that Kauuitr, distrustinir the ix>\ver 
and the inclination of France under the fee- 
ble government of Louis XV., and still less 
disjx>st\l to rely on the councils of Versailles 
after the d.ownfal of Choiseul in IXveinber, 
1770, though he did not wish to dissolve the 
alliance, was desirous of loosening its ties, 
aiid became gradually dis}x>seil to adopt any 
exiiedient ag-:»inst the dang*^ of Russian ag- 
grandisenitMit, which might relieve liim fn^m 
the necessity of enpiging in a \\-ar, in which 
his chief confivience must necessarily have 
rested on so weak a stay as the French Go- 
vernraeat. Maria Theresa still entertained 
a rooted a\-ersion for Frederic, whom she 
never forgave for robbing her of Silesia ; 
wkI ojvnly prvifessed her abhorrence of the 
vices and crimes of Catharine, whom she 
ne%-er sjxike of but in a tone of disgust, as 
"/A<tf jroHujn." Her son Joseph, however, 
aflected to admire, and. as far as he had 
jx>wer. to imitate the King of Prussia ; and 
m spite of his mother's rt^^mgnance, found 
means to begin a jx^rsonal uuea*ourse with 
him. Their first interview occurred at Neiss, 
in Silesia, in August, 17t>9, where they en- 
tertni into a secret engjigement to prevent 
the Russians I'lvtn rt^taining Moldavia and 
Wallachia. In St^ptember, 1770, a second 
t6ok place at \enstadt in Momvia, where 
the principj^l subject seems also to have 
been the means of staving the pn^gress of 
Russian cosuiuest, anJ whert> desmtches 
were rtx^eived t'rinn Constantinople, desiring 
the mcvliation of K>th Courts in the negw 
tiations for peace.* But these interviews, 
though less<'ninir mutual jealousies, do not 
apjH'ar to have tliivctly intluence*! their sys- 
tem respecting Poland.t The mediation, 
however, then ss.ilieited. ultimately ga>-e rise 
to that Kital proposition. 

• MoiMoirx^ do tVHieric IT. 

t It was at one time btMievt^l. that the proj<>ct 
pf Pnrtiiioii was txr^t suj^vrt^sted to Jo<»^ph by 
Frx\leno a! Nous'.adt, it" not at Ntns*. tlt>«>ri«"s 
'paivrs (,Momoin-s ot Actes Authon:ivjuos r^-Ianfs 
aux Nei^);ia;ikV\s v^ui ont pnnvdivs le Fana^i^ do 
la Pologno. Woiinar. ISIO^ demonstrato iho con- 
trarv. Thos*'' papers are supported by Vk'iinonil 
{Ij*ttres\ by tho testimony of Priiuv Honry. 
by Kulh:orT\ anJ bv tho Harrati%T> ol' Krodonc. 
r>ohm vDonkwimiijikoiton nioiiur Y.fiO aiul 
Soh^H-U vllistoirx- Ahr»^j;«V do* Traitos dos Pais'' 
havo als^'' show M ;ht> iir.possibilitv of this stipp^Mii- 
tion. Mr. C<^xo ^History of tho Hoitw of .Austria, 
vol. iii. p. 4*'i has imWd «<loptc>tl it. aiul eudtw- 
vour» to sup{H<rt it by tho dtvlanitions of Herts- 
bors to hiinsolf: but when ho o.\amiiit-s tho 
•bo>-« authoritios. tho gni>aior p.nr! ol whioh have 
uppoart^l situ'o his work, ho will pr\ihahly bo 
sat!sfii?ti th.-<t ho nutst havo misundorsto^Hl the 
Pr\is»ia«< niinistor: and ho iiiav porhap* l\»Uow 
tho ei:amni«» of tho esofMont !»bbroviator Koch, 
who, in iito las! othtion ol" his usot'ul work, has 
•hot^;^^ that part ot his t>arraiive whiv'h aschl>«d 
the first plan of pariition to Freii«ric. 



Frederic had proposed a plan for the paci* 
tication of Poland, on condit-.on of reasoiiablo 
terms btMng made with the Confederates, 
and of the Dissidents being induced to mo 
derate their demands. Austria had assented 
to this plan, and was willing that Russia 
should make an hotiourable peace, but itisisl- 
ed on the restitution of Moldavia and Walla- 
chia, and declared, that if her mediation were 
slightt\l, she must at length yield to the 
instances of France, and take an active j\irt 
for Poland and Turkey. These declarations 
Frt\lenc communicated to the Court of Pe- 
tersbuvgh ;* and they alone seem sufficient 
to demonsti-ate that no plan of jvirtition was 
then contemplated by that monar\'h. To 
these communications Qitharine answcjvd, 
in a eontidential letter to the King, by a plan 
of peace, in which she insisted on the inde- 
pendence of the Crimea, the acc,uisation of 
a Gret^k island, and of a pretendtnl indepen- 
dence for Moldavia and Wallachia, winch 
should make her the mistress of these pro- 
vinces. She s^xike of Austria with great 
distrust and alienation; but, on the other 
hand, intimatcvl her readiness to enter into a 
clo.-icr hitimacy with that Court, if it were 
jH^ssible to disengage her from her present 
absnrvi system, and to make her enter into 
their views; by which mear.s Germany 
would be rtvtortxl to its natural state, an^ 
the House of Austria would be diverted, btf 
othtr pn>spects, from those views on his 
Majesty's jx^ssessions, w hichher present con- 
iitvtions kept np.t This i^orresjXMidence con- 
tinnet.1 during January and February. 1771; 
Froileric ob|ev'ting. in very friendly languagt?, 
to the Russ.an dennuids, and Ciuharine ad- 
hering to them. J In January. Panin notilied 
to the Court of Vienna his mistrt^ss' accept- 
ance of the gvHvl ottices of Austria towarvls 
the pacitit*iition, though she declined a for 
mal nie^liation. This despatch is chiefly 
rt^inarkable for a declaration,^ " tkat the Etn- 
prfss hmi (nloptfd^ as on htvmiMt maximf 
ii<riyr to thsin (my i^:graMlistm«nt of her 
stales.'' When the Empress cmnmunicated 
her plan of jx^ace to Kaunitx in Mav. that 
minister deolarovl that his Court could not 
projx^st^ conditions of peace, which must be 
attendcvl with ruin to the Porte, and with 
grt^at dangt^r to the Austrian monan'hy. 

In the summer of the year 1770. Maria 
Theresa had caustnl her tnx^jvs to take jxvsi- 
session of the county of Zip}\<, a district an- 
ciently apix^rtaining to Hungsiry. but which 
had been enioytxl by Poland for aKnit three 
hundrevl and sixty years, under a mortgage 
made by Sigismond, king of Hungary, on the 
strange cvMuIilion that if^it>i\-as not rvvleemed 
by a ti\t\l time, it iX^uld only lx» so by j^ay- 
nrent of as many times the oriiiinaJ sum as 
there had yejirs elaj^sevl saneo the apix)inied 



• Vrx'doric to Count Sohns, his Winieter at Pc- 
torsbiirsh. 13th St-pt. aud ISth Oct. 177\V Ooorti, 
{>p. HX>— U\"i, 

t Ibid. p;v 107. 138, Tb« French alliiUK« is 
e»idontlv nuNint. 

} Itud. p^ l^S^— Uo. t Ibid. p. !k 



AN ACCOUNT OF THE PARTITION OF POLAND. 



205 



term. So iiiicoremonious aii adjiulication to 
hoiso I of this torritory, in ilotiaiice of siu'li 
an aiioioiit possession, naturally proiUiooil a 
romoiistraiice even from the timid Stanis- 
laus, wliioh, howeverj slie coolly ovorrulcil. 
In the eritieal state ot Polaml, it was impo.s- 
sible that such a measure shouKl not excite 
observation; ami an occasion soon occurred, 
Avhen it seems to have contributed to pro- 
duce the most important ellects. 

Frederic, embarrassed and alarmed by the 
ditliculties of the jxicilication, resolved to 
send his brother Henry to Petersburyh. with 
no other instructions than to employ all his 
talents and address in brinijing Catharine to 
such a temper as miiiht preserve Prussia 
from a new war. Henry arrived in that 
capital on the 9ih December; and it seems 
now to be certain, that the lirst open pro- 
pos;il of a dismemberment of Poland arose 
m his conversations with the Empress, 
anil appeared to be suggested by the ditU- 
culty of making peace on such terms as 
would be adeiptate to the successes of Rus- 
sia, without endangering the s;dety of her 
neighbours.* It would ba dillicult to guess 
who first spoke out in a eonversiition about 
such a matter between two jXMsons of great 
adroitness, and who wen\ doubtless, both 
equally anxious to throw the blame on each 
other. Unscrupulous as both were, they 
were not so utterly shameless liiat each parly 
would not use the utmost address to bring 
the dishonest plan out of the mouth of the 
other. A look, a smile, a liint, or a question 
were sufficiently intelligible. The best ac- 
counts aijree. that in speaking of the entrance 
of the Austrian troops into Poland, and of a 
report that they had occupied the fortress of 
Czentokow, Catharine smiling, and casting 
down her eyes, said to Henry, " It seems 
that in Poland you have only to sloop and 
take :'^ that he seized on the expression ; and 
that she then, resuming an air of indiiler- 
ence, turned the eonvers;ition to other sub- 
jects. At another time, speaking of the sub- 
sidy which Frederic paid to her by treaty, 
she s;iid, "I fear he will be weary of thi.s 
burden, and will leave me. I wish I could 
secure him by some equivalent advantage.'' 
"Nothing.'' replied Henry, '-will be more 
easy. You have only to give him some ter- 
ritory to which he has pretensions, and which 
will facilitate the communication between 
his dominions.'' Catharine, without appear- 
ing to understand a remark, the meaning of 
which could not be mistaken, adroitly re- 
joined. " that she would willingly consent, if 
the Ixilance of Europe was not disturbed ; 
and that she wished for nothing."! In a 
conversation with Baron SaUlern on the terms 
of peace, Heury su^rgested that a plan must 
be contrived whicV would detach Austria 
from Turkey, and by which the three ]X)wers 
would gain. " Very well,'' replied the for- 
mer, " provided that it is not at the expense 



* Rulhiere, vol. iv. p. 20?. 
t Ferrand, vol. i. p. 140. 



of Poland ;" — "as if," said Henry afterwards, 
when he told the story, *• there were any 
other country about which such plans could 
be fornu'd."' Catharine, in one of the con- 
ferences in wliich she said to the Prince, " I 
will frighten Turkey and llatter England; it 
is your business to gain Austria, that she 
may lull France to sleep," became so eager, 
that she dipped her linger into ink, and drew 
with it the lines of partition on a map of Po- 
land which lay before them. "The Em- 
press,'' says Frederic, "imlignant that any 
other troops than her own should give law to 
Poland, s;\id to Prince Ilenry, that if the 
Court of Vienna wished to ilismember Po- 
land, the other neighbours had a right to do 
as much."* Ilenry said that there were no 
other means of preventing a general war; — 
'• Pour prtvciiir ce malhctir il n'y a qu^un 
moiicu, — dc mettrc (rots ti'tcs dans un bonnet j 
et ccla ne pcut pas se fain' qu'aitx depcns d'tin 
quart." It is hard to settle the order and 
time of thest^ fragments of conversation, 
w hich, in a more or less imperfect slate, have 
fouml their way to the public. The proba- 
bility seems to be, that Henry, who was not 
inferior in address, and who represented the 
weaker partv, would avoid the lirst proposal 
in a case where, if it was rejected, the at- 
tempt might prove fatal to the objects of his 
mission. However that may be, it cannot 
be doubted that before he left Petersburg on 
the 30th of January, 1771, Catharine and he 
hail agreed on the general outline to be pro- 
posed to his brother. 

On his return lo Berlin, he accordingly dis- 
closed il to the King, who received it at first 
with displeasure, and even with indignation, 
as either an extrav;igaiit chimera, or a snare 
held out to him by his artful and dangerous 
ally. For twenty-lour hours this anger lasted. 
It is natural to believe that a i^ay of con- 
science shot across so great a mind, during 
one hone.st day ; or, if then too deeply tainted 
bv habitual king-craft for sentiments worthy 
0^ his native superiority, that he shrunk for 
a moment from disgrace, and felt a transient, 
but bitter, foretaste of the lasting execration 
of mankind. On the next day, however, he 
embraced his brother, as if inspired, and de- 
clared that he was a second titne the saviour 
of the monarchy.! He was still, however, 
not without apprehensions from the incon- 
stant councils of a despotic government, in- 
fluenced by so many various sorts of favour- 
ites, as that of Russia. Orlow, who still held 
the othce of Catharine's lover, was desirous 
of continuing the war. Panin desired peace, 
but opposed the Partition, which he probably 



• Monioircs. This account is very much con- 
firmed by ihe well-informed writer who has pre- 
fixed his Recollections to the Letters of ViomeniJ, 
who probably was General Grimouard. His ac- 
count is from Prince Henry, who told it to him at 
Paris in 17S8. caHinw the news of the Austrian 
proceedings in Poland, and Catharine's observa- 
tions on it, a fortunate accident, which suggetted 
the plan of partition. 

t Ferrand, vol. i. p. 149. 
S 



206 



MACKINTOSirS ]\nSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



considerod as the division of a Russian pro- 
vince. But the groat body of lovois ami 
courtiers who had been enriehed by grants 
of forfeited estates in Poland, were favoura- 
ble to a project which would secure their for- 
mer booty, and, by exciting civil war, lead 
to new and richer lorfeitures. The Czernit- 
cheil's were supposed not to confine their 
holies to conliscalion, but to aspire lo a prin- 
cipality to be formed out of the ruins ot tiie 
republic. It appears that Frederic, in his 
correspondence with Catharine, urgeil, per- 
haps sincerely, his apprehension of gcnieral 
censure : her reply was, — " I take all the 
blame upon myselt."* 

The consent of the Court of Vieinia, luiw- 
ever, was still to be obtained ; where the 
most formidable and insuperable obstacles 
were still to be expected in the French alli- 
atice, in resentment towartls Prussia, and in 
the consciinitious character of Maria Theresa. 
Prince Henry, on the day of his return to 
Berlin, in a conversation with Van Swieten 
the Austrian minister, assured him, on the 
part of Catharine, ''that if Austria would fa- 
vour her negotiations witli Turkey, she would 
consent to a considerable augmentation of 
the Austrian territory." Oti Van Swieten 
asking '' where?'' Henry replied; "You know 
as well as I do what your Couit might take, 
and what it is in the power of Ibissia and 
Prussia to cede to her." The cautious min- 
ister was silent; but it was impossible lliat 
he should either liave mistaken the meaning 
of Henry, or have failed to impart such a de- 
clamtion to his Court.! As soon as the Court 
of Pt^tersburgh had vanquished the scruples 
or fears of Fred(Mic, they required that he 
should sound that of Vienna, which he im- 
mediately ilid through Van Swieten. t The 
state of parties there was such, that Kaunitz 
thought it necessary lo give an ambiguous 
answer. That celebrated coxcomb, who had 
grown old in the ceremonial of courts and 
the intrigues of cabinets, and of whom we 
are told that the d(>ath of his dearest friend 
never shortened his toilet nor retarded his 
dinner, still felt some regard to the treaty 
with France, which was his own work ; and 
was divided between his habitual submis- 
sion to the P^mpress Queen and the court 
which he paid to the young Emperor. It 
was a dillicult task to minister to the ambi- 
tion of Joseph, without alarming the con- 
science of Maria TluTCsa. That Princess 
had, since the death of her husband, " passed 
several hours of every day in a funeral apart- 

* This fact was cdinninnicatod liy Sabatirr, the 
Frenclr resilient nt Petersburfih, to his Court in a 
desjiateh of the lllh February. 1771. (Fcrrand, 
vol. i. p. l.'SO.) It transpired at that time, on oeca- 
sion of an anary eorrcspotufeuee between the two 
Sovcreiijns, in wliieli the Kinp rcproaelied the 
Empress with liavins: de.sired the Pariilion, and 
quoted the letter in wliieli slie had offered to take 
on iierself the whole blame. 

t Kerrand, vol. i. p. Il>). 

t Menioires de Frederic II. The Kin? does 
not cive the dates of this communication. It pro- 
bably was in April, 1771. 



ment, adorned by crucifi.xes and death's 
heads, and by a portrait of the late Empe- 
ror, painted when he had bretithid his last, 
and by a picture of herself, as it was sup- 
posed she would a]ipear, when the palenes.s 
ami cold of death should take from her couti- 
tenance the remains of that beauty which 
matle her otie of the finest women of her 
age."* Had it been possible, in any case, to 
ri'ly on the inlluence of the conscience of a 
sovereign over measures of stale, it might 
be supposed that a princess, occuj)ied in the 
practice of religious austerities, and in the 
exercise of domestic affect ions, advanced 
in years, loving peace, beloved by her sub- 
jects, respectett in other countries, professing 
remorse for the bloodshed which her wars 
had occasioned, atid with her children about 
lo ascend the greatest thrones of Europe, 
wonltl not have tarnished her name by co- 
operatitig with one monarch w hinn she tie- 
tested, and another whom she si'orned and 
disilained, in the most faithless ami shame- 
less measures which had ever ilishonoured 
the Christian worKl. Unhapi)ily, she was des- 
tined to be a sigtial example of the insecu- 
rity of such a reliance. But she could not 
instantly yield ; and Kautiilz was obliged to 
tcnnporize. On the one hand, he sent Prince 
Lobkowitz oti an embassy to Peteisburgh, 
where no mitiister of raidc hail of late repre- 
sented Austria; while, on the other, he con- 
tiimed his negotiation fora defensive alliance 
with Turkey. After having fust duly noti- 
fied to Frederic that his Court disappioved 
the impracticable proji>cts of Partition, and 
was ready to withdraw their troops from the 
district which they had occupied in virtue of 
an ancient claim, t he soon after proposed 
neutrality lo him, in the event of a war be- 
tween Austria and Ivussia. Fiederic an- 
swered, that he was bound by treaty to sup- 
port Russia ; but inliinated that Russia might 
probably receile from her demand of INIolda- 
via and AVallachia. Both parts of the an- 
swer seemed lo have produced the expected 
eflect on Kaunitz, who now .<aw his country 
placeii between a formidable war and a profit- 
able p<>ace. Even then, probabl}', if he could 
have hoped foreflVclual aid from France, ho 
might have chosen the road of honour. But 
the fall of the Due de Choiseid, and the pu- 
sillanimous rather than pacific policy of his 
successors, destroyed all hope of French suc- 
cour, and disposed Kaunitz lo receive more 
favourably the advances of the Courts of Ber- 
lin and Petersburgh. He seems to have cm- 
ployed the time, from June to October, irj 
surmounting the repugnance of his Court to 
the new system. 

The Ihst certain evidence of a favourable 
disposition at Vienna towards the plan of the 

* Rulhiere, vol. iv. p. ]G7. 

t The want of dates in the King of Prussia's 
narrative is the more unf"iiri\niate. because the 
Count de Goeriz has not published die papers re- 
latinjj to the iiegoiiaiions between Austria and 
Pru-ssia, — an omission which must be owned t<} 
bo somewhat suspicious. 



AN ACCOUNT OF THE PARTITION OF POLAND. 



207 



two PovvoiH, Ih in a dfspatchof Vr'ince Galit- 
ziti at ViiMiria to Cijuiit I'aiiiii, on tti(; 25l[i of 
0(;tob(!r,* in wliicli In; j^ivnH an account ol' a 
CQiiveiHation with Kauiiil/. on the day before. 
The maimer of the Austrian minister was 
more gracious and cordial than formerly ; 
and, after the usual discussions about the 
diflicultie.s of the terms of peace, Gakt/iii at 
last ask(;d him — "What cfiuivulent do you 

fropose for all ihat you refuse to allow us? 
t seems to me that there can be none." 
Kauiiitz, suddenly assuming an air of cIkmjt- 
fulness, pressed his hand, ami said '-'Sir, 
since you [lo'ud out the road, I will tell you, 
— but in such strict confidence, that it must 
be k(!pt a profound secret at your Court j for 
if it were to transpire and be known even 
to the ally and friend of Russia, my Court 
would solemnly retract and disavow this 
communication." He then proposed a mo- 
derate plan of peace, but added, that the 
Court of Vieiuia could not use its good offices 
to cause it to be adopted, unless the Court 
of Pet(;rsburgh would give the most positive 
assurances that she would not subject Poland 
to dismemberment for her own advantagt!, 
or for that of any other; provided always, 
that thiMr Irn{)erial Majesties were to retain 
the county of Zipps, but to evacuate; every 
o^er part of the Polish territory which the 
Austrian troops might have occupied. Calit- 
zin observed, that the occupation of Zipps 
had much the air of a dismemberment. This 
Kaunitz denied; but said, that his Court 
would co-operate with Russia in forcing the 
Poles to putan end to their dissensions. The 
former observed, that the plan of pacification 
showed the perfect disinterestedness of her 
Imperial Majesty towards Poland, and that 
no idea of dismemberment had ever entered 
into her mind, or into that of her ministers. 
"I am happy," said Kaunitz, "to hear you 
Bay .so." Panin, in his answer, on the 16lh 
of December,! to (Jalitzin, seems to have 
perfectly well understood the extraordinary 
artifice of the Austrian minister. "Tlie 
Cou."t of Vienna," says he, "claims the thir- 
teen towns, and disclaims dismemberment : 
but there is no slate which does not keep 
claims open against its neighbours, and the 
right to enforce them when there is an op- 
portunity; and there is none which does not 
leel the necessity of the balance of power to 
secure the possession of each. To be sincere, 
wo must not conceal that Russia is also in a 
condition to produce well-grounded claims 
against Poland, and that we can with con- 
fidence say the same of our ally the King 
of Prussia; and if the Court of Vienna finds 
it exj)edi(Mit to enter into measures with us 
and our ally to compare and arrange our 
claims, we are ready to agree." The fears 
of Kaunitz for the union of France and Eng- 
land were unhappily needless. These great 
Powers, alike d(^serters of the rights of na- 
tions, a.id betrayers of the liberties of Europe, 



* Gocrtz, p. 7r). 



t Ibid.p. 1:3. 



saw the crime consummated without stretch- 
ing forth an arm to prevent it. 

In the midst of tlie consj)iracy, a magnifi- 
cent embassy from France arrived at Vienna 
early in January, 1772.* At the head of it 
was the Prince de Rohan, then apjiointed to 
grae(! the embassy Vjy his high birth; while 
the lousiness continued to be in the hands of 
M. Durand, a diplomatist of experitmce and 
ability. Contrary to all reasonable expecta- 
tion, the young prince discovererl the secret 
which had escaped the sagacity of the vete- 
ran minister. liurand, completely duped by 
Kaunitz, warned Rohan to hint no suspiciouB 
of Austria in his despatches to Versailles. 
About the end of February, Rohan received 
information of the treach(!ry of the Austrian 
court so secretly,t that he was almost obliged 
to represent it as a discovery made by his 
own penetration. He complained to Kaunitz, 
that no assistance was given to the Polish 
confederates, who had nt tliat moment bril- 
liantly distinguished themselves by the 
capture of the f!asl]e of Cracow. Kaunitz 
assured him, that "the Empn.ss Queen 
never would RufFer the balance of power to 
be disturbed fiy a dismemberment which 
woulil give too much preponderance to neigh- 
bouring and rival Courts." The ambassador 
suspected the intentions that lurked beneath 
this equivocal ind perfidious answer, and 
communicated them to his Court, in a des- 
patch on the 2d of March, giving an account 
of the conference. Rut the Due d'Aiguillon, 
either deceived, or unwilling to appear so, 
rebuked the Prince for his officionsnes.s, ob- 
serving, that "the ambiissador's conjectures 
being incompatible; with the positive assur- 
ances of the Court of Vienna, constantly 
repeated by Count Mercy, the ambassador 
at Pari.s, and with the promises recently 
made to M. Durand, the thread which could 
only deceive must be quitted." In a private 
lelt'!r to M. d'Aiguillon, to be shown ordy to 
the King, referring to a private audi(;nce 
with th(r Empress, he says : — " I have indeed 
seen Maria Theresa weep over the misfor- 
tunes of oppressed Poland : but that Princecs, 
practised in the art of concealing her designs, 
has tf'ars at command. With one hand she 
lifts her handkerchief to her eyes to wipe 
away tears; with the other she wields the 
Bvvord for the Partition of Poland. "t 



* Momnirps dfi I'Ahlxj Georgcl, vol. i. p. 219. 

t Tho Al)t)n Gf.'orgel a.icriiics I he detection to 
Ilia muster (lie ambassador; l>iit it la more pro- 
bnbly ascrilird by IVl. .Sliocll (Ilisioire dc Traites, 
vol. xiv. p 7G,) (0 a youni; ruilivu of SU'.Tsbursf, 
namfd Barili, ilic sonond secreinry of the French 
Legation, who, by his knowledue of German, and 
iniimac-y wilh persons in inferior office, detected 
ihe project, but required the amliasNador lo con- 
ceal it even from Georgcl. Schoell quotes a 
pa-ssaiie of u letter from Bardi lo a friend at Siras- 
burg, which puts his early knowledge of it beyond 
dispute. 

t (/corgel, vol. i. p. 264. The letter produced 
some remarUalilc cfTeciB. Madame du IBarri got 
possession of it, and read the aliove passage alona 
at one of her supper parties. An cnciny of Rohan. 



208 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



In Febmary and March, 1772, the three 
Powers cxohangcni declarations, binding 
themp'^lvi's lo atlhiM-o to the principle of 
equalitj' in the Partition. In Augnst lollow- 
iug, the treaties of dipmenibernient were 
e.vecuted at Pctersburgh; and in September, 
the demands and delerminationsol' the com- 
bined Courts were made known at Warsaw. 
It is needless to characterize papers which 
have been universally regarded as carried to 
the extremity of human injustice and elRont- 
er)'. An undisputed possession of centu- 
ries, a succession of treaties, to which all 
the Euroi)ean states were either parties 
orguaranteet., — nny, tlie recent, solemn, and 
repeatetl engagements of the three Govern- 
ments themselves, were considered as form- 
ing no title of dominion. In answer, the 
Empress Queen and the King of Prussia 
appealed to some pretensions of their pre- 
decessors in the thirteenth century: the 
Empress of Kussia alleged only the evils 
suffered by neighbouring states from the 
anarchy oi" Poland.* The remonstrances 
of the Polish Government, and their aj)peals 
to all those stales who were bound to ])rotect 
them as guavantees of the Treaty of Olivia, 
were equally vain. AVhen the Austrian am- 
bassador announced (he Partition at Ver- 
sailles, the old King said, "If the other man 
(Choiseu!) had been here, this would not 
have happened.'" i' But in truth, both France 
and Great iiritain had, at that time, lost all 

who was present, iinmfdiniely told theDanphiiicss 
of this atinck on lier mother. 'J'lii' young Princess 
was iiatufally intenscci at .'iuch languatj;e, espe- 
cially as she liadhecii given to unclersiand that the 
letter was wiitien to Miidanio cJii Bani. Siie 
became tiio iirecoiieiiahle enemy of tlie Prince, 
afterwards Cardinal He llohan. wlio, in hopes of 
conquering her ho.ililiiy, engaged in the strange 
adventure of the ),>iainond Neeklace, one of the 
secondary a.'-^nts in pronioiing the French Revo- 
lulion, and not I'nc least considerable source of 
ihe popular prejudices against the Queen. 

* Martens, vol. i. p. 461. 

t It lias been sniJ iliat Austria did not accede to 
the Partition till France Ii:id refused to co-operate 
ogainsi it. Of tins M. de Segur tells ua, that he 
was assured by Kaunitj;, Cobentzel, and Vergen- 
nes. Tlie only circumstance which approaches to 
a contiiinniioii of his staleniant is, diat there are 
traces in Ferrand of secret iniimaiions conveyed 
by D',\iguil:i"in to Frederic, that there was no 
likelihood of France proceeding to e.xtrcniiiies in 
iuvour of Poland. 'J his clandestine treachery is, 
however, very diflerent from a public refusal. It 
has, on the oihtr iiand, been stated (Coxe, vol. ii. 
p. 516.) that the Due d'Aiguillon proposed to 
Lord Rochfort, (lint an English or French fleet 
should he sent to dio Ealiic to prevent the dis- 
memberment. But Bucli a proposal, il it occurred 
at all, must have related to transactions long an- 
tecedent to the Pariiiion, and to the administration 
ot D'Aiguillon, for Lord Rochfort was recalled 
from the French embassy in 1768, to be made 
Secretary of 8taie, on lite resignation of Lord 
Shelburne. Nciihcr can the application have 
been to him as Secretary of State ; for France 
was not in his depart ment. It is to be regretted 
that Mr. Coxe sliould, in the same place, have 
quoted a writer so discredited as the Abbe Soulavie 
(Mdmoires de Tionis XVI.), from wlionj he quotes 
a memorial, wii bout doubt altogether imaginary, 
oi D'Aiguillon to Louis XV. 



influence in the affairs of Europe : — France. 
from the imbecility of her Government, ana 
partly, in the case of Poland, from reliance 
on the Court of Vienna; Great Britain, in 
consequence of her own treachery to Pius- 
sia, but' in a still greater degree from the 
uniiopularity of her Government at home, 
and the approaches of a revolt in the noblest 
part *of her colonies. Had there been a 
sptirk of spirit, or a ray of wise policy in the 
councils of England and France, they would 
have been immediately followed by all the 
secondarj' powers whose very e.vistence de- 
pended on the general reverence for justice. 

The Poles maile a gallant stand. l"he Go- 
vernment was compelled to call a Diet ; and 
the three Powers insisted on its unanimity 
in the most trivial act. In spite, however, 
of every species of corruption and violence, 
Ihe Diet, surrounded as it was by foreign 
bayonets, gave powers to deputies to negoti- 
ate with the three Powers, by a majority of 
only one; and it was not till September, 
1773, that it was compelled to cede, by a 
pretended treaty, some of her finest i)rovin- 
ces, with nearly live millions of her popula- 
tion. The conspirators were resolved to de- 
prive the remains of the Polish nation of all 
hope of re-establishing a vigorous govern- 
ment, or attaining domestic tranquillity j 
and the Liberum Veto, the elective mofiar- 
chy, and all the other institutions wliich 
tended to perpetuate disorder, were again 
imposed. 

^ftlaria Theresa had the merit of confessing 
her fault. On the 19th of February, 1775. 
when M. de Breteuil, the ambassador of 
Louis XVI., had his first audience, after some 
embarra.ssed remarks on the subject of Po- 
land, she at length exclaimed, in a tone of 
sorrow, " I know. Sir, that I have brouglit a 
deep stain on my reign, by what has been 
done in Poland ; but I am sure that I should 
be forgiven, if it could be known what re- 
pugnance I had to it, and how many circum- 
stances combined against my principles."* 
The guilt of the three parties to the Partition 
was very unequal. Frederic, the weakest, 
had most to apprehenil, both from a rupture 
with his ally, and from the accidents of a 
general war; while, on the other hand, some 
enlargement seemed requisite to the defence 
of his dominions. The House of Austria en- 
tered late and reluctantly into the conspira- 
cy, which she probably might have escaped, 
if France had been under a more vigorous 
Government. Catharine was the great crimi- 
nal. She had for eight years oppressed, be- 
trayed, and ravaged Poland, — had imposed 
on her King, — had prevented all reformation 
of the government, — had fomented divisions 
among the nobility, — in a word, had created 
and maintained that anarchy, which she at 
length used as a pretence for the dismem- 
berment. Her vast empire needed no acces- 
sion of territory for defence, or, it might 
have been hoped, even for ambition. Yet, 
by her insatiable avidity, was occasioned the 



• Flasaan. vol. vii. p. 125. 



AN ACCOUNT OF THE PARTITION OF POLAND. 



209 



pretended necessity for the Partition. To 
prevent hi;r fioin Jiequiiing the Crimea, Mol- 
davia, and VVallacliia, the Conils of Vienna 
and Berlin agreed to allow her to commit an 
equivalent robbery on Poland. Whoever 
first jiroposed it, Catharine was the real canse 
and author oC the whole monstrous transac- 
tion ; and, should any historian, — dazzled by 
the splendour of her reign, or more excusa- 
bly seduced By her genius, her love of letters, 
her efforts in legislation, and her real servi- 
ces to her subji3ctS; — labour to pfilliate this 
great offence, ho will only share her infamy 
m the vain attempt to e.vtenuate her guilt. 

The defects of the Polish government pro- 
bably contributed to the lo.ss of independ- 
ence most directly by their influence on the 
military system. The body of the gentry 
retaining the power of the sword, as well as 
the authority of the state in their own hands, 
were too jealous of the Crown to strengthen 
the regular army; though even that body 
was more in the power of the great officers 
named by the Diet, than in that of the King. 
They continued to serve on horseback as in 
ancient times, and to regard the PospoUtCj or 
general armament of the geiitr}'', as the im- 
penetrable bulwark of the commonwealth. 
Nor, indeed, unless they had armed their 
slaves, would it have been possible to have 
established a formidable native infantry. 
Their armed force was adequate to the short 
irruptions or sudden enterprises of ancient 
war; but a body of noble cavalry was alto- 
gether incapable of the discipline, which is 
of the essence of modern armies; and their 
military system was irreconcilable with the 
acquisition of the science of war. In war 
alone, the Polish nobility were barbarians; 
while war was the only part of civilization 
which the Russians had obtained!. In one 
country, the sovereign nobility of half a mil- 
liDu durst neither arm their slaves, nor trust 
a mercenary army : in the other, the Czar 
naturally employed a standing army, re- 
cruited, without fear, from the enslaved pea- 
santry. To these military conscription was 
a reward, and the station of a private soldier 
a preferment ; and they were fitted by their 
previous condition to be rendered, by mili- 
tary discipline, the most patient and obedient 
of soldiers, — without enterprise, but without 
fear, and equally inaccessible to di.scontent 
and attachment, passive and almost insensi- 
ble members of the great military machine. 
There are jnany circumstances in the insti- 
tutions and destiny of a people, which seem 
to arise frona original pecul arities of national 
character, of which it is often impossible to 
e.vplain the oiigin, or even to show the nature. 
Denmark and Sweden are countries situated 
in the same region of the globe, inhabited 
by nations of the same descent, lanjruage, 
and religion, and very similar in their man- 
ners, their ancient institutions, and modern 
civilization : yet tie would be a bold specu- 
lator who should attempt to account for the 
talent, fame, turbulence, and revolutions of 
the former; and for the quiet prosperity and 
27 



obscure mediocrity, which have formed the 
character of the latter. 

There is no political doctrine more false or 
more pernicious than that which represents 
vices in its internal government as an ex- 
tenuation of unjust aggression against a coun- 
try, and a consolation to mankind for the 
destruction of its independence. As no go- 
vernment is without great faults, such a doc- 
trine multiplies tfio grounds of war, gives an 
unbounded scope to ambition, and furnishes 
benevolent pretexts for every sort of rapine. 
However bad the government of Poland may 
have been, its bad qualities do not in the 
least degree abate the evil consequence of 
the Partition, in weakening, by its example, 
the security of all other nations. An act of 
robbery on the hoards of a worthless miser, 
though they be bestowed on the needy and 
the deserving, does not the less shake the 
common basis of property. The greater 
number of nations live under governments 
which are indisputably bad ; but it is a less 
evil that they should continue in that state, 
than that they should be gathered under a 
single conqueror, even with a chance of im- 
provement in their internal administration. 
Conquest and extensive empire are among 
the greatest evils, and the clivision of man- 
kind into independent communities is among 
the greatest advantages, which fall to the lot 
of men. The multiplication of such com- 
munities increases the reciprocal control of 
opinion, strengthens the principles of gene- 
rous rivalship, makes every man love his 
own ancient and separate country with a 
warmer affection, brings nearer to all man- 
kind the objects of noble ambition, and adds 
to the incentives to which we owe works of 
genius and acts of virtue. There are some 
peculiarities in the condition of every civili- 
zed country which are peculiarly favourable 
to some talents or good qualities. To de- 
stroy the independence of a people, is to an- 
nihilate a great assemblage of intellectual 
and moral qualities, forming the character 
of a nation, and distinguishing it from other 
communities, which no human skill can bring 
together. As long as national spirit exists, 
there is always reason to hope that it will 
work real reformation : when it is destroyed, 
though better forms may be imposed by a 
conqueror, there is no farther hope of those 
only valuable reformations which represent 
the sentiments, and issue from the heart of 
a people. The barons at Runnymrdf^ con- 
tinuetl to be the masters of slaves; but the 
noble principles of the charter shortly brgan 
to release these slaves from bondage, 'i'iiose 
who conquered at Marathon and Plata-n were 
the masters of slaves; yet, by the defeat of 
Eastern tyrants, they preserved knowledge, 
liberty, and civilization itself, and contributed 
to that progress of the human mind which 
will one day banish slavery from the world. 
Had the people of Scotland been conquere.l 
by Edward II. or by Henry VIII., a common 
observer would have seen nothing in thrt 
event but that a race of turbulent barbariarw 
82 



210 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



was reduced to subjection by a more civili- 
zed state. 

Alter this first Partition was completed in 
1776, Poland was suffered for sixteen years 
to enjoy an interval of more undisturbed 
tranquillity than it had known for a centur)'. 
Russian armies ceased to vex it : the dispo- 
sitions of other foreign powers became more 
favourable. Frederic II. now entered on that 
honourable portion of his reign, in which he 
made a just war for the defence of the in- 
tegrity of Bavaria, and of the independence 
of Germany. Still attempts were not want- 
ing to seduce him into new enterprises 
against Poland. When, in the year 1782, 
reports were current that Potemkin was to 
be made King of Poland, that haughty and 
profligate barbarian tolil the Count de Goertz, 
then Prussian ambassador at Petersburgh, 
that he despised the Polish nation too much 
to be ambitious of reigning over them.* He 
desiretl the ambassador to communicate to 
his master a plan for a new Partition, ob- 
serving " that the first was only child's play, 
and that if they had taken all, the outcry 
would nut have been greater." Every man 
who feels for the dignity of human nature, 
will rejoice that the illustrious monarch 
firmly rejected the proposal. Potemkin read 
over his refusal three times before he could 
believe his eyes, and at length exclaimed, 
in language very common among certain 
politicians, "I never could have believed 
that King Frederic was capable of romantic 
ideas. "t As soon as Frederic returned to 
counsels worthy of himself, he became unfit 
for the purposes of the Empress, who, in 
1780, refused to renew her alliance with 
him, and found more suitable instruments in 
the restless character, and shallow under- 
standing, of Joseph II., whose unprincipled 
ambition was now released from the restraint 
which his mother's scruples had imposed on 
it. The project of re-establishing an Eastern 
empire now occupied the Court of Peters- 
burgh, and a portion of the spoils of Turkey 
was a sufficient lure to Joseph. The state 
of Europe tended daily more and more to 
restore some degree of independence to the 
remains of Poland. Though France, her 
most ancient and constant ally, was then ab- 
sorbed in the approach of those tremendous 
convulsions which have for more than thirty 
years agitated Europe, other Powers now 
adopted a policy, the influence of which was 
favourable to the Poles. Prussia, as she re- 
ceded from Russia, became gradually con- 
nected with England, Holland, and Sweden ; 
and her honest policy in the case of Bavaria 
placed her at the head of all the independent 
members of the Germanic Confederacy. Tur- 

* Dohm, vol. ii. p. 4,5. 

t It was about this time that GoeT.n gave an ac- 
count of the Court of Russia to the Prince Royal of 
Prussia, who was about to visit Petersbugh, of 
which the following passage is a curious speci- 
men : — " Lc Prince Bariatinski est reconnuscele- 
rat, et meme comme lel employe encore de tems 
en terns."— Dohm, vol. ii. p. 32. 



key declared war against Russia. The A'js 
trian Government was disturbed by '.he dis- 
content and revolts which the precipitate in- 
novations of Joseph had e.xciled in various 
provinces of the monarchy. A formidable 
combination against the power of Russia was 
in time formed. In the treaty between 
Prussia and the Porte, concluded at Constan- 
tinople in January, 1790, the contracting par- 
ties bound themselves to endeavour to obtain 
from Austria the restitution of those Polish 
provinces, to which she had given the name 
of Galicia.* 

During the progress of these auspicious 
changes, the Poles began to entertain the 
hope that they might at length be suffered 
to reform their institutions, to provide for 
their own quiet and safety, and to adopt thai 
policy which might one day enable them to 
resume their ancient station among European 
nations. From 1778 to 1788, no great mea- 
sures had been adopted, but no tumults dis- 
turbed the country; while reasonable opi- 
nions made some progress, and a national 
spirit was slowly reviving. The nobility pa- 
tiently li.stened to plans for the establi.shment 
of a productive revenue and a regular army j 
a disposition to renounce their dangerous 
right of electing a king made perceptible 
advances; and the fatal law of unanimity 
had been so branded as an instrument of 
Russian policy, that in the Diets of these ten 
years, no nuncio was found bold enough to 
eiuploy his negative. At the breaking out 
of the Turkish war, the Poles ventured to 
refuse not only an alliance offered by Catha- 
rine, but even permission to her to raise a 
body of cavalry in the territories of the re- 
public.t 

In the midst of these excellent symptoms 
of public sense and temper, a Diet assem- 
bletl at Warsaw in October, 1788, from whoni 
the restoration of the republic was hoped, 
and by whom it would have been accom- 
plished, if their prudent and honest mea- 
sures had not been defeated by one of the 
blackest acts of treachery recorded in the 
annals of mankind. Perhaps the four years 
which followed present more signal examples 
than any other part of history, — of patience, 
moderation, wisdom, and integrity, in a po- 
pular assembly, — of spirit and unanimity 
among a turbulent people, — of inveterate 
malignity in an old oppres.sor, — and of the 
most execrable perfidy in a pretended friend. 
The Diet applied itself with the utmost dili^ 
gence and caution to reform the state, watch- 
ing the progress of popular opinion, and pro- 
posing no reformation till the public seemed 
ripe for its reception. While the spirit of 
the French Revolution was every where pre- 
valent, these reformers had the courageous 
prudence to avoid whatever was visionary 
in its principles, or violent in their execu- 
tion. They refused the powerful but peri- 
lous aid of the enthusiasm which it excited 



» Sehocll, vol. xiv. p. 473. 
t Ferrand. vol. ii. p. 336. 



AN ACCOUNT OF THE PARTITION OF POLAND. 



211 



long before its excesses and atrocities had 

•eiidered it odious. They were content to 
he reproached by their friends for the slow- 
ness of their reformatory measures; and to 
be despised for the limited extent of these 
by many of those generous minds who then 
aspired to bestow a new and more perfect 
liberty on mankind. After having taken 
measures for the re-establishment of the 
finances and the army, they employed the 
greater part of the year 1789 in the discus- 
sion of constitutional reforms.* A committee 
appointed in September, before the conclu- 
sion of the year, made a report which con- 
tained an outline of the most necessary alte- 
rations. No immediate decision was made 
on these propositions 5 but the sense of the 
Diet was, in the course of repeated discus- 
sions, more decisively manifested. It was 
resolved, without a division, that the Elector 
of Saxony should be named successor to the 
crown; which determination, — the prelude 
to the establishment of hereditary monar- 
chy, — was confirmed by the Dietines, or 
electoral assemblies. The elective franchise, 
formerly exercised by all the nobility, was 
limited to landed proprietors. Many other 
fundamental principles of anew constitution 
were perfectly understood to be generally 
approved, though they were not formally 
established. In the mean time, as the Diets 
were biennial, the assembly approached to 
the close of its legal duration ; and as it was 
deemed dangerous to intrust the work of re- 
formation to an entirely new one, and equally 
80 to establish the precedent of an existence 
prolonged beyond the legal period, an expe- 
dient was accordingly adopted, not indeed 
sanctioned by law, but founded in constitu- 
tional principles, the success of which afford- 
ed a signal proof of the unanimity of the 
Polish nation. New writs were issued to all 
the Dielines requiring them to choose the 
same number of nuncios as usual. These 
elections proceeded regularly; and the new 
members being received by the old, formed 
with them a double Diet. Almost all the 
Dielines instructed their new representatives 
to vote for hereditary monarchy, and de- 
clared their approbation of the past conduct 
of the Diet. 

On the 16th of December, 1790, this double 
Diet assembled with a more direct, deliber- 
ate, formal, and complete authority, from the 



♦ Schoell. vol. xiv. p. 117. On the 12th of 
October, 1788, the King of Prussia had ofTered, 
by Buckholz, his minister at Warsaw, to e;uaran- 
tee the integrity of the Polish territory. — Fcrrand, 
vol. ii. p. 452. On the 19th of November, he ad- 
vises them not to be diverted from "ameliorating 
their form of government ;" and declares, "that 
he will guarantee their independence without 
mixing in their internal affairs, or restraining the 
hberly of their discussions, which, on the contrary, 
he will guai;antee." — Ibid. p. 457. The negotia- 
tions of Prince Czartorinski at Berlin, and the 
other notes of Buckholz, seconded by Mr. Haiiee, 
the English minister, agree entirely in language 
and principles with the passages which have been 
cited. 



great majority of the freemen, to reform the 
abuses of the government, than perhaps any 
other representative assembly in Euiope 
ever possessed. They declared ihe pretend- 
ed guarantee of Russia in 1776 to be '• null, 
an invasion of national independence, incom- 
patible with the natural rights of every civi- 
lized society, and with the political privileges 
of every free nation.."* They felt the ne- 
cessity of incorporating, in one law, all the 
reforms which had passed, and all those 
which had received the unequivocal sanction 
of public approbation. The state of foreign 
affairs, as well as the general voice at home, 
loudly called for the immediate adoption of 
such a measure ; and the new Constitution 
was presetLted to the Diet on the 3d of May 
following,t after being rea<;I and received the 
night before with unanimous and enthusias- 
tic applau.se by far the greater part of the 
members of both Houses, at the palace of 
Prince Radzivil. Oidy twelve dissentient 
voices opposed it in the Diet. Never were 
debates and votes more free ; these men, the 
most hateful of apostates, were neither at- 
tacked, nor threatened, nor insulted. The 
people, on this great and sacred occasion, 
seemed to have lost all the levity and turbu- 
lence of their character, and to have already 
learnt those virtues which are usually the 
slow fruit of that liberty which they were 
then only about to plant. 

This constitution confirmed the rights of 
the Established Church, together with reli- 
gious liberty, as dictated by the charity which 
religion inculcates and inspires. It establish- 
ed an hereditary monarchy in the Electoral 
House of Sa.xony ; reserving to the nation the 
right of choosing a new race of Kings, in 
case of the extinction of that family. The 
executive power was vested in the King, 
whose ministers were responsible for its ex- 
ercise. The Legislature was divided into 
two Houses, — the Senate and the House of 
Nuncios, with respect to whom the ancient 
constitutional language and forms were pre- 
served. The necessity of unanimity was 
taken away, and, with it, those dangerous 
remedies of confederation and confederate 
Diets which it had rendered necessary. Each 
considerable town received new rights, with 
a restoration of all their ancient privileges. 
The burgesses recovered the right of elect- 
ing their own magistrates. All their pro- 
perty within their towns were declared to 
be inheritable and inviolable. They were 
empowered to acquire land in Poland, as 
they always had done in Lithuania. All the 
offices of the state, the law, the chuich. and 
the army, were thrown open to them. The 
larger towns were empowered to send depu- 
ties to the Diet, with a right to vote on all 

* Ferrand, vol. iii. p. 55. The absence of daica 
in this writer obliges us to fix the time of this de- 
cree by conjecture. 

t The particular events of the 3d of May ;ir«; 
related fully by Ferrand, and shoriiy in the An- 
nual Register of 1791, — a valualile iiarra:ivr 
though not without consirierable mistakes. 



212 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



local and commercial subjects, and to speak 
on all questions whatsoever. All these depu- 
ties became noble, as did every officer of the 
rank of captain, and every lawyer who filled 
the humblest office of magistracy, and every 
burgess w-ho acquired a property in land, 
paying 5l. of yearly taxes. Two hundred 
burgesses were ennobled at the moment, and 
a provision was made for ennobling thirty at 
every future Diet. Industry was perfectly 
unfettered. Immunity from arrest till after 
conviction was extended to the burgesses ; — 
the extension of which most inconvenient 
privilege was well adapted to raise traders 
to a level with the gentry. The same object 
was promoted by a provision, that no noble- 
man, by becoming a merchant, a shopkeeper, 
or artisan, should forfeit his privileges, or be 
deemed to deroga! 3 from his rank. Nume- 
rous paths to nobili cy were thus thrown open ; 
and every art was employed to make the 
ascent easy. Thfc wisdom and liberality of 
the Polish gentry^ if they had not been de- 
feated by fiagitioTis enemies, would, by a 
single act of legislation, have accomplished 
that fusion of the various orders of society, 
which it has required the most propitious 
circumstances, in a long course of ages, to 
effect, in the freest and most happy of the Eu- 
ropean nations. Having thus communicated 
political privileges to hitherto disregarded 
freemen, the new constitution extended to 
all serfs the full protection of lawj which be- 
fore was enjoyed only by those of the royal 
demesnes ; while it facilitated and encour- 
aged voluntary manumission, by ratifying all 
contracts relating to it,^ — the first step to be 
taken in every country towards the accom- 
plishment of the highest of all the objects of 
human legislation. 

The course of this glorious revolution was 
not dishonoured by popular tumult, by san- 
guinary excesses, or by political executions. 
So far did the excellent Diet carry its wise 
regard to the sacredness of property, that, 
though it was in urgent need of financial re- 
sources, it postponed, till after the death of 
present incumbents, the application to the 
relief of the state of the income of those 
ecclesiastical offices which were no longer 
deemed necessary. History will one day do 
justice to that illustrious body, and hold out 
to posterity their work, as the perfect model 
of a most arduous reformation. 

The storm which demolished this noble 
edifice came from abroad. On the 29th of 
March, of the preceding year, a treaty of alli- 
ance had been concluded at Warsaw between 
the King of Prussia and the Republic, con- 
taining, among others, the following stipula- 
tion : — •" If any foreign Power, in virtue of 
any preceding acts and stipulations whatso- 
ever, should claim the right of interfering in 
the internal affairs of the republic of Poland, 
at what time or in what manner soever, his 
Majesty the King of Prussia will first employ 
his good offices to prevent hostilities in con- 
Bequence of such pretension ; but, if his good 
<jfSces should be ineffectualj and that hostili- 



ties against Poland should ensue, his Majesty 
the King of Prussia, considering sucn an 
event as a case provided for in this treaty, 
will assist the republic according to the tenor 
of the fourth article of the present treaty."* 
The aid here referred to was, on the part of 
Prussia, twenty-two thousand or thirty thou- 
sand men, or, in case of necessity, all its dis- 
posable force. The undisputed purpose of 
the article had been to guard Poland against 
an interference in her affairs by Russia, un- 
der pretence of the guarantee of the Polish 
constitution in 1775. 

Though the King of Prussia had, after the 
conclusion of the treaty, urgently pressed the 
Diet for the cession of the cities of Dantzick 
and Thorn, his claim had been afterwards 
withdrawn and disavowed. On the 13th of 
May, in the present year, Goltz. then Prus- 
sian Charge d'Affaires at Warsaw, in a con- 
ference with the Deputation of the Diet for 
Foreign Affairs, said, " that he had received 
orders from his Prussian Majesty to express 
to them his satisfaction at the happy revolu- 
tion which had at length given to Poland a 
wise and regular constitution. "t On the 23d 
of May, in his answer to the letter of Stanis- 
laus, announcing the adoption of the consti- 
tution, the same Prince, after applauding the 
establishment of hereditary monarchy in the 
House of Saxony, (which, it must be particu- 
larly borne in mind, was a positive breach 
of the constitution guaranteed by Russia in 
177.5,) proceeds to say, "I congratulate my- 
self on having contributed to the liberty 
and independence of Poland ; and my most 
agreeable care will be, to preserve and 
strengthen the ties which unite us." On the 
21st of June, the Prussian minister, on occa- 
sion of alarm expressed by the Poles that 
the peace with Turkey might prove danger- 
ous to them, declares, that if such dangers 
were to arise, " the king of Prussia, faithful 
to all his obligations, will have it particularly 
at heart to fulfil those which were last year 
contracted by him." If there was any reli- 
ance in the faith of treaties, or on the honour 
of kings, Poland might have confidently 
hoped, that, if she was attacked by Russia, 
in virtue of the guarantee of 1775, her inde- 
pendence and her constitution would be de- 
fended by the whole force of the Prussian 
monarchy. 

The remaining part of the year 1791 passed 
in quiet, but not without apprehension. On 
the 9th of January, 1792, Catharine conclud- 
ed a peace with Turkey at Jassy; and being 
thus delivered from all foreign enemies, be- 
gan once more to manifest intentions of inter- 
fering in the affairs of Poland. Emboldened 
by the removal of Herztberg from the coun- 
cils of Prussia, and by the death of the Em- 
peror Leopold, a prince of experience and 

* Martens, vol. iii. pp. 161 — 165. 

t Ferrand, vol. iii. p. 121. See the letter of the 
King of Prussia to Goltz, expressing his admira- 
tion and applause of the new constitution. Segur, 
vol. iii. p. 252. 



AN ACCOUNT OF THE PARTITION OF POLAND. 



213 



piodence, she resolved to avail herself of the 
disposition then arising. in all Enropean Go- 
vernments, to sacrifice every other object to 
a preparation for a contest with the princi- 
ples of the French Revolution. A small 
number of Polish nobles furnished her with 
that very slender pretext, with which she 
was always content. Their chiefs were Rze- 
wuski, who. in 1768, had been exiled to Si- 
beria, and Felix Potocki, a member of a po- 
tent and illustrious family, which was invio- 
lably attached to the cause of the republic. 
These unnatural apostates deserting their 
long-suffering country at the moment when, 
for the first time, hope dawned on her, were 
received by Catharine with the honours due 
from her to aggravated treason in the per- 
sons of the Confederates of Targowitz. On 
the 18lh of May the Russian minister at 
Warsaw declarecl, that the Empress, "called 
on by many distinguished Poles who had con- 
federated against the pretended constitution 
of 1791, would, in virtue of her guarantee, 
march an army into Poland to restore the 
liberties of the republic." The hope, mean- 
Lime, of help from Prussia was speedily and 
cruelly deceived. Lucchesini, the Prussian 
minister at Warsaw, in an evasive answer to 
a communication made to him respecting the 
preparations for defence against Russia, said 
coldly, " that his master received the com- 
munication as. a proof of the esteem of the 
King and Republic of Poland j but that he 
could take no cognisance of the affairs which 
occupied the Diet." On Stanislaus himself 
claiming his aid, Frederic on the 8th of June 
answered : — '-In considering the new consti- 
tution which the republic adopted, without 
my knowledge and without my concurrence, 
I never thought of supporting or protecting 
it." So signal a breach of faith is not to be 
found in the modern history of great states. 
It resembles rather the vulgar frauds and 
low artifices, which, under the name of 
'' reason of state," made up the policy of 
the petty tyrants of Italy in the fourteenth 
century- 
Assured of the connivance of Prussia, Ca- 
tharine now poured an immense army into 
Poland, along the whole line of frontier, from 
the Baltic to the neighbourhood of the Eux- 
ine. But the spirit of the Polish nation was 
unbroken. A series of brilliant actions occu- 
pied the summer of 1792, in which the Po- 
lish army, under Poniatowski and Kosciusko, 
alternately victorious and vanquished, gave 
equal proofs of unavailing gallantry. 

Meantime Stanislaus, who had remained 
in his capital, willing to be duped by the 
Russian and Prussian ambassadors, whom he 
still suffered to continue there, made a vain 
attempt to disarm the anger of the Empress, 
by proposing that her grandson Constantine 
siiould be the stock of the new constitutional 
dynasty ; to which she haughtily replied, that 
he must re-establish the old constitution, and 
accede to the Confederation of Targowitz; — 
" perhaps," says M. Ferrand, " because a 
throne acquired without guilt or perfidy might 



have few attractions for her."* Having on 
the 4th of July published a proclamation, 
declaring "that he would not survive his 
country,^' on the 22<;1 of the same month, 
as soon as he received the commands of Ca- 
tharine, this dastard prince declared his ac- 
cession to the Confederation of Targowitz. and 
thus threw the legal authority of the republic 
into the hands of that band of consjiiiators. 
The gallant army, over whom the Diet had 
intrusted their unworthy King with absolute 
authority, were now compelled, by his trea- 
cherous orders, to lay down their arms amidst 
the tears of their countrymen, and the inso- 
lent exultation of their barbarous enemies. t 
The traitors of Targowitz were, for a mo- 
ment, permitted by Russia to r\jle over the 
country which they had betrayed, to prose- 
cute the persons and lay waste the property 
of all good citizens, and to re-establish every 
ancient abuse. 

Such was the unhappy state of Poland du- 
ring the remainder of the year 1792, a period 
which will be always memorable for the in- 
vasion of France by a German army, their 
ignominious retreat, the eruption of the 
French forces into Germany and Flandeis, 
the dreadful scenes which passed iri the in- 
terior of France, and the apprehension pro- 
fessed by all Governments of the progress of 
the opinions to which these events were 
ascribed. The F^mpress of Russia, among 
the rest, professed the utmost abhorrence o( 
the French Revolution,, made war against it 
by the most vehement manifestoes, stimula- 
ted every other power to resist it, but never 
contributed a battalion or a -ship to the con- 
federacy against it. Frederic-William also 
plunged headlong into the coalition against 
the advice of his wisest coun^llors.t At the 
moment of the Duke of Brunswick's entry 
into France, in July, — if we may believe M. 
Ferrand, himself a zealous royalist, who had 
evidently more than ordinary means of in- 
formation, — the ministers of the principal 
European powers met at Luxemburg, pro- 
vided wi'th various projects for new arrange- 
ments of territory, in the event which they 

* Ferrand, vol. iiL p. 217. 

t A curious passage of De Thou shows the ap- 
prehension early enieriained of the Russian power. 
'■ Livonis prudente et reipublicae Chrisiianse ulili 
consilio navigaiio iliuc interdicia fuerat, ne com- 
niercio nostrorum Barbari varias aries ipsis ignotas, 
el quae ad rem navalem et miliiarem pertinent, edo- 
cerentur. Sic enim eximjstabant Moscos, qui 
maximam Septenirionis partem tenerent, Narvse 
condito emporio, et constructo armamentario, noii 
solum in Livoniam, sed eiiam in Germaniam eflu&o 
exercitu penetraturos." — Lib. xxxix. cap. 8. 

t Prince Henry and Count Hertzberg, who 
agree perhaps in nothing else. — Vie du Prince 
Henri, p. 297. In the same place, we have a very 
curious extract from a letter of Prince Henry, of 
the 1st of November, 1792, in which he sayg. 
that " every year of war vvill make the conditions 
of peace worse for the Allies." Henry was not 
a Democrat, nor even a Whig. His opinions 
were confirmed by all the events of the first war, 
and are certainly not contradicted by occurrences 
towards the close of a second war, twenty years 
afterwards, and in totalUr new circumsiaocos. 



S14 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



thought inevitable, of the sneceps of the in- 
vasion. The Austrian ministers betrayed 
the intention of their Court, to renew its at- 
tempt to compel the Elector of Bavaria to 
exchansje his dominions for the Low Coun- 
ties; which, by the dissolution of their trea- 
ties with Franco, they deemed themselves 
entitlet! again to propose. The King of 
Prussia, on this alarming disclosure, showed 
symptoms of an inclination to abandon an 
enterprise, which many other circumstances 
combined to prove was impracticable, at 
least with the number of troops with which 
he had presumptuously undertaken it. These 
dangerous projects of the Court of Vienna 
made him also feel the necessity of a closer 
connection with Russia; and in an interview 
with the Austrian and Russian ministers at 
Verdun, he gave them to understainl, that 
Prussia could not continue the war without 
being assured of an indemnity. Russia 
eagerly adopted a suggestion which engtiged 
Prussia more completely in her Polish 
schemes; and Austria willingly listened to 
a propositi which would furnish a precedent 
and a justification for similar enlargements 
of her own dominions : while both the Impe- 
rial Courts declared, that they would acqui- 
esce in the occupation of another portion of 
Poland by the Prussian armies.* 

Whether in consequence of the supposed 
agreement at Verdun or not, the fact at least 
is certain, that Frederic-William returned 
from his French disgraces to seek consola- 
tion in the plunder of Poland. Nothing is 
more characteristic of a monarch without 
ability, without knowledge, without resolu- 
tion, whose life had been divided between 
gross libertinism and abject superstition, than 
that, after flying befoiv tlie armies of a pow- 
erful nation, he should instantly proceed to 
attack an oppressed, and, as he thought, de- 
fenceless people. In January, 1793, he en- 
tered Polaiuf ; and, while Russia was charg- 
ing the Poles with the e.\treme of royalism, 
he chose the very opposite pretext, that they 
propagated anarchical principles, and had 
established Jacobin clubs. Even the crimi- 
nal Confcilerates of Targowitz were indig- 
nant at these falsehoods, and remonstrated, 
at Berlin and Petersbui-gh, against tlie entry 
of the Prussian troojis. But the complaints 
of such apostates against the natural results 
of their own crimes were heard with con- 
tempt. The Empress of Russia, in a Decla- 
ration of the 9th of April, informed the world 
that, acting in concert with Prussia, and 
with the consent of Austria, the only means 
of controlling the Jacobinism of Poland was 
"by confining it within more narrow limits, 
and by giving it proportions which better 
suited an intennecjiate power." The King 
of Prussia, accordingly, seized Great Poland ; 
and the Russian army occupied all the other 
provinces of the republic. It was easy, 
therefore, for Catharine to determine the ex- 
lent of her new robbery. 

* Ferrand, vol. iii. pp. 252 — 255 



In order, however, to give it some shadow 
of legality, the King was compelled to call a 
Diet, from which every one was excluded 
who was not a partisan of Russia, and an ac- 
complice of the Confetlerates of Targowitx. 
The unhappy assembly met at (Jrodno in 
June; and, in spite of its bad composition, 
showed still many sparks of Polish spirit. 
Sievers, the Russian ambassador, a man ap- 
parently worthy of his mission, had recourse 
to threats, insults, brutal violence, military 
imprisoimient. arbitiary exile, anil every 
other species of outrage and intimidatioa 
which, lor near thirty years, had constituted 
the whole system of Russia towards the 
Polish legislature. In one note, he tells 
ihem that, uidessthey proceed more rapidly*, 
"he shall be under the painful necessity oi 
removing all incendiaries, disturbers of the 
public peace, and partisans of the 3d of IMay, 
from the Diet.''* In another, he apprises 
them, that he must consider any longer de- 
lay "as a declaration of liosliiity ; in which 
case, the lands, possession.s, and dwellings 
of the malcontent members, must be subject 
to military execution.'' "If the King ad- 
heres to the Opposition, the military execu- 
tion must extend to his demesnes, the pay 
of the Russian troops will be stopped, and 
they will live at the expense of the unhappy 
peasants."! Grodno was surrounded by 
Russian troops; loaded cannon were pointed 
at the palace of the King and llie hall of the 
Diet; four nuncios were carried aw-ay pri 
soners by violence in the night ; and all the 
members were threatened with Siberia. In 
these circumstances, the captive Diet was 
compelled, in July and September, to sign 
two treaties with Russia and Priissia, stijiu- 
lating such cessions as the plunderers were 
pleased to dictate, and containing a repeti- 
tion of the Siime insulting mockery which 
had closed every former act of rapine, — a 
guarantee of the remaining possessions of 
the republic. t It had the consolation of 
being allowed to perform one act of justice, 
— that of depriving the leaders of the Con- 
federation of Targowitz, Felix Potocki, Rze- 
wuski, and Bianeki, of the great otlices 
which they dishonoured. It may hereafter 
be discovereil, whether it be actually true 
that Alsace ami Lorraine were to have been 
the compensation to Austria for forbearing' 
to claim her share of the spoils of Poland at 
this period of the second Partition. It is al- 
ready well known that the allied army re- 
fused to receive the surrender of Strasburgh 
in the name of Louis XVII., and that Valen- 
ciennes and Conde were taken in the name 
of Austria. 

In the beginning of 1794, a young officer 
named Madalinski, who had kept together, 
at the disbanding of the army, eighty gentle- 
men, gradually increased his adherent.s, till 
they amounted to a force of about four thou- 
sand men, and began to harass the Russian 

• Ferrand, vol. iii. p. 3fi9. t Ibid. p. 372. 

t Marieus, vol. v. pp. 162. 202. 



AN ACCOUNT OF THE PARTITION OF POLAND. 



215 



posts. The pecple of Cracow expelled the 
Russian garrison ; and, on the night of the 
28th of March, the h«roic Kosciu.-<kQ, at the 
head of a fmail body of adherents, entered 
that city, and undertook its government and 
defence. Endowed with civil am well as 
military talenls, he established order among 
the irif-iirgents, and caused the legitimate 
constitution to be solemnly proclaimed in 
the cathedral, where it was once more liailed 
with genuine enthusiasm. He proclaimed a 
national confederation, and sent copies of 
his manifesto to Petersburgh, Berlin, and 
Vienna; treating the two first courts with 
deserved severity, but speaking amicably of 
the third; whose territory he enjoined his 
array to respect. These marks of friend- 
ship, the Austrian resident at Warsaw pub- 
licly disclaimed, imputing to Kosciusko and 
his friends " the monstrous principles of the 
French Convention;" — a language which 
plainly showed tliat the Court of Vienna, 
which had only consented to the last Parti- 
tion, was willing lo share in the next. Kos- 
ciusko was daily reinforced ; and on the 17th 
of April rose on the Russian garrison of War- 
saw, and compelled Igelstrom the com- 
mander, after an obstinate resistance of 
thirty-six hours, to evacuate the city with a 
loss of two thousand men wounded. The 
citizmis of the capital, the whole body of a 
proud nobility, and all the friends of their 
country throughout Poland, submitted to the 
temporary dictatorship of Kosciusko, a pri- 
vate gentleman only recently known to the 
public, and without any influ(Mice but the 
reputation of his virtue. Order and tran- 
quillity generally prevailed; some of the 
burghers, perhaps excited by the agents of 
Russia, complained to Kosciusko of the in- 
adequacy of their privileges. But this ex- 
cellent chief, instead of courting popularity, 
repressed an attempt which might lead to 
dangerous divisions. Soon after, more crimi- 
nal excesses for the first time dishonoured 
the Polish revolution, but served to shed a 
brighter lustre on ihe humanity and intre- 

Eidity of Kosciusko. The papers of the 
ussian emba.ssy laid open proofs of tlie ve- 
nality of many of the Poles who had betray- 
ed their country. The populace of Warsaw, 
impatient of the slow forms of law. appre- 
hensive of the lenient spirit which prevailed 
among the revolutionary leaders, and instigat- 
ed by the incendiaries, who are always ready 
to flatter the passions of a multitude, put to 
death eight of these persons, and, by their 
clamours, extorted from the tribunal a pre- 
cipitate trial and execution of a somewhat 
smaller number. Kosciusko did not content 
himself with reprobating these atrocities. 
Though Furroumied by danger, attacked by 
the most formidable enemies, betrayed by 
his own Government, and abandoned by all 
Europe, he flew from his camp to the capi- 
tal, brought the ringleaders of the massacre 
to justice, and caused them to be imme- 
diately executed. We learn, from very re- 
spectable authority, that during all the 



perils of his short administration, he per- 
suaded the nobility to take measures for a 
more rapid enfranchisement of the peasant- 
ry, than the cautious policy of the Diet liad 
hazarded.* 

Harassed by the advance of Austrian, 
Prussian, and Russian armies, Kosciusko 
concentrated the greater part of his army 
around Warsaw, against which Frederic- 
William advanced at the head of forty thou- 
sand disciplined troops. With an irregular 
force of twelve thousand he made an obsti- 
nate resistance for several hours on the 8th 
of June, and retired to his entrenched camp 
before the city. The Prussians having taken 
possession of Cracow, summoned the capital 
to surrender, under pain of all the horrors of 
an assault. After two months employed in. 
vain attempts to reduce it, the King of Prus- 
sia was compeHed. by an insurrection in his 
lately acquired Polish province, to retire with 
precipitation and disgrace. But in the mean 
time, the Russians weie advancing, in spite 
of the gallant resistance of General Count 
Joseph Sierakowski, one of the most faithful 
friends of his country ; and on the 4th of 
October, Kosciusko, with only eighteen thou- 
sand men, thought it necessary to hazard a 
battle at Rlacciowice. to prevent the junction 
of the two Russian divisions of Suwarrow 
and Fersen. Success was long and valiantly 
contested. According to some narrations, 
the enthusizLsm of the Poles w ould have pre- 
vailed, but for the treachery or incapacity 
of Count Poninski.t Kosciusko, after the 
most admirable exertions of judgment and 
courage, fell, covered with wounds; and the 
Ptdish army fled. The Russians and Cos- 
sacks were melted at the sight of their gal- 
lant enemy, who lay insensible on the field. 
When he opened his eyes, and learnt the 
full extent, of the disaster, he vainly im- 
plored the enemy to put an end to his suf- 
ferings. The Russian officers, moved with 
admiiation and compassion, treated hira 
with tenderness, and sent him, with due 
respect, a prisoner of war to Petersburgh, 
where Catharine threw him into a dungeon j 
from which he was released by Paul on his 
succession, perhaps partly from hatre<l to his 
mother, and partly from one of those par- 
oxysms of transient generosity, of w hich that 
brutal lunatic was not incapable. 

From that moment the farther defence of 
Poland became hopele.ss. Suwarrow ad- 
vanced to the capital, and stimulated his 
army to the assault of the great suburb of 
Praira, by the barbarous promise of a license 
to pillage for forty-eight hours. A dreadful 
contest ensued on the 4lh of November, in 
which the inhabitants performed prodigies of 
useless valour, making a stand in every street, 
and almost at every house. All the hor- 



* Sfgiir, Regne de Frederic-Guillaume II., 
tome iii. p. lf'9. These itnporlant measures are 
not meniioned ifl any other narration which I 
have read. 

t fegur, vol. iii. p. 171. 



216 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



rors of war, which the most civilized armies 
practised on such occasions, were here seen 
with tenfolil violence. No age or sex, or 
condition, was spared ; the muider of chil- 
dren forming a sort of barbarous sport for the 
assailants. The most unspeakable outrages 
were ofTered to the living and the dead. 
The mere infliction of death was an act of 
mercy. The streets streamed with blood. 
Eighteen thousand human carcasses were 
carried away after the massacre had ceased. 
Many were burnt to death in the flames 
which consumed the town. Multitudes 
were driven by the bayonet into the Vistula. 
A great body of fugitives perished by the 
fall of the great bridge over which they fled. 
These tremendous scenes closed the resist- 
ance of Poland, and completed the triumph 
of her oppressors. The Russian army en- 
tered Warsaw on the 9th of November. 1794. 
Stanislaus was suffered to amuse himself 
with the formalities of royalty for some 
months longer, till, in obedience to the order 
of Catharine, he abdicated on the 2oth of 
November, 1795, — a day which, being the 
anniversary of his coronation, seemed to be 
chosevi to complete his humiliation. Quar- 
rels about the division of the booty retarded 
the complete execution of the formal and 
final Partition, till the beginning of the next 
year. 

Thus fell the Polish people, after a wise 
and virtuous attempt to establish liberty, 
and a heroic struggle to defend it, by the fla- 
gitious wickedness of Russia, by the foul 
treachery of Prussia, by the unprincipled ac- 
cession of Austria, and by the short-sighted, 
as well as mean-spirited, acquiescence of all 
the other nations of Europe. Till the first 
Partition, the right of every people to its 
own soil had been universally regarded as 
the guardian principle of European inde- 
pendence. But in the case of Poland, a na- 
tion was robbed of its ancient territory with- 
out the pretence of any wrong which could 
justify war, and without even those forms 
of war which could bestow on the acquisi- 
tion the name of conquest. It is a cruel 
and bitter aggravation of this calamity, that 
the crime was perpetrated, under the pre- 
tence of the wise and just principle of main- 
taining the balance of power; — as if that 
principle had any value but its tendency to 
prevent such crimes; — as if an equal divi- 
sion of the booty bore any resemblance to a 
joint exertion to prevent the robbery. In the 
case of private highwaymen and pirates, a 
fair division of the booty tends, no doubt, to 
the harmony of the gang and the safety of 
its members, but renders them more formi- 
dable to the honest and peaceable part of 
mankind.* 

For about eleven years the name of Po- 
land was erased from the map of Europe. 

* The sentiments of wise men on the first Par- 
tition are admirably slated in the Annual Register 
of 1772, in the Introduction to tha History of Eu- 
rope, which could scarcely have been written by 
Dny man but Mr- Burke. 



By the Treaty of Tilsit, in 1807, the Prussian 
part of that unfortunate country was re- 
stored to as much independence as could 
then be enjoyed, under the name of the 
Grand Duchy of Warsaw ; and this revived 
state received a considerable enlargement 
in 1809, by the treaty of Shoenbrunn, at the 
expense of Austria. 

\Vhen Napoleon opened the decisive cam- 
paign of 1812, in what he called in his pro- 
clamations ''the Second Polish War," he 
published a Declaration, addre'ssed to the 
Poles, in which he announced that Poland 
would be greater than she had been uniler 
Stanislaus, and that the Archduke, who then 
governed Wurtsburg, was to be their sove- 
reign ; and when on the 12th of July in that 
year, Wybicki, at the head of a deputation 
of the Diet, told him, at WJlna, with truth, 
"The interest of your empire requires the 
re-establishment of Poland ; the honour of 
France is interested in it," — he replied, 
" that he had done all that duty to his sub- 
jects allowed him to restore their country ; 
that he would second their exertions; and 
that he authorized them to take up arm?, 
every where but in the Austrian provinces, 
of which he had guaranteed the integrityj 
and which he should not suffer to be dis- 
turbed." In his answer, — too cold and 
guarded to inspire enthusiasm, — he pro- 
mised even less than he had acquired the 
the power of performing; for, by the secret 
articles of his treaty with Austria, concluded 
in Slarch, provision had been made for an 
exchange of the Illyrian provinces (which 
he had retained at his own disposal) for 
such a part of Austrian Poland as would be 
equivalent to them.* What his real designs 
respecting Poland were, it is not easy to con- 
jecture. That he was desirous of re-esta- 
blishing its independence, and that he looked 
forward to such an event as the result of his 
success, cannot be doubted. But he had 
probabl)' grown too much of a politician and 
an emperor, to tru.st, or to love that national 
feeling and popular enthusiasm to which he 
had owed the splendid victories of his youth. 
He was now rather willing to owe every thing 
to his policy and his army. Had he thrown 
away the scabbard in this just cause, — had 
he solemnly pledged himself to the restora- 
tion of Poland, — had he obtained the ex- 
change of Galicia for Dalmatia, instead of 
secretly providing for it, — had he considered 
Polish independence, not merely as the con- 
sequence 01 victory, but as one of the most 
powerful means of securing it, — had he, in 
short, retained some part of his early faith 
in the attachment of nations, instead of rely- 
ing exclusively on the mechanism of armies, 
perhaps the success of that memorable cam- 
paign might have been more equally ba- 
lanced. Seventy thousand Poles were then 
fighting under his banners.! Forty thousand 
are supposed to have fallen in the French 
armies from the destruction of Polai^d to the 

• Schoell, vol. X. p. 129. t Ibid. p. 139. 



AN ACCOUNT OF THE PARTITION OF POLAND. 



217 



battle of Waterloo.* There are few instances 
of the affection of men for their country more 
touching than that of these gallant Poles, 
who, in voluntary exile, amidst every priva- 
tion, without the hope of fame, and when 
all the world had become their enemies, 
daily sacrificed themselves in the battles of 
a foreign nation, in the faint hope of its one 
day delivering their own from bondage. 
Kosciusko had originally encouraged his 
countrymen to devote themselves to this 
chance ; but when he was himself offered a 
command in 1807, this perfect hero refused 
to quit his humble retreat, unless Napoleon 
would pledge himself for the restoration of 
Poland. 

When Alexander entered France in 1814, 
as the avowed patron of liberal institutions, 
Kosciusko addressed a letter to him, t in which 
he makes three requests, — that the Emperor 
■would grant an universal amnesty, a free con- 
stitution, resembling, as nearly as possible, 
that of England, with means of general edu- 
cation, and, after the expiration of ten years, 
an emancipation of the peasants. It is but 
justice to Alexander to add, that when Kos- 
ciusko <Iied, in 1817, after a public and pri- 
va<e life, worthy of the scholar of Washing- 
ton, the Emperor, on whom the Congress of 
Vienna had then bestowed the greater part 
of the duchy of Warsaw, with the title of 
King of Poland, allowed his Polish subjects 



* Julien, Notice Biographique s\it Kosciusko, 
t Published in M. Julien's interesting little 
work. 



to pay due honours to the last of their heroes ; 
and that Prince Jablonowski was sent to 
attend his remains from Switzerland to Cra- 
cow, there to be interred in the only spot of 
the Polish territory which is now not dis- 
honoured by a foreign master. He might have 
paid a still more acceptable tribute to his 
memory, by executing his pure intentions, 
and acceding to his disinterested prayers. 

The Partition of Poland was the model of 
all those acts of rapine which have been com- 
mitted by monarchs or republicans during 
the wars excited by the French Revolution. 
No single cause has contributed so much to 
alienate mankind from ancient institutionSj 
and loosen their respect for established go- 
vernments. When monarchs show so signal 
a disregard to immemorial possession and 
legal right, it is in vain for them to hope that 
subjects will not copy the precedent. The 
law of nations is a code without tribunals, 
without ministers, and without arms, which 
rests only on a general opinion of its useful- 
ness, and on the influence of that opinion in 
the councils of states, and most of all, per- 
haps, on a habitual reverence, produced by 
the constant appeal to its rules even by these 
who did not observe them, and strengthened 
by the elaborate artifice to which the proud- 
est tyrants deigned to submit, in their at. 
tempts to elude an authority which they did 
not dare to dispute. One signal triumph over 
such an authority was sufficient to destroy its 
power. Philip II. and Louis XIV. had often 
violated the law of nations ; but the spoilerg 
of Poland overthrew it. 



SKETCH 



THE ADMINISTRATION AND EALL 



STUUENSEE.^ 



On the arrival of Charles VII. of Sweden, 
at Altona, in need of a physician, — an atten- 
dant whom his prematurely broken constitu- 
tion made peculiarly essential to him even 
at the age of nineteen, — Struensee, the son 
of a Lutheran bishop in Holstein. had just 
begun to practise medicine, after having been 
for some time employed as the editor of a 
newspaper in that city. He was now ap- 
pointed physician to the King, at the moment 

* From the Edinburgh Review, vol. xliv. p. 

366 Ed. 

28 



when he was projecting a professional esta- 
blishment at Malaga, or a voyage to India, 
which his imagination, excited by the peru 
sal of the elder travellers, had covered with 
"barbaric pearl and gold." He was now 
twenty-nine years old, and appears to have 
been recommended to the royal favour by 
an agreeable exterior, pleasing manners, and 
some slight talents and superficial know- 
ledge, with the subserviency indispen.sable 
in a favourite, and the povver of amusing 
his listless and exhausted mafter. His name 
T 



218 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



appears in tho publications of the tiiiui as 
"Doctor StruiMi.s('t>," anioiisj tho attoiulants 
of his Danish Majesty in England' and ho 
rccoiv(>d, in that charactor, the lionorary 
degree of I")ootor ol Medicine from the Uni- 
versity of Oxford. 

Like all other minions, his ascent was 
rapid, or rather his llight to tlie piiniade of 
power was instantaneous^ for the passion of 
an absolute prince on such occasions knows 
no bonnils, and brooks no delay. Imnieili- 
ately after the King's return to Copenhagen, 
Struensee was appointed a Cabinet Minister. 
While his brother was made a counsellor of 
justice, he appointed Urantlt. anoth(>r adven- 
turer, to snperintiMul the palace and the im- 
becile King ; anil intrusted Uantzau, a dis- 
graceil Danish minister, who luul been his 
colleague in the cilitorship of the Altona 
Journal, with the conduct of foreign affairs. 
He and his friend Hrandt were created Earls. 
Stolk, his predecessor in favour, had fonu^nted 
and kept up an animosity bt>tween the King 
and Queen: Struensee (unhai^pily for him- 
self as well as for her) gained the contiilence 
of the Queen, by resloring her to the goinl 
graces of her husbaml. Caroline MatiKIa, 
sister of Ceorge III., who then had the mi.s- 
fortune to be Queen of Denmark, is descr.lHnl 
by Falkenskiold* as the hauilsomest woman 
of the Court, as of u mild and reserv(>d cha- 
racter, and as one who was well qualified to 
enjoy ant! impart liappiness, if it had been 
her lot to be united to an endurable husbaml. 
Brandt seems to have been a weak co.xcomb, 
and Uantzau a turbulent and ungrateful in- 
triguer. 

The only foreign business which Struensee 
found pending on his entrance into odice, 
was a n(>gotialion with Kiissia, concerning 
the pretensions of that formidable competitor 
to a part of llolstein, wliich Denmark had 
unjustly acquired fifty years before. Peter 
III., the head of the house of llolstein, was 
proud of his German ancestry, and ambitious 
of recovering their ancient dominions. After 
his murder, Catharine claimed these posses- 
sions, as nominal Regent of Holstein, iluring 
the minority of her ."son. The last act of 
Bornstortr's atlminislration had been a very 

* General Fiiikeiiskiolil was a Duiiish gentle- 
man of rospoi'tiil)lo family, wiio, after having 
eerveil in the French army liurmg liie Seven 
Years' War. ami in the Uiissiaii army liuriiig the 
first war ol Catharine II. against the 'riirk.><, was 
recalled to liis co\nttry timier the adminisiralioii 
of Struensee, to take a part in the reform of the 
military eslahlishiueiit, anil to eoniliict the nego- 
tiution at I'eiersbiirgh, respecting (he claims of the 
Imperial family to the iliitchv of llolstein. He 
was involveil in the fall of Struensee, and was, 
without trial, doomed to imprisonment ior life at 
Munkholm, n fortress situated on a rock opposite 
to Dromheim. After live years' imprisonment he 
was released, and permitted to live, first at Mom- 
pellier, and afterwards at Ijaiisanne, at which last 
city (with the excepiion of one journey to Copen- 
hagen) he past the latter part of his life, and wliere 
he died in September. 1800. in the eichiy-ihird 
year of his nge. He left his Memoirs torpiibliea- 
tion to his friend, M. Secretan, First Judge of the 
caiiiou of Vaud. 



prudent accommodation, in which Russia 
agreed to relinquish her claims on llolstein 
in consideiationof the cession to her by Den 
mark of the small principality of Oldcidmrg, 
the very ancient partimony of the Danish 
Royal Family. Rantzan. who in his e.xile 
had had some quarrel with the Russian Go 
verimu'iit, prevailed on the iiu'.\perienced 
Struensee to delay the execution of this po- 
litic convention, and aimed at establishing 
the influence of France and Sweden at Co- 
petdiagen instead of that of Russia, which 
was then supported by Kngland. He even 
enterlaiiied tlie chimerical piojectof driving 
the Emi>ress from Petersbui^li. Falken- 
skiold, who had been sent on a mission to 
Petersbuigh, endeavoured, after his return, 
to disabuse Stiuensee, and to show him the 
ruinous tendency of such rash counsels, pro- 
posing to him even to recall Hernstorff, to fa- 
cilitate the good understanding which could 
haidly be re-restoied as long as Counts Osten 
and Rantzau, the avowed eiuMuiesof Russia, 
weie in power. Struensee, like most of 
those who must be led by otheis, was t^x- 
ceedingly fearful of being thought to be so. 
When Falkenskiolil warned him against 
yielding to Rantzau, liis platis were shaken: 
but wlien the sanu? wetipon was turned 
against Falkenskiold, Struensee returned to 
his obstinacy. Even alter Rantzau had be- 
come his declared enemy, he adhered to the 
plans of that intriguer, lest he should be sus- 
pt>cted of yielding to Falkenskiold. Where- 
ever there were only two roads, it was easy 
to lead Struetisee, by exciting his fear of be- 
ing led by the opposite party. 

Struensee's measures of internal policy ap- 
pear to have been generally well-meant, but 
often ill-jndged. Some of his reforms were 
in themselves excellent : but he showed, on 
the whole, a meddling and restless spirit, im- 
patient of the necessary delay, often employ- 
ed in petty change, choosing wrong means, 
braving prejudices that minht have btvn sof- 
tened, and offending intereststhat might have 
beeit conciliated. He was a sort of inferior 
Joseph II.; like him, rather a seivile copyist 
than an enlightened follower of Frederic II. 
His dissolution of the(jn;irils (in itself a pru- 
dent measnie of economy) turned a numer- 
ous body of volunteers itito the service of his 
etiemies. The removal of Rernstorir was a 
very blainable means of strengihening him- 
self. The suppression of the Privy Couticil, 
the oidy feeble restiaint on despotic power, 
was still nuire reprehensible in itself, and 
excited the just resentment of the Danish 
nobility. The repeid of a barbarous law, in- 
flicting capital punishment on adultery, was 
easily misrepresented to the people as a 
mark of ajiprobafiou oi' that vice. 

Roth Struensee and Brandt had embraced 
the infidelity at that time prevalent among 
men of the woild, which consisted in little 
more than a careless transfer of imjilied faith 
fiom Luther to Voltaire. They had been ac- 
quainted w ith the leaders of the Philosophi- 
cal party at Paris, and they introduced tho. 



administhation and fall of struensee. 



219 



conversation of their maBtors at Copoiihagen. 
fii tlin sanriB cchool lh(!y were? taiij^ht to Hc-e 
cl(;arly (Mionj^li lluj (lintetripfMS ol Kuropraii 
Kocinly; but tliry wtrre not tauj^lit (lor lliiiir 
toachiM's (lid not know) whit^li ol iIichi; rna- 
ladii.'rt wcro lo bo ciKbirod, wliioli woro to bo 
pallialoil, and ulial w(M(! llio n-rrKsdicK and 
roijinion by which tho ri;rnaiiid(;r rrii;L(ht, in 
dno lirntj, 1)0 clfoolnaily and yet nalidy ri;- 
itiov(!d. 'J"ho diHiolulo rrianufns of Iho (Joint 
contribntod to thr r unj)0|)ijlarily ; ratlii-r, jxm- 
haj).s, bi.'cauHf! lli.) nobdily n-sontod Iho in- 
trnsion of upstartH into thi; Hpiicro of tlunr 
privilod^od vioi;, than botianso ihoro was any 
joal incKsaKe of licunitiouHncfH. 

It ninst not bo forgotten lliat SlrnonBO(j 
waH Iho hr.Hl rninistor of an ahrtohilo monar- 
chy who abolishod IIk! tortnrr!; and that lio 
patroni/.od thoso ox(;(di(Mit plans for tho 
ernanc-ipation of the; (Miwlavfid husljandrncn, 
which w(!r<^ fiist <;on(!(!ivfd by Rcivordil, a 
SwiHH, and th(* ado|)tion of which by tho so- 
cond BoriiHiorir has inslly irnrnortabz(!d that 
8lat(;Krnan. Ho will bo hononrcfd by aft{;r 
a;^os for what offonih-d tho I^iithoran clor(^y, 
— tho froo ox(M'cis<! of ndi^^ions woinhi)) f^rant- 
od lo Calvinists, to Moravians, and ovon to 
Calholi(;s; for tlio Danish oior^y wino arnl>i- 
tions of rijtaininj; tho ri;^ht lo p(;isocnlo, not 
oidy lori;^ aftor it was irn[)f)ssib]o lo oxorcisi; 
it, bnt ov»!n aftor llicy had lost tho disposi- 
tion to do so ; — at fiisl to ovorawf^, aflorwards 
to d(!f(rado non-conformists; in bolli sta-^os, 
as a badi^o of tho nrivJloyos and honour of an 
estaldishod c.linrcn. 

No part, however, of Struonseo's private 
or publio conduct can be justly conHid(;r(;d 
as tho causf! of his <h)wnfall. I lis irroii^ion, 
his immoralities, his pr(;cipitat(! reforms, his 
parade of invidious favour, wr-rr; otily tin; in- 
Htrnmetits or pretexts by which his competi- 
tors foroliice were abh; to effect his d<;stni(;- 
tion. Had luMnther purchased tlie f^ood-wiil, 
or (histroyiid the [)ower of liis (;n(!rriieH at 
Court, ho mi^ht lon-^ have fifoverned Den- 
markj and perliaps have been frratidiilly n;- 
rneml)(!red by [MJslfMityasa reforrm^r of politi- 
cal abusiis. He fell a victim loan intri;j;ni! for 
a change of ministers, wdiitdi, undc^r such a 
Kinj^, was really a struii'^Ie for tin,' sceplr«!. 

His last act of political imj)rud(!nce illus- 
trati'S both tho character of his enemies, and 
tho nature of absolute ^ovinnrrifMit. VVlieii 
he was appointed Seciretary of the Cabinet, 
ho was empowcMod to oxe(!utr! such orders 
as were very ur^cnit, witliout tho si^^naturo 
of tho Kinf^, on condition, lif)W('V(;r, that they 
Hhoidd bo w<!<tkly laid l)(!for(} liim, to be rrori- 
firoKid (t\- ainiuli(;d undc-r }ils own liand. This 
liberty had b(!en j)raclisod before his admin- 
istration ; and it was repcjated in many llion- 
sand instances aftin' his downfall. Under 
any monarcliy, the substantial fa\ilt would 
hav(! consistoil rather in assuniin;^ an inde- 
p(Miden(!i; of his colleaj^ues, tfian in (Mi(!roa(^li- 
mjj on any royal power which was real or 
practicable. Under so wnrtched a pageant 
as the Kiiif^ of I)f!nrnark, Struensee showed 
his fully in ubtuining, by a furraul order, the 



power which he might easily have continued 
to oxecutf! without it. But this order was 
the signal of a clamour against him, as an 
nsur[)er of royal prerogative. 1'he Guards 
showed symj)toms of mutiny: the garrison 
of the caj)ital adopttnl their resentment. Tho 
popnlac(! became riotous. Itantzau, partly 
stimulated by reviMige against Struensee, for 
having risfused a jWiUection to him against his 
creditors, being siMrretly favourcil by (Jount 
Oslen, found moans of gaining ov(M(iu!db(;rg, 
an eccl(!siastic of obscure birth, full of pro- 
fessions of piety, th(i pre(!eptorof the King's 
brother, who i)revailed on that jirince and the 
(iueen-l)owag(!r to rjiigage in tho design of 
subverting tlio Administration. Several of 
StiU(;ns(;e's friends warned him of his dan- 
ger; but, whc'ther from levity or magnaiiinii- 
ty, h(! neglc<;ted their admonitions. I{ant- 
zau himself, cither jealous of tlur ascendant 
acfpiired by (iuldberg among the conspiia- 
tors, or visited by som(;com|)uncti<)us renriem- 
brances of friendship and gratitude, spoko 
to Falkenskiold confidentially of the preva- 
lent rumours, and tendered his services for 
the i)reservation of his former friend. Fal- 
kenskiold distrusted the advances of Rant- 
zau, and answered coldly, "Speak to Slru- 
ens(!(!:" ]{antzau turned away, saying, "He 
will not listen to me." 

Two days afterwards, on the Ifith of Janu- 
ary, 1772, th(!ro was a brilliant masked ball 
at Court, wh<;re the conspirators and their 
victims mingled in tho festivities (as was 
observed by some foreign ministers present) 
with more than usual gaiety, At four o'clock 
in the morning, the (iuecn-Dowager, who 
was tho King's ste[)-molher, her son, and 
Count Kantzau, enter(!(l the King's bedcham- 
ber, compelled his valet to awaken him, and 
retpjiicd him to sign an order to a])i)rehend 
th(-' QuecMi, th(; Counts Struensee and Brandt, 
who, with oth(!r cons])irators, they j)retendeu 
were then engaged in a [)lot to (lejjose, if not 
to murder him. Christian is said to have 
hesitat(!d, from fear or obstinacy, — pf;rhap8 
from some rerrniant of humanity and moral 
restraint: but he soon yielded; and his ver- 
bal assent, or nerha[)s a silence produced by 
terror, was thought a suflicient warrant. 
Kantzau, with thi«;e oflicors, rushed with 
his sword drawn into tho a|)artment of tho 
Qur^en, compelled her to rise fiom her bed, 
and, in sj)ite of h(!r tears and threats, sent 
her, half-dr<!S3ed, a prisoner to the? fortress of 
CrorK'iibourg, togelh(;r with her infant daugh- 
ter Louisa, whom she was then suckling, and 
Lady Mostyii, an Erii^lish lady who attended 
her. Struensee and Brandt were in the; samo 
night thrown into prison, and loaded with 
irons. On the next day, the King was pa- 
raded throni;h tlie streets in a carriage drawn 
by eight mi!k-v\ liite h(jrs(!s, as if triumphing 
alter a glorious victory over his eniTnies, in 
which he had saved his country: tho city 
was illuminated. Tho preachers of the Es- 
tablished Church are charged by seveial 
concurritig witnesses with inhuman and un- 
chrititiaa iuvcclivoB from the pulpit against 



sso 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



the Queen and the fallen ministers ; the good, 
doubtless, bclievinfx too easily the tale of the 
victors, the base iiayiiig ecnirt to ihe dispen- 
sers of preferment, ami tho bij^oteil greedily 
swallowing the most incredible accusations 
against unbelievers. The populace, inllamed 
by these declamations, demolished or pil- 
lageil from sixty to a luimlred houses. 

The conspirators distrilfflted among them- 
selves the cliief oflices. The Kuig was suf- 
fered to fall into his former nullity: the for- 
mality of his signature was dispensed with: 
and theaflairsof the kingvlom were conducted 
in his nauve, only till his son was of an age 
to assume the regency. Culdberg, under 
the mod(-st title of "Secretary of the Cabi- 
net," became Prime Minister. Kantzau was 
appointed a Privy Councillor; and Osteu re- 
tained the depaitment of Foreign Alfairs: 
Dnt it is consolatory to aiKI, that, after a few 
months, both were discarded at the instance 
of the Court of Petersbmgh, to complete the 
desired exchange of Ilolsleiu for Oldenburgh. 

The object of the consiiiracy being ihus 
aecomj)Iislied, tlu> conquerors jiroceeded, as 
usual, to lliose judicial proceedings agninst 
the prisoners, which are intended formally 
to justify the violence of a victorious faction, 
but substantially aggravate its gnili. A com- 
mission was appointed to try the accused: 
its leading members were the chiefs of the 
conspiracy. Gulilberg, one of them, had to 
determine, by ihe sentence which he pro- 
nounced, whether he was himself a rebel. 
General Eichstedt, the president, had per- 
stinally arrested several of the prisoners, and 
wa.s, by his judgment on Struensee, who had 
been his benefactor, to decide, that the crimi- 
nality of tliat minister was of so deep a die 
as to cancel the oblig-ations of gratitude. To 
secure his impartiality still more, he was ap- 
pointed a minister, and promised the olHce 
of preceptor of the hereditary prince, — the 
permanence of which appointments must 
have jxirlly depended on the geiuMal eon- 
vietiou that the prisoners were guilty. 

The charges ag-ainst Struensee and Brandt 
are dated on the 21st of April. The defence 
of Struensee was drawn up by his counsel 
on the 22d ; that of Bramlt was prepared on 
the '23d. Si'uleuce was pronounced against 
both on the 2;Ul. On the 27th, it w;is ap- 
proved, and ordered to be exeeut(>d by the 
King. On the 2Slh,after their right hands had 
been cut off on the scafK)ld, they were be- 
heatled. For three months they had been 
closely and very cruelly imprisoned. The 
proceedings of the commission were secret: 
tlie prisoners were not coufrontcil with each 
other; they heard no witnesses; ihey read ' 
no depositions; they did not appear to have 
seen any counsel till they had received the 
indictments. It is characteristic of this scene 
to aild, that the King went to the Opeia on 
the 25lh, after signifying hie approbation of 
the sentence; arui that on the 27th, the day of 
Its polenm coufuinaliou, there was a maslked 
ball at Court. On the ilay of (he execution, 
the King again went to the Opera. The pas- 



sion which prompts an absolute monarch to 
raise an unworthy favourite to honour, is 
still less disgusting than the levity and hard- 
ness w ith which, on the first alarm, he always 
abandons the same favourite to liestiuction. 
It may be observed, that the very pel sons 
who had representi~d the ]';Uronage ot ojieras 
and masquerades as one of the ollences of 
Struensee, were the same who thus unsea- 
sonably j^araiied their unhajipy Sovereign 
through a succession of such amusements. 

The Memoirs of Falkenskiold contain the 
written answeis of Struensee to the prelimi- 
nary quotions of the conmiission, the sub- 
stance of the charges against him, and the 
defence made by his counsel. The lirst 
were written on tlie 14lh of April, when he 
was alone in a dungi'ou. w ilh irons on his 
hands and feet, ami an non colIa^ fastened 
to the wall round his neck. The Indictment 
is prefaced by a long declamatory invective 
against his general comluct ami character, 
such as still di^honour the criminal proceed- 
ings of most nations, and from w hieh Eng- 
land has probably been saved by the scho- 
lastic subtlety and dryness of her system 
of what is called "special pleading." Lay- 
ing aside his supposed connection with the 
Queen, w hich is reserved for a few separate 
lemarks, the charges are either perfectly 
frivolous, or sutliciently answered by his 
C(nmsel, in a detence which he was allowed 
oidy one day to jirepare, and which bears 
evident marks of being written with the fear 
of the victorious faction before the eyes of 
the feeble advocate. One is, that he caused 
the young Prince to be trained so hardily as 
to endanger his life ; in answer to which, he 
refers to the judgment of jihysicians. appeals 
to the resloitHi health of the young Prince, 
anil observes, that even if he had been wrong, 
his fault could have been no more than an 
error of juiigment. The truth is, that he was 
guilty ot a riiliculous mimicry of the early 
education of Emile, at a time when all Eu- 
rope was intoxicated by the writings of 
Rousseau. To the second charge, that ho 
had issued, on the 21st of December preced- 
ing, unknown to ihe King, an order lor the 
incorporation of the Foot Guards with the 
troops of the line, and on their refusal to 
obey, hatl, on the 24lh, obtained an order 
from him for their reduction, he answered, 
that the liraueht of the order had been react 
and approved by the King on the 21st, signed 
and sealed by him on the 23d, and tinally 
confirmed by the order for reducing the re- 
fractory Guards, as issued by his Majesty on 
the 24th ; so that he could scarcely be saiil to 
have been even in form guilty of a two days' 
usurpation. Ii might have been udi'.ed, that 
it was immediately fully pardoned by the 
royal confirmation : that Kantzau, and others 
of his enemies, had taken an active share in 
it ; and that it w as so recent, that the con- 
spirators must have resolved on their mea- 
sures before its occurrence. He was further 
charged with taking or granting exorbitant 
pensions; and he answered, seemingly with 



ADMINISTRATION AND FALL OF STRUENSEE. 



22 U 



truth, that they were not higher than those 
of his predecensors. He was accused also 
of having falsified the public accounts; to 
which his answer is necessarily too detailed 
for our purpose, but appears to be satisfac- 
tory, lioth these last offences, if they had 
been con'irnitted, could not have been treated 
as high treason in any country not wholly 
barbarous; and the evidence on which the 
latter and more precise of the charges rested, 
was a declaration of the imbecile and im- 
prisoned King on an intricate matter of ac- 
count reported to him by an agent of the 
enemies of the prisoner. 

Thus stands the case of the unfortunate 
Struensee on all the charges but one, as it 
appears in the accusation which his enemies 
had such time and power to support, and on 
the defence made for him under such cruel 
disadvantages. That he was innocent of 
the political ofTences laid to his charge, is 
rendered highly probable by the Narrative 
of his Conversion, published soon after his 
execution by Dr. Munter, a divine of Copen- 
hagen, appointed by the Danish Government 
to attend him ;* a composition; which bears 
the strongest marks of the probity and sin- 
cerity of the writer, and is a periect model 
of the manner in which a person, circum- 
stanced like Struensee, ought to be treated 
by a kind and considerate minister of religion. 
Men of all opinions, who peruse this narra- 
tive, must own that it is impossible, with 
more tenderness, to touch the wounils of a 
sufferer, to reconcile the agitated penitent to 
himself, to present religion as the consoler, 
not as the disturber of his dying moments, 
gently to dispose him to try his own actions 
by a higher test of morality, to fill his mind 
with indulgent benevolence towards his fel- 
low-men, and to e.valt it to a reverential love 
of boundless perfection. Dr. Munter deserved 
the confidence of Struensee, and seems en- 
tirely to have won it. The unfortunate man 
freely owned his private licentiousness, his 
success in corrupting the principles of the 
victims of his desires, his rejection not only 
of religion, but also in theory, though not 
quite in feeling, of whatever ennobles and 
elevates the mind in morality, the impru- 
dence and rashness by which he brought 
ruin on his friends, and plunged his parents 
in deep aflliction. and the ignoble and im- 
pure motives of all his public actions, which, 
in the eye of reason, deprived them of that 
pretension to virtuous character, to which 
their outward appearance might seem to 
entitle them. He felt for his friends with 
unusual tenderness. Instead of undue con- 
cealment from Munter, he is, perhaps, charge- 
able with betraying to him secrets which 
were not exclusively his own : but he denies 
the truth of the political charges against him, 
— more especially those of peculation and 
falsification of accounts. 

The charges against Brandt would be alto- 

* Reprinted bv the late learned and exemplary 
Mr. Rennell of Kensington. London, 1824. 



gether unworthy of consideration, were it 
not for the light which one of them throws 
on the whole of this atrocious pirocedure. 
The main accusation against him was, that 
he had beaten, fiogged, and scratched the 
sacred person of the King. His answer was, 
that the King, wtio had a passion for wrest- 
ling and boxing, had repeatedly challenged 
him to a match, and had severely beaten 
him five or six times; that he did not gratify 
his master's taste till after these provoca- 
tions; that two of the witnesses against him, 
servants of the King, had indulged iheir mas- 
ter in the same sport ; and that he received 
liberal gratifications, and continued to enjoy 
the royal favour for months after this pre- 
tended treason. The King inherited this 
perverse taste in amusements from his father, 
whose palace had been the theatre of the like 
kingly sports. It is impossible to entertain 
the least doubt of the truth of this defence: 
it affords a natural and probable explanation 
of a fact which would be otherwise incom- 
prehensible. 

A suit for divorce was commenced against 
the Queen, on the ground of criminal con- 
nection with Struensee, who was himself 
convicted of high treason for that connec- 
tion. This unhappy princess had been sac- 
rificed, at the age of seventeen, to the brutal 
caprices of a husband who, if he had been 
a private man, would have been deemed in- 
capable of the deliberate consent which is 
essential to marriage. She had early suf- 
fered from his violence, though she so far 
complied with his fancies as to ride with 
him in male apparel, — an indecorum for 
which she had been sharply reprehended by 
her mother, the Princess- Dowager of Wales, 
in a short interview between them, during a 
visit which the latter had paid to her brother 
at Gotha, after an uninterrupted residence 
of thirty-four years in England. The King 
had suffered the Russian minister at Copen- 
hagen to treat her with open rudeness ; and 
had disgraced his favourite cousin, the Prince 
of Hesse, for taking her part. He had never 
treated her with common civility, till they 
were reconciled by Struensee, at that period 
of overflowing good-nature when that minis- 
ter obtained the recall from banishment of 
the ungrateful Rantzau. 

The evidence against her consisted of a 
number of circumstances (none of them in- 
capable of an innocent explanation) sworn to 
by attendants, who had been employed as 
spies on her conduct. She owned that she 
had been guilty of much imprudence; but 
in her dying moments she declared to M. 
Roques, pastor of the French church at Zell, 
that she never had been unfaithful to her 
husband.* It is true, that her own signature 
affixed to a confession was alleged against 
her : but if General Falkenskiold was rightly 
informed (for he has every mark of honest 
intention), that signature proves nothing but 



* Communicated by him to M. Secretan on the 
7ih of March, 1780. 

t2 



222 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



the malice and cruelty of her enemies. 
Schack, the counsellor sent to interrogate 
her at Cronenbouig, was received by her 
with indignation when he spoke to her of 
connection with Struensee. When he showed 
Struensee's confession to her, he artfully in- 
timated that the fallen minister would be 
subjected to a very cruel death if he was 
found to have falsely criminated the Queen. 
'■What!" she exclaimed, "do you believe 
that if I was to confirm this declaration, I 
should save the life of that unfortunate 
man ?" Schack answered by a profound 
bow. The Queen took a pen, wrote the first 
syllable of her name, and fainted away. 
Schack completed the signature, and carried 
away the fatal document in triumph. 

Struensee himself, however, had confessed 
his intercourse to the Commissioners. It is 
said that this confession was obtained by 
threats of torture, facilitated by some hope 
of life, and influenced by a knowledge that 
the proceeding against the Queen could not 
be carried beyond divorce. But his repeated 
and deliberate avowals to Dr. Munter do not 
(it must be owned) allow of such an expla- 
nation. Scarcely any supposition favourable 
to this unhappy princess remains, unless it 
should be thought likely, that as Dr. Mun- 
ter's Narrative was published under the eye 
of her oppressors, they might have caused 
the confessions of Struensee to be inserted 
in it by their own agents, without the con- 
sent — ^perhaps without the knowledge — of 
Munter; whose subsequent life is so little 
known, that we cannot determine whether 
he ever had the means of exposing the falsi- 
fication. It must be confessed, that internal 
evidence does not favour this hypothesis ; 
for the passages of the Narrative, which con- 
tain the avowals of Struensee. have a striking 
appearance of genuineness. If Caroline be- 
trayed her sufferings to Struensee, — if she 
was led to a dangerous familiarity with a 
pleasing young man who had rendered es- 
sential services to her, — if mixed motives of 
confidence, gratitude, disgust, and indigna- 
tion, at last plunged her into an irretrievable 
fault, the reasonable and the virtuous will 
reserve their abhorrence for the conspirators 
who, for the purposes of their own ambition, 
punished her infirmity by ruin, endangered 
the succession to the crown, and disgraced 
their country in the eyes of Europe. It is 
difficult to contain the indignation which 
naturally arises from the reflection, that at 
this very time, and with a full knowledge of 
the fate of the Queen of Denmark, the Royal 
Marriage Act was passed in England, for the 
avowed purpose of preventing the only mar- 
riages of preference, which a princess, at 
least, has commonly the opportunity of form- 
ing. Of a monarch, who thought so much 
more of the pretended degradation of his 
brother than of the cruel misfortunes of his 
sister, less cannot be said than that he must 
have had more pride than tenderness. Even 
the capital punishment of Struensee, for such 
an offence will be justly condemned by all 



but English lawyers, who ought to be silence/! 
by the consciousness that the same barbar- 
ous disproportion of a penalty to an offence is 
sanctioned in the like case bytheirown law. 

Caroline Matilda died at Zell about three 
years after her imprisonment. The last 
tidings which reached the Princess-Dowa- 
ger of Wales on her death-bed, was the im- 
prisonment of this ill-fated daughter, which 
was announced to her in a letter dictated to 
the King of Denmark by his new masters, 
and subscribed with his own hand. Two 
days before her death, though in a state of 
agony, she herself wrote a letter to the nomi- 
nal sovereign, exhorting him to be at least 
intlulgent and lenient towards her daughter. 
After hearing the news from Copenhagen she 
scarcely swallowed any nourishment. The 
intelligence was said to have accelerated her 
death; but the dreadful malady* under 
which she suffered, neither needed the co- 
operation of sorrow, nor was of a nature to 
be much aflected by it. 

What cfTt'cts were produced by the inter- 
ference of the British Minister for the Queen 1 
— How far the conspirators were influenced 
by fear of the resentment of King George III.? 
— and, In what degree that monarch himself 
may have acquiesced in the measures finally 
adopted towards his sister? — are questions 
which must be answered by the historian 
from other sources than those from which we 
reason on the present occasion. The only 
legal proceeding ever commenced against 
the Queen was a suit for a divorce, which 
was in form perfectly regular: for in all 
Protestant countries but England, the offend- 
ed party is entitled to release from the bauds 
of marriage by the ordinary tribunals. It 
is said that two legal questions were then 
agitated in Denmark, and "even ocrasioncil 
great debates among the Commissioners : — 
1st. Whether the Queen, as a sovereign, 
could be legally tried by her subjects; ai:d, 
2dly, Whether, as a foreign princess, she 
was amenable to the law of Deinnark?" 
But it is quite certain on general principles, 
(assuming thai no Danish law had made their 
Queen a partaker of the sovereign power, or 
otherwise expressly exempted her from legal 
responsibility,) that however high in dignify 
and honour, she was still a subject; an(l thai 
as such, she, as well as every other person 
wherever born, resident in iDenmark, \\as, 
during her residence at least, amenable to 
the laws of that country. 

It was certain that there was little proba- 
bility of hostility from England. Engaged 
in a contest with the people at home, and 
dreading the approach of a civil war with 
America, Lord North was not driven from an 
inflexible adherence to his pacific system by 
the Partition of Poland itself. An address 
for the production of the diplomatic corres- 
pondence respecting the French conquest, 
or purchase of Corsica, was moved in the 



* An affection of the throat which precluded 
the passage of all nourishment. — Ed. 



ADMINISTRATION AND FALL OF STRUENSEE. 



223 



House of Commons on the 17th of November, 
1768, for the purpose of condemning that 
unprincipled transaction, and with a view 
indirectly to blame the supinejiess of the 
English ministers respecting it. The motion 
■was negatived by a majority of 230 to 84, on 
the same ground as that on which the like 
motions respecting Naples and Spain were 
resisted in 1822 and 1823 ; — that such pro- 
posals were too little if war was intended, 
and too much if it was not. The weight of 
authority, however, did not coincide with 
the power of numbers. Mr. Greenville, the 
most experienced statesman, and Mr. Burke, 
the man of greatest genius and wisdom in 
the House, voted in the minority, and argued 
in support of the motion. ' Such,' said the 
latter, * was the general zeal for the Corsican, 
that if the Ministers would withdraw the 
Proclamation issued by Lord Bute's Govern- 
ment, forbidding British subjects to assist 
the Corsican '• rebels," ' (a measure similar 
to our Foreign Enlistment Act), 'private in- 
dividuals would supply the brave insurgents 
with sufficient means of defence.' The 
young Duke of Devonshire, then at Florence, 
had sent 400L to Corsica, and raised 2000L 
more for the same purpose by a subscription 
among the English in Italy.* A Government 
which looked thus passively at such breaches 
of the system of Europe on occasions when 
the national feeling was favourable to a more 
generous, perhaps a more wise policy, would 
hardly have been diverted from its course by 
any indignities or outrages which a foreign 
Government could offer to an individual of 
however illustrious rank. Little, however, 
as the likelihood of armed interference by 
England was, the apprehension of it might 
have been sufficient to enable the more wary 
of the Danish conspirators to contain the rage 
of their most furious accomplices. The abi- 
lity and spirit displayed by Sir Robert Mur- 
ray Keith on behalf of the Queen was soon 
after rewarded by his promotion to the em- 
bassy at Vienna, always one of the highest 
places in English diplomacy. His vigorous 
remonstrances in some measure compensated 
for the timidity of his Government; and he 
powerfully aided the cautious policy of Count 
Osten, who moderated the passions of his 
colleagues, though giving the most specious 
colour to their acts in his official correspon- 
dence with foreign Powers. 

Contemporary observers of enlarged minds 
considered these events in Denmark not so 
much as they affected individuals, or were 
connected with temporary policy, as in the 
higher light in which they indicated the 
character of nations, and betrayed the pre- 
valence of dispositions inauspicious to the 

* These particulars are not to be found in the 
printed debate, which copies the account of this 
discussion given in the Annual Register by Mr. 
Burke, written, like his other abstracts of Parlia- 
mentary proceedings, with the brevity and reserve, 
produced by his siiuation as one of the most im- 
portant parties in the argument, and by the severe 
notions then prevalent on such publications. 



prospects of mankind. None of the un- 
avowed writings of Mr. Burke, and perhaps 
few of his acknowledged ones, exhibit more 
visible marks of his hand than the History 
of Europe in the Annual Register of 1772, 
which opens with a philosophical and elo- 
quent vindication of the policy which watch- 
ed over the balance of power, and with a 
prophetic display of the evils w hich were to 
flow from the renunciation of that policy by 
France and England, in suffering the parti- 
tion of Poland. The little transactions of 
Denmark, which were despised by many as 
a petty and obscure intrigue, and affected 
the majority only as a part of the romance 
or tragedy of real life, appeared to the phi- 
losophical statesman pregnant with melan- 
choly instruction. "It has," says he, "been 
too hastily and too generally received as an 
opinion with the most eminent writers, and 
from them too carelessly received by the 
world, thai the Northern nations, at all times 
and without exception, have been passionate 
admirers of liberty, and tenacious to an ex- 
treme of their rights. A little attention will 
show that this opinion ought to be received 
with many restrictions. Sweden and Den- 
mark have, within little more than a century, 
given absolute demonstration to the contrary j 
and the vast nation of the Russes, who over* 
spread so great a part of the North, have, 
at all times, so long as their name has been 
known, or their acts remembered by history, 
been incapable of any other than a despotic 
government. And notwithstanding the con- 
tempt in which we hold the Eastern nations, 
and the slavish disposition we attribute to 
them, it may be found, if we make a due 
allo^^•ance for the figurative style and man- 
ner of the Orientals, that the official papers, 
public acts, and speeches, at the Courts of 
Petersburgh, Copenhagen, and Stockholm, 
are in as unmanly a strain of servility and 
adulation as those of the most despotic of the 
Asiatic governments." 

It was doubtless an error to class Russia 
with the Scandinavian nations, merely be- 
cause they were both comprehended within 
the same parallels of latitude. The Russians 
differ from them in race, — a circumstance 
always to be considered, though more liable 
to be exaggerated or underrated, than any 
other which contributes to determine the 
character of nations. No Sarmatian people 
has ever been free. The Russians profess a 
religion, founded on the blindest submission 
of the understanding, which is, in their mo- 
dern modification of it, directed to their 
temporal sovereign. They were for ages the 
slaves of Tartars ; the larger part of their 
dominions is Asiatic; and they xvere, till 
lately^ with justice, more regarded as an 
Eastern than as a Western nation. But the 
nations of Scandinavia were of that Teutonic 
race, who w^ere the founders of civil liberty: 
they earl >r embraced the Reformation, xvhicli 
ought to have taught them the duty of exer- 
cising reason freely on every snbjex;t : and 
their spirit has never been broken by a 



224 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCFXT.ANEOUS ESSAYS. 



foroijjn yoko. Wiitiinj in tlio yt>ar wht-n 
ilospulism was «>sl!iMislifil in Swoilcn, anil 
its biuii'fiil t'llt'flt* SI) sli'ikinijly twhibitcd in 
IVinnark, ISlr. Huiko may hv t«\i"ii;;«\l Idi- 
0(Mn|';uiii_<j' I'.u'so tlirn unhappy omnitiit's 
willi tlioso vast itijii)ns nf Asia wliii'h hav(> 
been till" inmHMuoiial sfut of slaviMy. 'I'lio 
rovolut iMi w liirh wo havi» bt^fii I'unsiiliMin^-, 
shows tlu» pivpiioty of tho paiallt>l in all its 
parts. If it only piovt'il that ab.sointo powor 
oonupts tJu> tyrant, tin iv iiro many too ilo- 
basod to Jroad it on that aooonnt. I>nt it 
shows hint at CopiMihai^iMi, as at Ispahan, 
rodnooil to personal insijiuilii'ani'o, a iiajicant 
oi'oasionaUy oxh:bitt\l by his luinistors, or 
a tool in llioir hands, oompollod to ilo what- 
t'vor suits tlu'ir purpo.-^o, without power to 
savo tho lifo ovon of a minion, ana without 
soi'urity, in oasos of twtromo violoui't", lor 
liis^own. Nothiiiii' oan nu)rt» rioarly nrovo 
that uiidi'r absolute monarrlty, jjxiod laws, 
if thoy could by a miraolo ho franu'd, uuist 
always prov«» utterly vain ; that civil caup.ot 
twist without political liberty; and that the 
dt>testable distinction, lately atttMtipted iif 
tliis country bv thi^ailvocatesiif intolerance,* 
between freedom and political pinver, mwer 
oaii be alloweil in practice without, in the 
first instance, destroviui; all st"curiti(>s for 
SJXhhI yovtMiuueut, ami very soon introducing- 
every species of corruption and oppression. 

The part of Mr. Purke's History, which 
we hav<' ouoted, is followed by a nuMUorable 
{vissjiire which seems, in later times, to have 
escaped tlie notice Kith of his opponents ami 
adherents, and was probablv forjiotten by 
hiiuself. After speakimv of t)u< final victory 
of Louis XV. ovei the French ParlianuMits, 
of whom he says, "that their fate ."ieems to 
be (inally decidcvl.f and the few remains of 
public hberty that wert< preserved in the.se 
illustrious bcnlies are now no more,'' he pm- 
cpods to neiuMal ivlloction on the condition 
and pwspects of Kurope. '-In a word, if 
we seriously consider the moile of support- 
iuj; great standinsj armies, which becomes 
daily nu>iv prevalent, it will appear evident, 
that nothinii' less than a convulsion that will 
shake the i^lobe to its centre, can ever restore 
ihe Kurepean nations to that libertv bv wliich 
they were once so much distinijuished. The 
Western world was its seat until another 
more western wasiliscovered : and that other 
will prolxibly be it.^ asylum w hen it is hunted 
down in every other jvirt of the world. Hai>py 
it is that tlu> worst of times muy have one 
refuiie left for humanity.'' 

This pass;iiii> is not so much a jtropheey 
of the French Kevolution, as a dtx-laiation 
that without a convulsion as deep ami dread- 
ful us that iireal event, the F.uropean tuitions 
had no chance of being i^'stoi-ed to their ati- 

• 'I'lii,< wns wrinoa in ISOtv — En. 

; They were rc-ostnMisilu'il lour years nfier- 
W!\r<ls : but as lliis nioso, not from i)i<> spirit of 
itie niilioii, l>ut liotii the lulvisera of the youi'!: 
Kins, who hml lull power to j>r!iiit or wiihlioUl 
their lestoratioiv, the wmu of iorosight is rather 
appnreiu than t^ubstantinl. 



cient iii«jiiity inul their natural rii^hls. Hntl 
it been wriilen after, or at least Mum after 
the event, it mi'^ht have been blamed as iu- 
dicatiiij^' too little indii^natioti apjiinst f^iiilt, 
juulcoiujxission foi stitrerini^. I''.ven w hen cim- 
sidi'red as reierriiii; to the events of a ilistant 
iuturity, it may be chari;ed wuha peiiiicioua 
extij^yeralioti, which seems to e.\t<'nnato re- 
volutionary lunrors by reprt>seuiin^ them aa 
iiu'vilable, and by layini; it ilown lals»>ly that 
W'i.sdom atid Virtue can tittil no other load to 
Liberty. It would, howcvj-r, be very unjust 
to chai|;e such a purpose on Mr. lUirke, or 
indeiul to impute such" a tetulcucy to his de- 
spondinji anticipaliotis. He cettaiiily appears 
ti» have foresetMi that the jnoi^iess of desjH»- 
tisnt would at liMiyth provoke a iveni-ral aiul 
fearful resistance, the event of which, with 
a wisi> scepticism, ht> doi*s not iiar(" to lorelt'l; 
rather, howeviM', as a loud, and therefore 
learfnl, lover of Fuioneati liberty, Ibreboding 
that she will be driven from her ancient 
seat.s, and leave the inhabitants of Kurope 
to be numbered with Asiatic slaves. Tna 
tierceness of the striipj^le he clearly saw, 
ami most distinctly predicts; for lie ktiow 
that the most furious |\issions of human iia- 
ttire would be enlisted on both sules. Ho 
diH\s not ci>nclude. from th's dreadful pros- 
pect, that the clianci* of hberty oui^ht to bo 
relinqnisheil rather than expiise a country to 
tlu» piobability or jiossibility of siu'h a con- 
test ; but, on the contrary, very intellii^ibly 
declares by the melancholy tone in which lio 
adverts to the expulsion of Liberty, that 
every evil is to be liazanhHl for her prt>sei- 
vatioti. It wouKl be well if his profes.sed 
adherents would bear in niiml, that such ia 
the true doctiine of nu>st of those whom 
they ilreail and revile as incendiaries. The 
friends of freedom only piofess that those 
who have recouise to the only remaining 
means of preserving or acquiring liberty, 
are not morally responsiblt> for the evils 
which may ari.-^e in an inevitable combat. 

The Danish dominions continued to be 
administered in the name of riiristiau VIL, 
for the long perioil of thirty-six years alter 
the deposition of Strueiisee. Tlie mental 
incapacitv undt>r which he alwiiys laboured, 
was not formally reco^Ljniscd till the associa- 
tion of his son, uow King oi IXMimark, with 
him in the goviMiiment. He did not cease 
to breathe till ISOS. after a nominal reign of 
forty-three years, and an animal existenoo 
of near sixty. During the latter part of that 
period, the Veal rulers of the country were 
wist> and honest men. It enjoyed a eonsi- 
denihle interval of prosperity under the ad- 
miniistration oi l?ernstoiir, whose merit ia 
forbt>ariiig to join the coalition aijainst France 
in 171>3, is greatly enhauccil by his personal 
abhorrence of the Revolution. His adoption 
of Keverdil's measures of enfiar.ehisement. 
sheds the purest glory on his name. 

The fate of IVnmaik, after the ambition 
of Napoleon luul penetrated into the North, — 
the iniquity with which she was stripped by 
Russia of ^'orway, for adherence to im al- 



CASK OF DONNA MAIilA. 



225 



/iancr; uliicli iiii^Kia h;ifl corfijH;lI«;(l hf-T lo 

{>iii. and a« a <^uru)eiiKiilioii lo .Sw<,'(J<;ii for 
'iiilaiiiJ, o* whif-li SwcrJcii Jiad lj<;«ii kAAiiuI 
by J{u»«ia, aio (!V(MitH too (arjiiliarly known 
lo b(} rtjcounlc'd li<;r(!. Sliu iH now no tnoro 
than a principality, wIjohi: uirnH art; Htill hur- 
rriountcd by a royal crown. A frcf; and po- 
pular f^ovcrnrncMit, under ihrj Karno wii-o ad- 
rniiiiwtralioii, /niglit liavo arrf-.slcd many of 
thcH'i calarnitiMrt, and a/lordcd a new ]ir(}()i 
that lh<; atlaclirrifMil of a jjefjjJc lo a ^ovcni- 
tiiciil in wJiicli llicy liavr; a jjalpablc intcrcKl 
and a direct hliarr;, jb the rnont Kcuure foun- 
dation of didciiHivc Hlrcn;^th. 

Thr; political rniHfortuncH of Dcnrnaik diw- 
provc tiK! conirnoii[)laci5 (M>inion, thai all cii- 
uJavcd nations dcKcrvc their fal<! : for the 
moral and intelhtctual (jualiticH of the DaiicH 
seem to qualify ihern lor the firm and pru- 
dent exerciHc of the prlviU-^'CH of fieernen. 
All thowj by whom ihey aie well knovvn^ 



commend their ixjura^^'c, honrnty, and indujt- 
try. 'J'he information ol the labouiiiif^ claM»e» 
hiiH made a conHideiable piO{.'ieHKbince their 
rMifianchibement. Their literature, like that 
of the Noithiirn natioriH, haw {^(;neially been 
(lej)endenl on that of (Jeirnany, with which 
c(juntry they are cloHely (connected in laii- 
puaf^e and rrdi^ion. In the hiKt half ct-ntury, 
they hav(! made pr:iBeveriii^ ifloitH to Ijuild 
up a national literature. 'J he re«i«lancu of 
their /le(!t in J801. haw been tin; then, e of 
many iJaniKh jiocIh; but we believe that 
they have been aw uiiKucceKHful in their bold 
competition with Campbell, as their mari/iern 
in their (gallant cofit<;hl wilh Nelwjii. How- 
i;ver, a poor and wjmeuhat H.ecluded country, 
wilh a Hmall and diHjjeihed j;(ipijlation, u hich 
huH producffd 'i'ycho Jhahe, Oeldencx;hla;i,'er, 
and 'J'hor\\aldKen, rnuht be owned to hav« 
c^jiilributed her full contingent to the inkel 
leclual grcatncHH of Europe. 



STATEMENT OF THE CASE 



DONNA MAJiJA i) A GLORIA, 



A CLAIMANT TO THE CROWN OF PORTUGAL.* 



1'kfokk the usurpation of I'orln((al by 
I'hilip II. of Spain in 1.080, the l/oitnyucKe 
nation, thouf.;h brilliantly dihtinfpiiMhf;d in 
urtH and armH, and as a wjmmercial and 
maritime power, in Home measure filling up 
the interval between the decline of Vifnice 
and the rin*; of Holland, had not yet taken a 

itiacc in the j)olitical Hyctern of Kurop*;. 
'"lorrj the r(;Ktoialion of lier indr;pf;ndence 
under the House of Iha{(anza in UiiO, to Ihe 
peace of Utrecht, Spain was her danf.'erouH 
enemy, and Fiance, the political ojipone/it 
of Spain, waH her natural protector. Her re- 
lation to Fiaiicf! was reveined hh hooii an a 
bourlxm Kin{^ was Bcaled on the throne of 
Spain, From that moment the union of the 
two Bouibon monarchieH {(ave her a neit.'h- 
bour far more formidable than the Austrian 
priiiccH who bid Hlurnbercd for near a cf;n- 
lury at the Kscurial. It b<;came absolutely 
necessary for her wifely lliat slie should 
Htre/if'then herself aj^ainst this constantly 
thr<.'ateninj( danf((;r by an alliance, \vhi<;h, 
being founded in a common and j)ermarient 
interest, might be eolid and durable. Eng- 
land, tho political antagonist of France, 

• From the Edinburgh Review, vol. xlv. p. 
202,— Eu. 

29 



' whose safety would be endangered by every 
aggratKlizerrienl of the House of Bourbon, 
and who had the power of /apidly succour- 
ing Portugal, without the fnearis ol oppres*- 
' ing her independence, was evidently the 
'only state from which friendship and aid, at 
I once effectual, SJife, and laisling, could bo 
ex|jected : — hence the alliance betwf-en Eng- 
land and Portugal, and the union, closer than 
can be crr;ated by written stipulations, be- 
twr-en these two countries. 

'J'he peril, however, was suspended during 
forty yr;ars of the dihsoliite anrl unambitioui 
governmc;nt of Iy<njis XV. till the year 1701, 
\\heri, bv the treaty known under the name 
of the 'f'amily Compact,' the iJucdeChoiseuI 
mayXe justly said (to borrow the language 
of Roman ambition) to have reduced Sj)ain 
to the form of a province. A siparate anil 
secret conve.'ition was executed on the same 
day (1.0th of August), by which it was agreed, 
that if England flid not make peace witJi 
France by the 1st of May, 1762. S]<ain should 
then declare war against the former power. 
The sixth article fully disclosed the magni- 
tude of the danger which; from that moment 
to this, has hung over the head of Portugal. 
His Most Faithful Majesty was to be desired 
to accede to the convention ; " it not beinii; 



5?6 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCKI.I-ANEOIJS ESSAYS. 



|upt," in tilt' jiul;;iiuMit of ihoso royal jnricts, 
"thill lie slioiilil rcmaiii ii ti!iiu]nil spiu-Iator 
of lln> (lis|Mili's of tlio two (\)iuls Willi Kii:;- 
Iiuul, ami *M)iilimit» to fiirirli iho «Mi(«mii's of 
tho two Sov<Moii;iis, by lv(>(<i>iii>; his poitn 
opt>ii lo ihi'iii." 'I'ho kinir of l\)rtiii;al iv- 
fiiKi'il lo i>iiirhast> u tomporaiy I'Xfuiiilion 
tVoni altiulv l>y a ,«mn'iiiI<M' of Ins iiulfpciid- 
(•in"(>. 'I'lio Krt>iK"li ami Sjiaiiisli IMiiiistiMs 
(li'olai'i'il, " ihiit ihf Porliiiiiieso alliaiu-c with 
Eii<>liiii(l, ihoiioli oallcil '</i/c»i.vn"c,' bcraiiio 
ill roalily (>//(';).snv, from tho siluation of iho 
l*ortii,!;ui'so tlomiinons, ami from tho iiatnio 
of thi» Knivlish power.'"* A war onsiunl, — 
InuiiiT probably iho lii\«»t over waijt'il against 
u country, on tho avowoil ixronml of it.n ixco- 
{irupliioal position. It was torminatcd by 
tho Tii'aly of Paris in 1T(>;{, without, how- 
ovtM", auv paiposilion on tho part of Kraiu'o 
ami Spain ihal l'iMtui;al shouM bo cut away 
from till' l/ontinont, iind towtvl into tho 
iioi_i;liboinhoo(l of INbuloira, — w luMC perhaps 
she mi.vvht re-enter on her rii;lit as an iiule- 
j)tMnleirl slate to observe neutrality, ami to 
proviile tor lu'r seemity by ilefensivo alli- 
anoes. This most baretaeed uet of injnstiee 
iniLrht bo passed over hero in sileiiee, if it 
(lid not si» sironiily illustrato tho situation of 
I'ortUi^al. si.ioe Spain beeame a dependent 
ally of Kiaiieo; iiml if wo could resist lhi> 
templation of tho occasion to asU whetlKM- 
thi> anlluHsof siieh a war were as luueh less 
ambitions than Napoleon, as they wore be- 
neath liim in valiuir ami ijenius. 

In the Vmeriean war, it does not appear 
that any attt>mpt was made, on principles of 
grouni/i'd/. to comiiel I'orlnual to make war 
on Knulaiul.t The example of the Family 
Coininiet. however, was not lon;i barren. As 
soon as the French Republic had re-t>sta- 
blishevl llie asctmdant ot Fiaiiei* at ]\ladrid, 
they vlelermiiuHl to show thai they inheriteil 
the pnneiples as w"ell as the sci>pire of their 
monarehs. rorlu^iil, now oviMpowered, was 
comjielled to ct>de Olivenza to Spain, ami to 
phut h'.-r polls on Kiii^lish shins. ^ 'J'hus ter- 
minau\l the .second war made ai^aiust her 
toobliive hei to renounce theinily ally capa- 
ble of assist iiVij; her, and constantly interesh>d 
in hei preservation. Hut lliest! compulsory 
treaties were of liiile practical importance, 
beiiis>' iinmedialely lollowed by the Peace of 
Amiens. They only luniishtHl a new proof 
that the insecurity of Portuii".il essentially 
aro.«i> fmin the depemlt>nceot Spain on Fi;uict>, 
and Cviuld not be lt>ss(>iieil by any chango in 
the ijovtM'nment of the lallt>r ctumtry. 

When ihv» war, or rathiM- war.s. a^.iinst 
uuiviMsal monaichy broke out, tht> Ueirent 
of Portugal declared tho iioulrality of his do- 

* Nolo of Don Joseph Tonoro ami l")on Jno- 
tnu's (Vpiin, l.is'.mn, 1st April, 17(i"J. — .\niiual 
K<\<;isii>r. 

f l\>riuj)[;»l did iniUoil ivot'do to iho .\riuoii 
Noi. rality ; Imii it wsis n«>t lill iho l.'.ili M Julv, 
t7Si on llit> fv>' tif n noncrul ponoo. — iNlsuicns, 
HciMU ^1 do 'l'r!\il«''<. vol. ii. p. •.''(KS. 

t Mv ilu> 'rifiiiy lu-iwoon l-'itxnoo niul Spain of 
the I'Jdi Auj;ust, 17%. — Marions, vol. vi. p. C5G. 



millions.* For four years lie was indulged 
in tho e.xercise of this right of an independ- 
ent prince, in spite of the geographical poci- 
tion «tf the kiiigilom. At the end of that 
period the 'geogmphical principle' was en- 
forced against him moi«? fully and vigor- 
ously than on the lormer instances of its ap- 
j>lication. The l'ortU!.;U(>se monarchy wa* 
conliscated and pailitioiied in a secret con- 
vention between France ami Spain, exiumted 
at Fonlamebleau on thi' 'J7lli of Cclober, 
1S07, by which considerable parts of its con- 
tinental territory were grantid lo the Princo 
of tho I'eace, and to the Spanish J'rincess, 
ihiMi called UneiMi of Kliuria, in sovereignty, 
but as feudatmies of the crown of Spaiii.T 
,'\ French army under .lunot inaiched against 
Portugal, and llie IJoyal Family were com- 
pi'lled, in November loilowiiig. toembaik for 
Brazil ; a iiieasure which was strongly sug- 
gestivl by the conslani insei'uiity lo w hich 
Kmopeaii Portugal was doomed by the Fa- 
mily (\>mi>act, and w hich had b(>en seriou.sly 
entertained by the (iovernment since Iho 
treaty of Hadajoz. 

The eviMils which followed in the Spanish 
Peninsula are too memtnable to be more 
than alludcvl to. Porlug-al was gov«Miieil by 
a Jxegency nomiiial(>d by tho King. 'J"ho 
piMiple caught tin* generous spirit of tho 
Spaniards, took up arms agiiinst the con- 
tpierors, and bravely aiiled tin* I'liglish army 
to expel them. Tlie army, delivered from 
those unworthy leaders lo whom the abu.ses 
of despotism had subjected them, took an 
amph' share in llie glorious man-li from 
'i'orres N'eilras to Toulouse, w liicii forms oiio 
of the most brilliant pages in history. 

The Kingopent>d the ports of his American 
territories lo all nations; — a measure in him 
of immediate necessity, but fraught with mo- 
mentous consequences. He cemented his 
ancient relations with deal Ihitain (w hich 
geography no longer forbaile) by new trea- 
ties; and he bestowed on Biazil a separato 
administration, with the title of a klngilom. 
'l'hi< coiiise of events in the sjiring of 1814 
had betMi so rapid, that there was no minis- 
ter in Kurope authoriz<>d lo represent tho 
C\nul of Uio .laneiro at the Treaty of Paris: 
but .so close was tlu> alliance with Kngland 
then deemed, that Lord Casllereagh took it 
upon him, on the pari of Porlugal, to stipu- 
late for the restoration of French (Juiana, 
which had been comiuered by the Portngneso 
arms. At lh(> rongress of VuMina in the fol- 
lowing year, the Portuguese pleninolentiaries 
jirolesled against ihi> validiiy of lliis reslora- 
lioa.and required the relroci>ssion of Oliven- 
za, which had been wrested from ihem at 
Hadajoz. in a war in which they hail been 
the allies of F.nglaiul. The good oliices of 
tho Europ(>an powers to obtain this last reslo- 



* Troniics ol Hadjijoi, ()ih of Juno ; of Madrid, 
Will of Sopieml>or, It^Ol. — Martoiis, ir'uppli'inont, 
vol. ii. pp. 'MO. r>3!'. 

t Schoi'll. llistoiro Abrt^goo dcs Trnii(58 de 
Ptti.x, &-C., vol. i.\. p. 110. 



CASE OF DONNA MARIA. 



227 



nition \yr\r. ihnn solemnly promiHcd, but have 
hilln'ilo l)i!('ii ill v;iiri. 

Ill 18 Hi, .loliii VI. icfiiKf'd fo rcluni lo I,iH- 
b')ii, lliiiii;4li ;i H(|n;i(lroii iiiulcr Sir .lohii I'c- 
resfonl had biM-ii st^iit to convey hiiri lliillier; 
partly bi-caiiHe h(! was displfMHcd at lliir diK- 
iTjyard of hin rij^hts, Khovvii by llir; ('ow^rcHH 
of ViiMii'a J partly bcoausi! the iiiii)Oiinlarity 
of tli(; (^iniiricicial Troaty liad alienated hirri 
fiorn ICii^laiid J but i)r()l)ably Hlill more, lie- 
caus(! ho was inniieiiced by tlio visible 
{growth of a IJraziliaii [)arty which now aimed 
at iii<|e|)eiid(!iic.e. IbMieelorward, indeed, the 
separalioii inanifeHtly approached. The Por- 
tugiKfse of F,ni{ip<! bc^f^aii lo despair of Koeiiif^ 
the BCN'il of till! irionarchy at IjKboii ; the He- 
geuoy wert! v\ilhout Klren^'lh; all appoint- 
ments were obtained from the (Mutant Court 
of Ilio .FaiKMio ; men and money wjmo drawn 
away for the jba/ilian war on the Kio dc; la 
Plata ; the army hd't l)ehind was unpaid : in 
fiiK!, all the materialH of formidable diKcon- 
tent were heaped uj) in Portugal, when, in 
the befiinninf,^ of 1820, the Sj)anihh Jievoiu- 
tioii ])roke out. Six irionlhs (dapsed without 
a spark liavinj^ falliMi in I'ortn^al. Marshal 
Heresfoid went to Kio Janeiro to solicit thi; 
interference of th(! Kiii^: l)n( that Prince 
made no ('trort to prevcnit the con/layration ; 
and [)(!rha])S no precaution would then have 
been <'(]eclual. 

In August, the garrison of Oporto declaret! 
for a n^volntion ; and being joined on tlieir 
march to the Cai)ilal by all the troops on 
their line, were receiveci with opcMi arms by 
the garrison of [^isboii. It was desliiKid to 
bestow on I'ortugal a still more pofiular con- 
etilution than that of Spain. With wliat 
prudence or justice the measures of the 
popular leaders in the soiilli of Europe were 
conceived or conductfid, it is hapjiily no p:irt 
of our jjieseiit business to inipiire. Thosf! 
who openly remonsl rated against their errors 
vlien they se(Tried to be triiirrij)haiit, are 
under no temptation to join the vulgar cry 
against th(! fallen. The j)eop]e of i'orliigal, 
in(l(;cd. unless guided by a wise and vigor- 
ous Covernm(;nt, were destin(!d by tlie very 
iiafuif! of things, in any political cliange made 
at that moment, to follow tin; coursi; of Spain. 
The liegency of Lisbon, liy the advice of a 
Portuguesf! Minister,* at oiic(! faithful to his 
Sov(!reign, and friendly to the liberty of his 
country, made an attem|)t to Bt(!m the tor- 
rent, by summoning an asscunbly of the 
Cortes. The attempt was too late; but it 
pointed to the only means of saving the 
monarchy. 

Th(^ same Minister, on his arrival in Bra- 
zil, at the end of the year, advised the King 
to send his j'ldest son to Portugal as Vicciroy, 
with a constitutional charter; recommend- 
ing also theassemliling of the most respnct- 
a])I(! HrazillaiiH at Ilio Janeiro, to consider of 
the improvements which sijemed practicable 
in Brazil. But while these honest, and not 
unpromising counsels, were the objects of 

• Count PalmcIIa.— Ed. 



longer distuisslons than troublous tirmrs .allow, 
a revolution broke out in Biazil, in the sjairig 
of 1821, the (irst prolessi;d object of v\]iich 
was, not lh(! sepaiatif)n o( that counliy, but 
till! adoption ot the Portuguese Constitution. 
It was accpjiewM'd in by tin; King, and (!«- 
poused wiih the warmth of youth, by his 
eldest son Don Pc-dro. But in April, the King, 
(lis(piieted by th(! (!ornmotions w hich (rncom- 
passed him, d(;lermine(l lo rciturn to Lisbon, 
and to leave the conduct of the American 
revolution to his son. Kveu on the voyago 
he was advised to stop at the Azores, as a 
pla(!e wh(;re Ikj might negotiate with more 
independence: but he rr^jected this counsel: 
and on his aiiival in the Tagus, on th(; '.U\ ot 
July, nothing rem;iiiied but a surnnider at 
discretion. Tlu; revolutionary Cortr-s wero 
as tenacious of the authority of the motlier 
country, as the Koyal Administration ; and 
they accordingly recalled the Ileir-apparent 
to Lisbon. But the spiiit of iiidej)endc'nco 
arose among the I'razilians, who, «!ncour;iged 
by the example of the Spanish-Americans, 
jjifsentcd .•iddress{!S to tlu! Prince, besr-ech- 
ing him not to yield to lli(! ilemands of tho 
Poilugiiese Assembly, who desired to make 
him a prisoner, as they had madi! his lather j 
but, by assuming the crown of Brazil, to pro- 
vide lor his own safely, as wfill as for their 
liberty. In truth it is evident, that he neither 
could have continued in Brazil without ac- 
cf!dirig to tho i)0[)ular desire, nor could have 
then left it without insuring the destruction 
of monarchy in that country. lie ac(]uiescecl 
therefore in the prayc-r of these llaltciiing 
pelitions: ihe independcince of Brazil was 
jiroclaimed ; and tin; Portuguese monarchy 
was finally dismembered. 

In Ihe siimmi'r of 182:}, the advance of tho 
French army into Sj)ain, excited a revolt of 
the Portnguust! Koyalisls. The infant Don 
Miguel, tho King's second son, attracted 
notice, by appearing at the hea<l of a bat- 
talion who declared against the Constitution ; 
and the inconstant soldiery, ecpially ignorant 
of the object of their revolts against the King 
or the Cortes, were easily induced to over- 
throw the slight work oi their own hands. 
Even in the moment of victory, how(!ver, 
John VI. solemnly promised a bee govern- 
mc;nt to the' Portuguese nation.* A few 
weeks aftijrwards, h(! gave a more delibe- 
rate and decisive proof of what was then 
thought necessary for tho security of tho 
throne, ami the wr;ll-being of the i)eoj)le, by 
a Koyal De(;ree,t which, after pronouncing 
the nullity of the constitution of thc! Cortes, 
proceeda as follows: — "Conformably lo my 
feelings, and tho sincere promises of my 
Proclamations, and considering that the an- 
cient fundarruintal laws of the monarchy can- 
not entir(!ly answer my paternal purposes, 
without being accommodated lo the jiiesent 
state of civilization, to the mutual relations 

* Proclamalionfl from Villa Francha of iho 3!«l 
of May and 3(i of June, 
t Of the ISlhof June. 



228 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



)f the diflVrrnt jurts wliich oomiwso the 
moiiaroliy, aiul to the foitn of iviiirseiittUive 
j!:ovtMiiim'nts oslablifilu'il in KurojH\ I h;ivt» 
apiH>inti\l a .hiiitii to preparo iho plan of a 
cliaitor of tlu> tiuuiainoiital laws of iho Poilii- 
p'liosi' nioiiau'liy, whii-h shall Iv foiimloil on 
tlu» piini'ipli's of public law, and opon tho 
way to a piojiiessivo leforniation of the ad- 
ministration."' 

Count Palinolla was appointt'd Presidont 
of this Junta, ooniposod of the most dis- 
tinunishiHl nuMi in tho kingiloni. Thoy com- 
pK'tod thoiiwork in a fow months; and pro- 
pontotl to the King the plan of a Constitu- 
tional Charter, almost exactly the s;une with 
that granted in IS'Jt) by Don Pedro. John 
VI. was tavourable to it, considering it as 
an adaptation of the ancient fundamental 
laws to present circumstances. While the 
reyolution was triumphant, the mon^ reason- 
able l\oyalists regretted that no attempt had 
been made to avoid it by timely conces.sion ; 
and in the tir.st moment of escape, the re- 
mains of the same feelings disposed the 
Court to concede son\ething. I>ut after a 
shoit interval of quiet, the iK)sses.sors of au- 
thority relapsed into the ancient and fatal 
error of their kind, — that of placing their 
security in maintaining the unbounded jxiw er 
wluch had proved their ruin. A resistance 
to the form of the constitution, which grew 
up in the interior of the Court, was fostered 
by foreign inlluence, and after a struggle of 
some months, prevented the promulg^ation 
of the charter. 

In .\pril 1S.24, events occurred at Lisbon, 
on which we shall touch as lightly as possi- 
ble. It is well known that part of the g^ir- 
rison of Lisbon surrounded the King's palace, 
and hiiulered the access of his servants to 
him ; that some of his nvinisters were im- 
prisoned ; that lh(» diplomatic body, including 
the Papal Nuncio, the Freiu-h Ambassjidor, 
and the Russian as well as English Ministers, 
were the n\eans of restoring him to some 
degree of liberty, which was however so 
imperfect and insecure, that, by the advice 
of the French Ambassador, the King took 
refuge on board an Faiglish ship of war lying 
in the Tagus, from w hence he was at length 
able to assert his dignity and re-establish his 
authority. Over the part in these transac- 
tions, into which evil connseiloi-s betrayed 
ihe inexperience of Don Miguelj it is pecu- 
liarly proper to throw a veil, in imitation of 
his father, win) forguve these youthful faults 
us ' involuntary errors.' This proof of the 
unsettled state of the general opinion and 
feeling respecting the government, suggest- 
ed the necessity of a conciliatory measure, 
which might in some measure compens;ito 
for the defeat of the Constitutional Charier in 
the preceding year. The Minister who, 
both in Europe and in America, had attempt- 
ed to avert revolution by reform, was not 
vvanting to his sovereign and his country at 
this crisis. Still counteracted by foreign in- 
lluence, and oojwsed by a colleague who 
was a personal favourite of the King, he 



could not again propose tie Charter, nor 
even obtain so gooil a substitute for it as 
he desiri'd : but he had the merit of being 
always ready to do the btvst practicable. l>y 
his counsel, the King issued a Proclamaton 
on the -llh of Jun(\ tor restoring the ancient 
constitution of the Portuguese monarchy, 
with assurances that a1i assembly of the 
Cortes. orThr(>e Estates of the Realm. shouM 
be speeililv helil with all their legal rights, 
and esjH'cially with the privilege of laying 
before the King, for his consideration, the 
heads of such mea.mres as they might deem 
necessiuy for the public good. To that as- 
sembly was rt'ierreil the consideration of the 
perimlical meetings of succeeding Cortes, 
and 'the means of progressively ameliorating 
the administration of the state.'' The j)ro- 
clamation treats this re-establishment o( the 
ancient constitution as being subslantially 
the same with the Constitutional Charter 
drawn up by the Junta in the preceding 
year ; and it was accordingly follow ed by a 
Decree, dissolving that Junta, as having per- 
formed its oliice. Though these represen- 
tations were not scrupulously true, vi t when 
we conic to see what the rights of the Cortes 
were in ancient times, the language of the 
Proclamation will not be found to deviate 
more widtdy into fal.sehood than is usual in 
the preambles of Acts of State. Had the 
time for the convocation of the Cortes been 
fixed, the restoration of the ancient constitu- 
tion might, without much exaggeration, have 
been called the establishment of liberty. For 
this point the jMarquis Palmella made a 
struggle: but the King thought that he had 
done enou;ih, in granting such a pledge to 
the Constitutionalists, and was willing to 
soothe the Absolutists, by reserving to him- 
self the choice of a time. On the next day 
he created a Junta, to prepare. ' without loss 
of time,' the regulations necessary ' lor the 
convocation of the Cortes, and for the elec- 
tion of the members.' As a new proof of 
the growing conviction that a free constitu- 
tion was necessary, and as a solemn promise 
that it should be established, the Declaration 
of the -llli of June is by no means inferior in 
force to its predecessors. NaV; in that light, 
it may be considered as deriving additional 
strer.gth from those appearances of reserve 
and reluctance which tlistinguish it from the 
more ingenious, and really more politic De- 
clarations of 1823. But its grand defect was 
of a practical nature, and consisted in the 
opportunity which indefinite delay aflbrds, 
I for evading the performance of a promise. 

Immediately after the counter-revolution 

! in 1S2.3, John VI. had sent a mission to Rio 

Janeiro, requiring the submission of his son 

ami h s Brazilian subjects. But whatever 

might be the wislies of Pon Peilro, he had 

no longer the [xiwer to transfer the allegiance 

j of a people who had tasted independence, — 

j who wt're inll of the piide of their new ac- 

! quisition, — who valued it as their only secu- 

I rity ag-ainst the old monopoly, and who may 

1 well be e.\cusod for thinking it more advan- 



CASE OF DONNA MARIA. 



229 



tagoouB to name at homo the officers of thnir 
own i^overiimorit, th.in to ruceivf! rulrns and 
majjistratfs from iho iiitrif,'U(;sol coiiilieiH at 
Lisbon. Don Pedro could not rcblom to 
Portuj^^al her Anfierican empire ; but h<! might 
easily loso Brazil in the attempt. A nego- 
tiation was oj)ened at London, in the year 
1825, ui;der the mediation of Austria and 
England. The differences between the two 
branches of the House of Uraganza were, it 
must be admitted, peculiarly untractable. 
Portugal was to enrrend<;r hi.-r sov(;reigiity, 
or Brazil to resign her independence. Union, 
on equal terms, was fMjually objected to by 
both. It was evident that no amicable issue 
of such a negotiation was possible, w hich did 
not involve acquiescence in the se|)aration ; 
and the very act of und(;rtaking the media- 
tion, sutriciently evinced that this event wag 
contemplated by the mediating Powers. 
The Portuguese minister in Lon<Jon, Count 
Villa-Real, presented projects which seemed 
to contain every concession short of inde- 
jjendenct;: but the Brazilian deputies who, 
though not admitted to the conference, had 
an unofficial intercourse with the British 
Ministers, declared, as might be exp''cted, 
that nothing short of independence could be 
listened to. It was agreed, therefore;, that 
Sir Charles Stuart, who was then about to 
go to Piio .Janeiro to negotiate a treaty be- 
tween England and Brazil, should take f^is- 
bon on his way, and endeavour to disj^ose 
the Portuguese Government to consent to a 
sacrifice which could no longer be avoided. 
He was formally permitted by his own Go- 
vernment to accej)t the office of Miin'ster 
Plenipotentiary from Portugal to fJrazil, if it 
shouM bo proposed to hiai at Lisbon. Cer- 
tainly no man could be more fitted for this 
dehcate mediation, both by his extraordinary 
knowledge of the ancient constitution of 
Portugal, and by the general confidence 
which he had gained while; a minister- of the 
R'^gency during the latter years of the war. 
After a series of conferences with the Comit 
do Porto Santo, Minister for Foreign Affairs, 
which continued from the .5ih of April to ihe 
2.3d of May, and in the cour.se of which two 
points were considced a.s equally uiider- 
Btood, — that John V[. shouM cede to Don 
Pedro th(j sover^Mgnfy of Brazil, and that 
Don Pedro should pr(;serve his undisputed 
right as h(;ir of Portugal, — he set sail forKIo 
Janeiro, furnished with full jjowers, as well 
as instructions, and more especially with 
Royal Letters-Patent of John VL, to be de- 
livered on the conclusion of an amicable ar- 
langenienr. containing the following import- 
ant and flecisive clause : — " And as the suc- 
cession of the Imperial and Royal Crowns 
belongs to my beloved son Don Pedro, I do, 
by th 'se L(!tter.s-Patent, cede a|id transfer to 
him the full exercise of sovereignty in the 
empire of Brazil, which is to be governed by 
him ; nominating him Emperor of Brazil, 
and Prince Royal of Portugal and the Al- 
ga rves." 

A treaty was concluded on the 29th of 



August, by Sir Charles Stuart, recognising 
the inflependence and Sf^paration of Brazil ; 
acknowledging Ihe sovereignly of that coun- 
try to be vesle<l in Don Pivjioj allowing the 
King of Portugal aI.<o to assume the Imperial 
title J binding the Emperor of Brazil to reject 
lh(! offer of any Portuguese colony to be in- 
corj)orated with his dominions; and contaiii- 
ii:g some other stipulations usual in treaties 
of peace. It was ratified at Lisbon, on the 5lh 
of Novemb(,'r followinir, by Letters- Patent,* 
from which, at the rifck of some repetition, it 
is necessary to extract two clauses, the de- 
cisive importance of which will be shortly 
.seen. " I have ceded and transferred to my 
Ixdoved son Don P'llro de Alcantara, heir 
and succ(;ssor of these kingdoms, all my 
rights over that country, recognising its in- 
dependence witfi thi; title of empire." "We 
recogrnse our said son Don Pedro de Alcan- 
tara, Prince of Portu:{al and the Algarves, as 
Emperor, and having the exercise of sove- 
reignty in the whole empire." 

The part of this proceeding which is in- 
tended to pres<!rve the right of 8UcceBs:on to 
the crown of Poitug;il to Don Pedro, is 
strictly conformable to diplomatic usnge, and 
to th(; princi[)les of the law f)f nations. 
VVhatever relates to the cession of a claim i.s 
the proper subject of agreement between 
the parties, and is the^refore inserted in tho 
treaty. The King of Portugal, the former 
Sovereign of Brazil, cedes his rights or pre- 
tensions in that country to his son. He re- 
leases all his former subjects from iheir alle- 
giance. He aI)anilons those claims \vhich 
;ilone could give him any colour or pretext 
for interfering in the internal affairs of that 
vast region. Nothing could have done this 
effectuallv, solemnly, and notoriously, but 
the express stipulation of a treaty. Had Don 
Pedro therefore been at the sJirne time un- 
derstood to renounce his right of succession 
to thf! crown of Portugal, an explicit stipula- 
tion in the treaty to that efTect would have 
been necessary: for such a renunciation 
would have been the cession of a right. Had 
it even been understood, that the recognition 
of his authority as an independent monarch 
implied the abdication of his rii.'hts as heir- 
apparent to the Portuguese crown, it would 
have been consonant to the general tenor of 
the tre: tv, explicitly to recognise this abdica- 
tion. The silence of the treaty is a proof 
that none of the parties to it considered these 
rights as taken away or impaired, by any 
previous or concomitant circumstance. Sti- 
pulations were necessary when the stale of 
regal rights was to be altered ; but they 
would be at least imf)ertinent where it re- 
mained unchanged. Sdence is in the latter 
case sufTicient ; since, where nothing is to 
be done, nothing neiids be said. There ia 
no stipulation in the treaty, by which Don 
Pedro acknowledges the sovereignty of his 
father in Portugal ; because that sovereignty 
is left in the same condition in which it wa» 



Gazeta de Lisbon, of the 15ih of Novembei 

. u 



230 



MACKINTOSH'S RIISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Wfoiv. For llu> vtMV fvuiio iva.-ioii tho lii>;ity 
lias no ailii>lt> lor llu> pii-sorvatioii of I\iii 
IVilro"s iii;ht ol" siuv<-:>s;on to Porm^iil. Hail 
l\>ii I'l'ilio n-quiivil a slipulalioii in llit< lit>aty 
for the inainttMiaiiro of llu-sc rij^litti. he wmilil 
have iloiif an ai-t wlui'h wonlil have tt luU'il 
nioro to brini;' tlii-ni into qm-stiou, llian to 
eUonjzllu'n iIumii. As tlu-y w tMV rij:hls w liicli 
Jolni VI. oouKl not tako away, it ^^as (ii and 
visototroat ihoin also as ri<:hts w liioli no 
art of liis ooiiKI bestow or coiilirni. 

l^iil thouuli a provision for tho prosorvation 
of tlioso rights ni iho troaty was nooiUt-ss, 
and woulil have boon alto>ii>thor niisjilacod, 
lluMo wero occasions on which the rocoy,ni- 
tioii of thcni was lit, and, as a matter of 
abundant caution, expedient. These occa- 
sions are accordingly not j^assed ovim'. Tlie 
Kinu' of Portniial styles Pon Pedro the lieir 
of IViluu^al. both in"the lirst Letters-Patent, 
aiKlress;>d to his Brazilian subjects, in wlileli 
ho recojinises the iiulepeniliMice of l^razil, 
and in the second, aildressed to his Porlu 
g:iiese subjects, where he ralilies the treaty 
which detiniiively establ.shed that ir.depeuil- 
enco. Ai"knowledi;ed to be the monarch, 
and for the time the lawfjiver of Porluii^d, 
and necess;irily in these acts, claimini:' the 
same authority in Kra/il, lie announces to 
the people of both countries that the rij^ht 
ot Ins eldest son to inherit the crown was, in 
November 1S25, inviolate, unimpaired, un- 
questioned. 

Tho ratilications are, besides, a portion of 
the treaty; and when they are e.xchaniied, 
they become as nuich articles of aj;reemeiit 
between the parties, as any i>art of it which 
hears that nanu\ The recoiiiiition repeated 
in this Katitication proceeileil from John VI., 
and was acce])teil by Don Pedro. Nolhmg 
hut express words could have taken away 
so important a riiiht as that of .succession to 
the crown : in this case, there are express 
words which lecoj^nise it. Thou^ih it has 
beiMi shown that silence would have been 
sntlicient, the same conclusion would un- 
answerably follow, if tho premises were far 
more scanty. The law of nations has no 
established forms, a deviation from w hich is 
fatal to the validity of the trasactions to which 
they are appropriated. It admits no merely 
toi'huii'al objei'tions to coiiventioiis formed 
uuiler its autliority, aiul is bound by no posi- 
tive rules iu the interpretation of them. 
Wherever the intention of contractiufi' par- 
ties is plain, it is the sole interpreter of a 
contract. Now, it is needless to say that, in 
the Treaty of Rio Janeiro, taken with tlie 
precediuiT and following' LiMlers-Patent, tlie 
manifest inlfntion of John VI. was not to im- 
pair, but to recoiiiiise the ri<:his of his eldest 
I50n to the inheritance of Portua'iil. 

On the lOih of March ISOe. John VI. died 
at Lisbon. On hs death-bed. how<>ver, he 
had maile provision for the tempoiarv admi- 
nistration of the aovennnent. Bv a Royal 
Decree, of the Gth,* he conmiilted the go- 

* (TQzcta de Lisbon, of the 7th of March. 



verinnent to his dani^hter, the Infanta Doni.a 
ls;ibella Maria, assisted by a council durhifj 
his illness, or, in the event of his death, liK 
'' //(•• Ic'^iliDuilc heir ai.d successor to the crown 
should makt> other provision in this rt-spect." 
These words have no anibij:uity. In every 
hereditary monarchy tlu^y must naturally, 
and ahnost n("ces.<ardy, denote the eldest son 
of the King, when he leaves a son. It would, 
in such a case, reijuire thi- strongest t^vitlence 
to warrant the application of them to any 
other person. It is clear that the King iinist 
have had an uidiviilual in view, iniU ss we 
ailopt the most extravagant supposition that, 
as a dying bequest to his subji'cts, he meant 
to leave them a di.xnuted succes-^ion and a 
civil war. Who could tliat iiidiviiiual be, 
but Poll Pedro, liis eldest son, whom, ac- 
conling to the ancient order of snci'e.<sion to 
tht> crown of Portugid, he had hmisell called 
^' heir and successor," on ihe lolli of Miiy and 
5lh of November ]n-ecediiig. Such, accord- 
ingly, was the conviction, and the corres- 
pondent conduct of all wliost; rights or in- 
terests weie concerned. The Kegency waa 
immeiliately installed, and universally obey- 
ed at home, as well as nckiiowledgetl, with- 
out hesitation or delay, by all ilie I'owers of 
Europe. The Princess Kegent acted in the 
name, and on the behalf of her brother, Don 
Pedro. It was inipossibl«> that tin- succession 
of any Prince to a throne could be more quiet 
and undi.spuKHl. 

The lugency. witliont delay, notified tlie 
demise of the late King to their new Sove- 
reign : and then the dillicnlties of that 
Prince's situation beg^an to show lhenis(>lves. 
Though the treaty had not weakened his 
heit-ditary right to Portugal, yet the main 
objectof it was to provide, not only for the 
iiuiepeiulence of Tiazil, but for its "separa- 
tion" from Portugal, which mulmibtedly im- 
porttul a separation of the crowns. Possess- 
ing the government of Brazil, and inheriting 
that ol Portugal, he became bound by all the 
obligations of the treaty between the two 
states. Though he inherited the crown of 
Portugiil by the laws of that country, yet he 
was tlisibli'd by treaty from permanently 
continuing to lioKI it with that of Brazil. But 
if, laying a.side unprolitable snbtillies, we 
consult only conscience and coniinon sense, 
we shall soon discover that these rights anil 
duties are not repugnant, but that, on the 
contrary, the legal right is the only means 
of performing the federal duty. The treaty 
did not expressly determine whii h of the 
two crowns Don Pedro was bound to re- 
nounce; it therefore left him to make an 
option between them. For the implied obli- 
g-ations of a contract extend only to tho.se 
acts of the parties which are necessary to 
the atlaiumeiit of its professed object. If 
he chose, — as he has chosen, — to retain tho 
crown of Brazil, it could not. by reasonable 
implication, ri'iinire an instantaneous abdica- 
tion of that ol Portug-iil; because such a 
limitation of time was not necessary, and 
might have been very hijurious to the object. 



CASE OF DONNA MARIA. 



2tl 



It left the choice of limf;, marirK;r, ami con- 
ditio;i8 to himself, requiring only ^ood faith, 
and iiitcirdicliii;^ iiolhi/i^ but (rauduj<;iit d(flay. 
Had h<! not (atxordin;,' to iho piinc.iplo of 
all h(;r<;d.laiy moriatchs) bccorrn; Kmjr of 
Portuj^al at thi; itiKtaiit of hi.s falfuM's (JeiaiK(;, 
there would havM b<;(;ii no i)orw>n po-iS('KH<,(l 
of tliM l(';^al and actual powur in both coun- 
tries necessary to carry the treaty of Kepara- 
tion into effect. If the Portuguese had not 
acquiesced in his authority, they must have 
voluntarily cliosen anarchy; for no one could 
have the power to dischar'^e the duty in^i- 
nosed by treaty, or to provide for any of the 
important (diaiiires which it rnij^ht ocwisJon. 
The most rr^markable example of this latter 
BOrt, was the ordei- of succession. Th(! 8;?pa- 
ration of the two crowns rendfjred it abso- 
lutely Jrnpossible to preserve that order in 
both monarchies; for both beiiif^ hererJitary, 
the le^al order required that both crowns 
ehould descend to the same persfjn, the eldest 
son of Don Pedro — the very union which it 
was the main or sole purpose of the treaty 
to prevent. A breach in the order of suc- 
cession became therefore inevitable, eithi-r 
in Portugal or Brazil. Necessity required 
the deviation. But the same necessity vested 
in Don Pedro, as a kin^ and a father, the 
power of regulalin;(in this respect, the rights 
of his family: and the j)errnanenl jxjiicy of 
monarchies requiri'd that he should carry 
the deviation no farth(!r than the necessity. 

As the nearer female would inherit before 
the more distant male, Don Mij^uel had no 
rifjht which was immediately involved in 
the arran;,'ement to be ado[)ted. It is ao 
knowled^jed, that the two daughters of Jolui 
VI., married and domiciled in Spain, had 
lost their rights as members of the Royal 
Family. Neither the Queen, nor indeed any 
other person, had a l(?{:al title to tlie re^^ency, 
which in Poriu;;^al, as in France and En<s- 
land, was a case omitted in the conslifulional 
laws, and, as no Cortes had been assemblinl 
for a century, could oidy be provided for by 
the Kin;.', who, of necessity, was the tempo- 
rary law^^iver. The only parties who could 
be directly afTe.cted by the; allotment of the 
two crowns, were the children of Don Pedro, 
the eldest of whom was in her sixth year. 
The more every minute part of this case is 
considfjred, the more obvious and in<Iispula- 
ble will appear to be the necessity, that Don 
Pedro should retain the powers of a Kin^^ 
of Portu:^al, until he hacl employed them 
for the quiet and safety of both kin;rdoms, 
as far as these rnif'ht be endanjjered by the 
separation. He held, and holds, that crown 
as a trustee for the execution of the treaty. 
To hold it after the trust is performed, would 
be usurpation; to renounce it before that 
period, would be treachery to the trust. 

That Don Pedro should have chosen Brazil, 
must have always been foreseen; for his 
election was almost determined by his pre- 
cedinjr conduct. He preferred Brazil, where 
he harl been the founder of a state, to Por- 
lugalj where the mpst conspicuous meaaures 



of his life could be viewed with no rnoro 
than reluctant acquiescr;nce. The next que»- 
tion which aros^! was, vvh(;therthe inevitable 
breach in the order of succession was to be 
made in Porlu;^al or Biazil ; or, ni other 
words, of which of these two disjoii.trd kinj;- 
doms, the Infant Don Sebastiati should bo 
the heir-apparent. The father made tho 
same choice for his eldest son as for himself. 
As Don Sebastian preserved his rif^hl of suc- 
cession in Brazil, the principle of the least 
possible deviation from the legal order re- 
quin.-d that the crown of Portugal should 
devolve on his sister Donna Maria, the next 
in succession of the Royal Family. 

Aft<;r this exposition of the ri^/hts and do- 
ties of Don P(;dro, founded on the jjrinciples 
of jjublic law, and on the oblij^alions of 
treaty, and of the motives of policy which 
have influenced him in a case where he was 
left free to follow the dictates of his own 
jud<(m(;nt, let us consider very shortly what 
a conscientious ruler would, in such a caso, 
deem necessary to secure to both poitionsoi 
his subjects all the advantages of thi-ir new 
position. lie would be desirous of solteiiing 
the humiliation of one. of effacing the recent 
animosities between them, and^ol reviving 
tlieir arici(;iit frie-ndship, by pr<;servnig every 
tie which reminded them of foinier union 
and common descent. He would th'-refore, 
even if he were impartial, desire that they 
should continue underthe sameRrjyal Family 
which had for centuries ruled both. He 
would labour, as far as the case allowed, to 
strenylhen the connections of lantnage, of 
traditions, of manners, and of religion^ by 
the resemblance of laws and institutions. 
He would clearly see that his Brazilian sub- 
jects, never could trust his fididity to their 
limited monarchy, if he maintaine'l an abso- 
lute govf;rnmeiit in Pijituiial ; and that the 
Portuguese people would not long endure to 
be treated as slaves, while those whom they 
were not accustomed to r«'gard as llieir su 
periors were thought worthy of the most 
popular constitution. However much a mon- 
arch was indifferent or adverse to liberty, 
these considerations would lose nothing of 
their political im[)r)rtance : for a single false 
stej) in this path might overthrow monarchy 
in Brazil, and either drive Portugal into a re- 
volution, or seat a foreign army in her pro- 
vinces, to prevent it. It is evident that po- 
pular institutions can alone preserve mon- 
archy in Brazil from falling before tlie prin- 
ciples of republican America ; and it will 
hardly be denied, that, thoutrh some have 
questioned the advantage of liberty, no peo- 
ple were ever so mean-spirited as not to ho 
indiirnant at being thought unworthy of it, as 
a privilege. Viewing liberty with the same 
cold neutrality, a wise statesman would have 
thought it likely to give stability to a new 
I government in Portugal, and to be received 
i there as wmiecori«r»lalion for losf«of dominion. 
I Portugal, like all the other countries between 
the Rhine and the Mediterranean, had bee/i 
I convulsed by conquest and revolution. Am- 



232 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



bition and rapacity, fear and revenge, politi- 
cal fanaticism and religious bigotry, — all the 
ungovernable passions which such scenes 
excite, still agitated the minds of those who 
had been actors or victims of them. Expe- 
rience has proved, that no expedient can ef- 
fectually allay these deep-seated disorders, 
but the institution of a government in which 
all interests and opinions are represented, — 
which keeps up a perpetual negotiation be- 
tween them, — which compels each in its 
turn to give up some part of its pretensions, — 
and which provides a safe field of contest in 
those cases where a treaty cainiot be con- 
cluded. Of all the stages in the progress of 
human society, the period which succeeds 
the troubles of civil and foreign war is that 
which most requires this remedy: for it is 
that in which the minds of men are the most 
dissatisfied, the most active, and the most 
aspiring. The experiment has proved most 
eminently successful in the Netherland.s, 
now beyond all doubt the best governed 
country of the Continent. It ought to be 
owned, that it has also in a great measure 
succeeded in France, Italy, and Spain. Of 
these countries we shall now say nothing 
but that, being occupied by foreign armies, 
they cannot be quoted. If any principle be 
now universally received in government, it 
seems to bo, that the disorders of such a 
country must either be contained by foreign 
arms, or composed by a representative con- 
eiitntion. 

But there were two circumstances which 
rendered the use of Ih s latter remedy pecu- 
liarly advisable in Portugal. The first is, 
that it was ,«o explicitly, repeatedly, and 
solemnly promised by .lohn VI. In the se- 
cond place, the establrshment of a free con- 
stitution in Portugal, afforded an opportunity 
of sealing a definitive treaty of peace be- 
tween the most discordant parties, by open- 
ing (after a due period of probation) to the 
Prince whom the Ultra-Royalist faction had 
placed in their front, a prospect of being one 
day raised to a higher station, under the 
system of liberty, than he could have ex- 

Kected to. reach if both Portugal and Bra:iil 
ad continued in slavery.* 
It is unworthy of a statesman, or of a phi- 
losopher, to waste time in childishly regret- 
ting the faults of a Prince's personal character. 
The rulers of Portn<;al can neither create 
circumstances, nor form men according to 
their wishes. They must take men and 
things as they find them; and their wisdom 
will be shown, by turning both to the' best 
account. The occasional occurrence of great 
personal faults in prince.?, is an inconveni- 
ence of hereditary monarchy, which a wise 
limitation of rojal power may abate and 
mitigate. Elective governments are not alto- 
gether exempt from the same evils, besides 

* 'I'his wns written in the month of December, 
1826, before the plan for cnnciliatitig the two op- 
posite poliiieal parties by means of a matrimonial 
aiiiince between Donna Maria and her uncle was 
abandoned. — Ed. 



being liable to others. All comparison of 
the two systems is, in the present case, a 
mere exercise of ingenuity: for it is appa- 
parent, that liberty has at this time no chance 
of establishment in Portugal, in any other 
form than ihat of a limited monarchy. The 
situation of Don Miguel renders it possible to 
form the constitution on an union between 
him, as the representative of the Ultia-Roy- 
alists, and a young Princess, whose rights 
will be incorporated with the establishment 
of liberty. 

As soon as Don Pedro was informed of his 
father's death, he proceeded to the perform- 
ance of the task which had devolved on him. 
He began, on the 20th of April, by ginnting 
a Constitutional Charter to Portugal. On the 
26th, he confirmed the Regency appointed 
by his father, till the proclamation of the 
constitution. On the 2d of May he abdica- 
ted the crown in favour of his daughter, 
Donna Maria; on condition, however, '-that 
the abdication should not be valid, and the 
Princess should not quit Brazil, until it be 
made officially known to him, that the con- 
stitution had been sworn to. according lo his 
orders; and that the espousals of the Prin- 
cess with Don Miguel should have been 
made, and the marriage concluded ; ami that 
the ahdidation and cession should not take 
pitice if either of these two conditions should 
fail."* On the 26lh of April. Letters-Patent, 
or writs of summons, had issued, addiesscd 
to each of those who were to form the House 
of Peeis, of which the Duke de Catlaval was 
named President, and the Patriarch Elect of 
Lisbon Vice-President. A Decree had also 
been issued on the same day, commanding 
the Regency of Portugal to lake the neces- 
sary measures for the immediate election of 
members of the other House, according to 
the tenor of the constitutional law.t When 
these laws and decrees were received at 
Lisbon, the Regency proceeded instantly to 
put them into execution; in consequence of 
which, the Constitution was proclaimed, the 
Regency installed, the elections commenced, 
and the Cortes were finally assembled at 
Lisbon on the .30th of October. 

Whether the Emperor of Brazil had, by 
the laws of Portug-al, the power to regulate 
the affairs of that kingdom, had hitherto 
given rise to no question. All [larties with 
in and without Portugal had treated his right 
of succession to his father in the throne of 
that kingdom as undisputed. But no sooner 
had he exercised that right, by the grant of 
a free constitution, than it was discovered 
by some Ultra-Royalists, that he had for- 
feited the right itself; that his power over 
Portugal was an usurpation, and his con.stitu- 
tional law an absolute nullity ! Don Miguel, 
whose name was perpetually in the mouth 
of these writers, continued at Vienn?. The 
Spanish Government and its officers breathed 
menace and invective. Foreign agency 



* Diario Fluminense, of the 20ih of May. 
t Ibid. 3d of May. 



CASE OF DONNA MARIA. 



233 



manifested itself in Portugal ; and some 
bodies of troops, both on the northern and 
Bouthern frontier, wore excited to a sedition 
for slavery. "All foreigners," say the ob- 
jectors," are, by the fundamental laws of 
Portugal, excluded from the succession to 
the crown. This law passed at the foun- 
dation of the monarchy, by the celebrated 
Cortes of Larnego, in 1143, was confirmed, 
strengthened, and enlarged by the Cortes of 
1G41 ; and under it, on the last occasion, the 
King of Spain was declared an usurper, and 
the House of Brjiganz'a were raised to the 
throne. Don Pedro had, by the treaty which 
recognii^'d him as Emperor of Brazil, be- 
come a foreign sovereign, and was therefore, 
at the death of his father, disqualified from 
mheriting the crown of Portugal." 

A few years after the establishment of the 
Normans in England, Henry, a Burgundian 
Prince, who served under the King of Castile 
in his wars against ihe Moors, obtained from 
that monarch, as a fief, the newly conquer- 
ed territory between the rivers Douro and 
Minho. His son Alfonso threw off the su- 
periority of Castile, and, after defeating the 
Moors at the great battle of Campo Ouriquez, 
in 1139, was declared King by the Pope, and 
acknowledged in that character by an as- 
sembly of the principal persons of the com- 
munity, held at Lamego, in 1143. composed 
of bishops, nobles of the court, and. as it 
should seem, of procurators of the towns. 
The crown, after much altercation, was made 
hereditary, first in males and then in females; 
but on condition "that the female should 
always marry a JT\a.n of Portugal, that the 
kingdom might not fall to foreigners; and 
that if she should marry a foreign prince, 
she should not be Queen ;" — '^because we will 
that our kingdom shall go only tothe Portu- 
gnesCj who, by their bravery, have made tis 
King ivitjbout foreign aidP On being asked 
whether the King should pay tribute to the 
King of Leon, they all rose up, and. with 
naked swords uplifted, and answered, "Our 
King is independent; ourarmshave delivered 
us; the King who con.sents to such things 
shall die." The King, with his drawn sword 
in his hand, said, "If any one consent to 
such, let him die. If he should be my son, 
let him not reian." 

The Cortes of 1641, renewing the laws of 
Lamego, determined that, according to these 
fundamental institutions, the Spanish Princes 
had been usurpers, and pronounced John. 
Duke of Braganza, who had already been 
seated on the throne by a revolt of the whole 
people, to be the rightful heir. This Prince, 
though he appears not to have had any pre- 
tensions as a male heir, yet seems to have 
been the representative of the eldest female 
who had not lost the right of succession by 
marriage to a foreigner; and, consequently, 
he was entitled to the crown, according to 
the order of succession established at Lame- 
go. The Three Estates presented the Heads 
of laws to the King, praying that effectual 
means might be taken to enforce the exclu- 
30 



sion of foreigners from the throne, according 
to the laws passed at Lamego.* But as the 
Estates, according to the old constitution of 
Portugal, presented their Chapters severally 
to the King, it was possible that they might 
differ; and they did so, in some respects, on 
this important occasion, — not indeed as to 
the end, for which they were equally zeal- 
ous, but as to the choice of the best means 
of securing its constant attainment. The 
answer of the King to the Ecclesiastical Es- 
tate was as follows: — "On this Chapter, for 
which I ihank you, I have already answered 
to the Chapters of the States of the People 
and of the Nobles, in ordaining a law to be 
made in conformity to that ordained by Don 
John IV., with the declarations and modifi- 
cations which shall be most conducive to the 
conservation and common good of the king- 
dom." Lawyers were accordingly appointed 
to draw up the law ; but it is clear that the 
reserve of the King left him ample scope for 
the exercise of his own discretion, even if it 
had not been rendered necessary by the va- 
riation between the proposals of the three 
Orders, respecting the means of its execu- 
tion. But, in order to give our opponents 
every advantage, as we literally adopt their 
version, so we shall suppose (for the sake 
of argument) the royal assent to have been 
given to the Chapter of the Nobles without 
alteration, and in all its specific provisions; 
it being that on which the Absolutists have 
chosen to place their chief reliance. The 
Chapter stands thus in their editioris : — " The 
Slate of the Nobility prays your Majesty to 
enact a law, ordaining that the succession 
to the kingdom may never fall to a foreign 
Prince, nor to his children, though they may 
be the next to the last' in possession ; and 
that, in case the King of Portugul sliould be 
called to the succe.ssion of anolher c;own, or 
of a greater empire, he be compelled to live 
always there ; and that if he has tv o or more 
male children, the eldest son shall assume 
the reins in the foreign country, and the 
second in Portugal, and the latter shall be 
the only recognised heir and Icailimate suc- 
cessor; and. in case there should be only 
one child to inherit these two kingdoms, 
these said kingdoms shall be divi(ied be- 
tween the children of the latter, in the order 
and form above mentioned. In case there 
shall be daughters only, the eldest shall suc- 
ceed in this kingdom, with th<" declaration 
that she marry here with a native of the 
country, chosen and named by the Three 
Estates assembled in Cortes : .«hould she 
marry' without the consent of the States, she 
and her descendants shall be declared in- 
capable, and be ousted of the succession j 
and the Three Estates shall be at liberty to 
choose a King from among the natives?, if 
there be no male relation of the Royal Fami- 
ly to whom the succession should devolve." 
Now the question is, whether Pedro IV. as 
the monarch of Brazil, a country separated 
from Portugal by treaty, became a foreian 
prince, in the sense intended by these an* 
u2 



834 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



cient laws, and was llu'ieby dis;ibli^(l from 
inluMitiiiL!; the oiowa ol" I'oitugal on tho do- 
ceas.' of Jolm VL ? 

This (iiu'stioii is not to bo decided by ver- 
bal ehicuao. Tlio misohief provideil a^aiiist 
ill llu'so laws was twuruld : — the supposed 
probability of mal-adiiiiiiistratioii ihroiiiih the 
suceessioii of a foreigner, ignorant of tlio 
conntry and not attaeiied lo it ; and the loss 
of donirslie government, if il fell by inheri- 
tance to tlie sovereign of another, espeeially 
a greater eonntry. The intention of the law- 
giver lo gnaril ag;iinst both these oeeurrenees 
affords the only sure means of aseortaining 
the meaning ot his wonls. But the present 
case has not even the slightest tendency lo 
expose the country to either danger. Pedro 
IV. is a native Portugnesi^, presunieil to have 
as much of the knowledge and feelings bo- 
longing to that character as any of his pre- 
decessois. Tlie danger to PorUiguese inde- 
pendence arises from the inheritance of the 
crown devolving I'u pcrpctiiitii, and irithoiit 
qiialijicalioti, lo a foreign sovereign. Sncli 
was the t>vil actnally experienced under 
Philip 11. King of Spain, and his two succes- 
sors ; and (he most cursory glance over tht» 
law of 1G41 shows thai the Cortes h;ul that 
case in view. Had the present resembled it 
in the important quality of a claim to un- 
condiiicMiai inheritance, the authority would 
have bci'u strong. But, instead of being an- 
ne.voil to a foreign dominion, Pedro IV. takes 
it only for the express j>urpose of eflecluallv 
and perpetually disanne.ving his other terri- 
tories from it : — a purpose which he imme- 
diately proceeds to carry into execution, by 
e.slablishing a dilferent line of succession 
for the crowns of both countries, and by an 
abdication, which is to take eflect as soon as 
ho has placed the new establishment in a 
Plate of security. The case provided against 
by the law is, that of permanent annexation 
to a foreign crown : the right exercised by 
Pedro TV. is, that of a guardian and adminis- 
trator of the kingdom, during an operation 
which is uecessiry to secure it again.'^t such 
annexation. The whole transaction is con- 
formable to the spirit of the two laws, and 
not repugnant to their letter. 

That a tcmih^rary ml ministration is per- 
fectly consistent wiih these laws, is evident 
from the passnge : — - If the King of Portug-al 
should be called to the succession of another 
crown, and there should be only one child to 
inherit the two kingdoms, these said king- 
doms shall be divided among the children 
of the latter" — meanin<j: after his death, and 
if he should leave children. Here then is a 
case of tcmporari) aihninistration expressly 
provided for. The father is to rule 6o^A king- 
doms, till there should be at least two chil- 
dren to render tiie division practicable. He 
becomes, for an uncertain, and possibly a 
long period, tho provisional sovereign of 
both; merely becau.se he is presumed to be 
the most proper regulator of territories which 
are to be divided between his posterity. 
Now, the principle of such an express excep- 



tion is, by tho rules of fair const i-'icl ion, ap- 
plicable to every truly and evidently paiallel 
case ; and there is [)recisely the same reason 
for the tutelary power of I'edro IV. iis there 
would be for that of a father, in the event 
contemplated by the law of 1()4I. 

The ed'ect of the Treaty of Uio .laneiro 
cannot be inconsist(>nl witli this tempcnary 
unii)n. Even on the princijile of our opi)0- 
nents, it must exist for a shorter or long_er 
time. The Treaty did not deprive J'edro of 
his option between Portugal and Brazil: ho 
must have possessed 'boih crowns, when he 
was called ujion to determine which of them 
he would lay down. But if it be acknow- 
ledgeil thai a short but actual union is ne- 
cessary, in onler to effect the abdication, 
how can il be pretended that a longer union 
may not be eijually justifiable, for the honest 
purpose of quiet anil amicable sepii ration ? 

The Treaty of Rio dt> Janeiro would have 
been srif-dcstnictivr, if it had taken from 
Pedro ihi> power of sovereiiiiity in Portugal 
immediately on the death ot his father: for 
in that cnse no authority wouKl exist eapable 
of carrying the Treaty into execution. It 
must have been left to civil war todetermino 
xA'ho was to govern the kingilom ; w hile, if 
we ailopt the principle of Pedro's ht>reditary 
succession by law, together with his obliga- 
tion by treaty to separate the kingiloms, the 
whole is consistent with its(>lf, and every 
measure is quietly and regularly carrietl into 
etiect. 

To these considerations we must add the 
recoanition of Pedro "as heir and successor" 
in the Batilicalion. Either John VI. had 
powtM' to tlecid(^ this questu)n, or he had not. 
if he had not. the Treaty is null; for it is 
impossible to deny that the recognition is 
really a condition granted to Brazil, which is 
a security for ils imlependence, and the 
breach of which would annul the whole 
contract. In that case, Portugal and Brazil 
are not legally .separated. Pedro IV. cannot 
be called, a ''foreign prince;" and no law 
forbids him to reside in the American pro- 
vinces of the Portuguese dominions. In that 
case also, exercising all the power of his im- 
mediate predecessors, his authority in Por- 
tugal becomes absolute ; he may punish the 
Absolutists as rebels, acconiing to their own 
princii)les; and it will be for them to show, 
that his rights, as supreme lawgiver, can 
be bounded by laws called ' fundainental.' 
But. — to lake a more sober view, — can it be 
doubteil, that, in a country where the mo- 
narch had exercised the whole lt>g'slative 
power for more than a century, his authori- 
tative interpretation of the ancient laws, es- 
pecially if it is part of a compact with another 
state, must be conclusive? By repeatedly 
declaring in the introduction to the Treaty, 
and in the Katilication of it, that IVdro Iv. 
was "heir and successor" of Portu:.'aI, and 
that he was not divested of that character by 
the Treatv, which recogniseil him as Sove- 
reign of Brazil, John VI. did most ileliber- 
alely and solcmidy dclerniine, thai his eklest 



CHARLES, FIRST MARQUIS CORNWALLIS. 



235 



non waH not a " foreign prinoo" in the sense 
id which thedu words are used by the ancient 
laws. Such too seems to have been the 
sense of all parties, even of those th(! most 
bitt(;rly advfMse to l*(;dro IV.. and most de(;|)- 
ly inlerest(;d in ilisputinj^ his siiceessioii, till 
he granted a Constitutional Charter to the 
peo|)le of I*ortn;r.il. 

John VI., by his decree for the re-e.sta- 
blishrnent of the ancient constitution of Por- 
tU!?al, had really abolished tlie absolute mo- 
narchy, and in its stead established a govern- 
ment, wliich, with all its inconveniences and 
defects, was founded on principles of lib(;rty. 
For let it not b(! supposed that the ancient 
constitution of Portu;(al had become forgot- 
ten or unknown by disuse for centuries, like 
those legendary systems, under cover of 
which any novelty may be called a restora- 
tion. It was perfectly wedl known ) it was 
long practis(;d ; and never legally abrogated. 
Indeeil the same may be aflirmiMJ, witli 
erjual truth, of the ancient institutions of 
the other inhabitants of the Peninsula, who 
were among the oldest of free nations, but 
who have so fallen from their high estate as 
lobe now publicly represented as delighting 
in their chains and glorying in their shame. 
Ill Portugal, however, the usurpation of ab- 
sulute power was not much older than a cen- 
tury. Wh have already seen, that the Cortes 
of Lami'go, the found(;rs of the monarchy, 
proclaimed the right of thr nation in a spirit 
as generous, and in a Latinity not much 
more barbarous, than that of the authors of 
M;igna Charta about seventy yeans later. 

The Infant Don Mi^el has sworn to ob- 



serve and maintain the constitution. In the 
act of his espousals he acknowledges the so- 
vereignty of the young Queen, ami describes 
himself as only her first subject. The muti- 
ni(!s of the Portugui'se soldiers bive ceased ; 
but the conduct of the Court of Madrid still 
continues to kee[) up agilution and alarm: 
for no chan<>e was ever effected which did 
not excite discontent and turbulence enough 
to serve the purposes of a neighbour strain- 
ing every nerve to vex and distuiba country. 
The submission of Don Migu(d to his brother 
and sovereign are, we trust, sincere. He 
will observe his oath to maintain the consti- 
tution, and cheerfully take his j)lace as the 
first subject of a limiti'd monarchy. The 
station to which he is destined, and the in- 
fluence which must long, and may always 
belong to it, form toii-ether a more, altiiu;tive 
object of ambition than any thing which ho 
could otherwise have hoped pcinu-<t\>\y and 
lawfully to attain. No man of c(jrnrnon pru- 
dence, whatever may be h.s political opi 
nions, will advise the young Pi. nee to put 
such de'sirable prospects to hazard. He will 
be told by all such counsellors of every party 
that he must now ada|)t himself to occur- 
rences whicfi he may learn to consider a."* 
fortunate; that loyalty to his brother and 
his country would now be his clearest inter- 
est, if they were not his liighest duty ; that 
he must forget all his eiimiti<!s, ri'iKnjnce all 
his prejudice.s, aiul even saeridce .'<ome of his 
partialities; and that he must leave lull time 
to a gr(!at part of the people of Portugal to 
recover from those prepossessions and re- 
pugnances which they may have contracted. 



CHARACTER 



CHAULES, FUIST MAliaUIS COIINWALLIS/ 



CjrARf.KS, Marquis Cornwallis, the repre- 
sentative of a family of ancient distinction, 
and of no modiirn nobility, had embraced 
in early youth the profession of arms. The 
sentiments which have descended to us from 
ancient times have almost required the sa- 
crifice of p{!r.'<onal ease, and tJie exposure 
of personal safely, from those who inherit 
distinction. All the superiority conffjrred 
by society must either be earned by pre- 
vious services, or at least justifunl by subse- 
quent merit. The mo.st arduous exertions 



* This character formed the chief part of a dis- 
course (Iclivere'i at [{otnbay soon after ihc de- 
cease of Lord Cornwallis. 



are therefore imposed on those who enjoy 
advantages which they have not earned. 
Noblemen are retjuired to devote themselves 
to daiiirer for the saiety of theii- f I low-citi- 
zens, and to spill their liloed rnnn.- readily 
j than others in the public cause. Their 
j choice is almost limited to thai profession 
j which derives its dignity from the contempt 
■ of dang(*r and death, and which is preserved 
from mercenary contamination bv th(^ severe 
I but noble renunciation of every reward ex 
cept honour. 

In the early stages of his life there were 
no remarkable events. His sober and well- 
regulated mind probably submitted to thai 
industry which is the excellence of a subor 



S36 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



dinate station, and the basis of higher useful- 
ness in a more elevated sphere. The bril- 
liant irregularities which are the ambiguous 
distinctions of the youth of others found no 
place in his. He lirst appeared in the eye 
of the public during the unhappy civil war 
between Great Britain and her Colonies, 
which terminated in the division of the em- 
pire. His share in that contest was merely 
military : in that, as well as in every subse- 
quent part of his life, he was happily free 
from tliose conflicts of faction in which the 
hatred of one portion of our fellow-citizens is 
msured by those acts which are, necessary 
to purchase the transient and capricious at- 
tachment of the othe'r. A soldi-er, rriore for- 
tunate, deserves, and generally receives, the 
unanimous thanks of his country. 

It would bo improper here to follow him 
through all the vicissitudes of that eventful 
war. There is one circumstance, however, 
which forms too important a part of his cha- 
racter to be omitted, — he was unfortunate. 
But the moment of misfortune was, perhaps, 
the most honourable moment of his life. 
So unshaken was the respect felt, that ca- 
lamity did not lower him in the eyes of that 
public which is so prone to estimate men 
merely by the effect of their councils. He 
was not received with those frowns which 
often undeservedly await the return of the 
unsuccessful general : his country welcomed 
him with as much honour as if fortune had 
attended his virtue, and his sovereign be- 
stowed on him new marks of confidence and 
favour. This was a most signal triumph. 
Chance mingles with genius and science in 
the most renowned victories; but merit and 
well-earned reputation alone can preserve 
an unfortunate general from sinking in popu- 
lar estimation. 

In 17S6 his public life became more con- 
nected with that part of the British Empire 
which we now inhabit. This choice was 
made under circumstances which greatly 
increased the honour. No man can recollect 
the situation of India at that period, or the 
opinions concerning it in Great Britain, with- 
out remembering the necessit)', universally 
felt and acknowledged, for committing the 
government of our Asiatic territories to a 
person peculiarly and conspicuously distin- 
guished for prudence, moderation, integrity, 
and humility. On these grounds he was 
undoubtedly selected ; and it will not be 
disputed by any one acquainted with the 
history of India that his administration justi- 
fied the choice. 

Amonij the many wise and honest mea- 
sures which did honour to his government, 
there are two which are of such importance 
that they cannot be passed over in silence. 
The first was, the establishment of a fi.\ed 
land-rent throughout Bengal, instead of those 
annually varying, and often arbitrary, exac- 
tions to which the landholders of that great 
province had been for ages subject. This 
reformation, one of the greatest, perhaps, 
ever peaceably effected in an extensive and 



opulent country, has since been followed in 
the other British territories in the East ; and 
it is the first certain example in India of a 
secure private property in land, which the 
extensive and undefined territorial claims of 
Indian Princes had, in former times, render* 
ed a subject of great doubt and uncertainty. 
The other distinguishing measure of his go 
vernment was that judicial system which 
was necessary to protect and secure the pro- 
perty thus ascertained, and the privilege!* 
thus bestowed. By the combined inllueucc 
of these two great measures, he may confi- 
dently be said to have imparled to the sub- 
jects of Great Britain in the East a more 
perfect securhy of person and property, and 
a fuller measure of all the advantages of civil 
society, than had been enjoyed by the natives 
of India within the period of authentic histo- 
ry ; — a portion of these inestimable benefits 
larger than appears to have been ever pos- 
sessed by any people of Asia, and probably 
not much inferior to the share of many flour- 
ishing states of Europe in ancient and modern 
times. It has sometimes been objected to 
these arrangements, that the revenue of the 
sovereign was sacrificed to the comfort and 
prosperity of the subject. This would have 
been impossible : the interests of both are 
too closely and inseparably connected. The 
security of the subject will always enrich 
him; and his wealth will always ovevfiow 
into the cofi"ers of his sovereign. But if the 
objection were just in point of policy, it 
would be the highest tribute to the virtue of 
the governor. To sacrifice revenue to the 
well-being of a people is a blame of which 
Marcus Aurelius would have been proud !* 

The war in which he was engaged iluring 
his Indian government it belongs to the his- 
torian to describe : in this place it is suffi- 
cient to say that it was founded in the just 
defence of an allj', that it was carrietl on 
with vigour, and closed with exemplary mo- 
deration. 

In 1793 Lord Cornwallis returned to Eu- 
rope, leaving behind him a greater and purer 
name than that of any foreigner who had 
ruled over India for centuries. 

It is one of the most reitiarkable circum- 
stances in the history of his life, that great 



* The facility with which he applied his soiuul 
and strong understanding to sul)jeeisihe most dis- 
tant from those which usually eniployed it is prov- 
ed in a very striking manner by a tact which ougiit 
not to be forgotten by those wlio wish to form an 
accurate estimate of this venerable nobleman. Tlie 
Company's e.vtensive investment from Bengal dc- 

f)endod in a great measure on maiiulaciures, which 
md fallen into such a state of decay as to be al- 
most hopeless. The Court of Directors warmly 
recommended this very important part of iheii in- 
terest to Marquis CornwaUis. He applied his 
mind to the subject with that conscientious zeal 
which always distinguished him as a servant <;f the 
public. He became as familiarly acquainted with 
its most minute details as most of those who had 
made it the business of their lives ; and he has the 
undisputed merit of having retrieved these manu- 
factures from a condition in which they were 
thought desperate. 



CHARLES, FIRST JMARQUIS CORNWALLIS. 



237 



offices were scarcely ever bestowed on him 
in times when they could be mere inarks of 
fiivour, or very desirable objects of pursuit' 
but that h'- was always called upon to under- 
take them in those seasons of dilficulty when 
the acceptance became a severe and painful 
duty. Oiie of these unhappy occcasions 
arose in the year 179S. A most dangerous 
rebellion had been suppressed in Ireland, 
without extinguishing the disaffection that 
threatened future rebellions. The prudence, 
the vigilance, the unspotted humanity, the 
inflexible moderation of Marquis Cornwallis, 
pointed him out as the most proper person 
to compose the dissensions of that generous 
and unfortunate people. He was according- 
ly chosen for that mission of benevolence, 
and he most amply justified the choice. Be- 
sides the applause of all good men and all 
lovers of th('ir country, he received the still 
more unequivocal honour of the censure of 
violent, and the clamours of those whose un- 
governable resentments he refused to gratify. 
He not only succeeded in allaying the ani- 
mosities of a tlivided nation, but he was hap- 
py enough to be instrumental in a measure 
which, if it be followed by moderate and 
h?aling counsels, promises permanent quiet 
and prosperity: under his admiui.stialion 
Ireland was united to Great Britain. A pe- 
riod was at Ie;;glh put lo the long inipgoveni- 
ment and misfortunes of that noble island, 
and a ne\- era of justice, happiness, and se- 
curity opened for both the great members of 
the British Empire. 

The times were too full of difficulty to suf- 
fer him long to enjoy the retirement which 
followed his Irish administration. A war, 
fortunate and brilliant in many of its sepa- 
rate operations, but unsuccessful in its grand 
objects, was closed by a treaty of peace, 
which at first was joyfully hailed by the 
feelings of the public, but which has since 
given rise to great diversity of judgment. It 
may be observed, without descending into 
political contests, that if the terms of the 
treaty* were necessarily not flattering to na- 
tional pride, it was the more important lo 
choose a negotiator who should inspire pub- 
lic confidence, and whose character might 
shield necessary concessions from unpopu- 
larity. Such was unquestionably the prin- 
ciple on which Lord Cornwallis was selected ; 
and such (whatever judgment may be form- 
ed of the treaty) is the honourable testimony 
which it bears to his character. 

The offices bestowed on him were not 
matters of grace : every preferment was a 
homage to his virtue. He was never invited 
to the luxuries of high station : he was always 
summoned to its most arduous and perilous 
duties. India once more needed, or was 
thought to need, the guardian care of him 
who had healed the wounds of conquest, and 
bestowed on her the blessings of equitable 
and paternal legislation. Whether the opi- 
nion held in England of the perils of our 

* Of Amiens. 



Eastern territories Avas correct or exaggera- 
ted, it is not for us in this place to inquire. 
It is enough to know that the alarm was 
great and extensive, and that the eyes of the 
nation were once more turned towards Lord 
Cornwallis. Whether the apjiruhensjons were 
just or groundless, the tribute lo his charac- 
ter was equal. He once more accei)ted the 
government of these extensive dominions, 
with a 'full knowledge of his danger, and 
with no obscure anticipation of the probabi- 
lity of his fate. He obeyed his sovereigTi, 
nobly declaring, " that if he could render 
service to his country, it was of small mo- 
ment to him whether he died in Ii;tlia or in 
Europe j" and no doubt thoroughly convinced 
that it was far better to die in the discharge 
of great duties than to add a few fcvble in- 
active years to life. Great Britain, divided 
on most public questions, was unanimous in 
her admiration of this signal .sacrifice; and 
British India, however various might be the 
political opinions of her inhabitants, welcom- 
ed the Governor General with only one sen- 
timent of personal gratitude and reverence. 

Scarcely had he arrived. when lie felt the 
fatal influence of the climate which, with a 
a clear view of its tm-rors, he had resolved to 
brave. But he neither yielded to the lan- 
guor of disease, nor to the infirmity of age. 
VVith all the ardour of youth, he flew to tlie 
post where he was either to conclude an 
equitable peace, or, if that were refused, to 
prosecute necessary hostilities with rigour. 
His malady became more grievous, and for 
some time stopped his progress. On the 
slightest alleviation of his fc-ymptoins he re- 
sumed his journey, though I'ftle hope of re- 
covery remained, with an inflexible resolu- 
tion to employ what was left of life, in the 
performance of his duty to his country. He 
declared to his surrounding friends, •■ that he 
knew no reason to fear de:ith ; and that if ho 
could remain in the world but a slioil time 
longer to complete the plans of public service 
in which he was engaged, he should then 
cheerfully resign his life to the Almighty 
Giver;" — a noble and memorable declara- 
tion, expressive of the union of every private, 
and civil, and religious excellence, in which 
the consciousness of a blameless and meri- 
torious life is combined with the afrectionate 
zeal of a dying patriot, and the meek sub- 
mission of a pious Christian. But it pleased 
God, '• whose ways are not as our wnys," to 
withdraw him from this region of the uni- 
verse before his honest wishes of usefulness 
could be accomplished, though doubtless not 
before the purposes of Providence were ful- 
filled. He expired at Gazeepore, in the pro- 
vince of Benares, on the 5th of October, 1805, 
— supported by the remembrance of his vir- 
tue, and by the sentiments of piety which 
had actuated his whole life. 

His remains are interred on the spot where 
he died, on the banks of that famous river, 
which washes no country not either blessed 
by his government, or visited by his renown j 
and in the heart of that province so long the 



238 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



chosen srat of ivlifiioiiaiul loaniinp in India, 
which undiT the IiiIIikmu'c of his boiu'lioeiit 
pystom, ami uiKlcr ihi' aihiiiiiistiatioii of 
good mm whom ho hail elioson, hail risen 
from a stato of liocHne and confusion to one 
of prosperity probably unrivalled in the hap- 

[)iest tunes of its ancient princes. "His 
K)dy is buried in peace, and his name liveth 
for evermore." 

The Christian religion is no vain supersti- 
tion, which divides the worship ofCod from 
the service of man. Every social duly is a 
Christian i;race. Public ami j)rivate virtue 
is consiilered by Christianity as the purest 
and most acceptable incense wliich can as- 
cend belbre the Divine Throne. Political 
duties are a most momentous part of morali- 
ty, and morality is the most momentous part 
of relii>ion. Wlien the political lile of a 
great man has been i^uiiled by the rules of 
morality, and consecrated by the principles 
of relijiion, it may, and it ouj;lit lo be com- 
memorated, that the survivors may admire 
and attempt to copy, not only as men and 
citizens, but as Christians. It is due to the 
honour of Ridiiiion and Virtue, — it is lit for 
the confusion of the impious and the de- 
praved, to show that these sacred priucipli<s 
are not to be liid in the darkness of humble 
life to lead the prejudiced and anVuse the 
superstitious, but that they appear with their 
proper lustre at the head of councils, of 
armies, and of empires, — the supports of va- 
lour. — the sources of active and enlightened 
benelicence, — the companions of all real 
policy, — and the guides to solid and durable 
glory. 

A distinction has been made in our times 
amouiT statesmen, between Public and Pri- 
vate Virtue : they have been supposed to be 
separable. The neglect of eveiy private ob- 
lig-ation, has been supposed to be compatible 
with public virtue, and the violation of the 
most sacred public trust has boon thought 



not inconsistent with private worth: — a de- 
plorable distinction, the cicature of coirupt 
sophistry, disavowcii by Reason and Morals, 
and condemned by all tht> authority of Reli- 
gion. No such disgraceful inconsistency, or 
llagrant hypocrisy, disgraceil the characlerof 
the venerable person of wlunn I speak, — of 
whom we mav, without suspicion of exagge- 
ration, say, tliat he performed with equal 
strictness every otiice of public or private 
life; that his jmblic virtue was not jnit on 
for parade, like a gaudy llu>atrical tiress, but 
that it was the same integrity and benevo- 
lence whicli attiMuli'il his most retired mo- 
ments; that with a simple and modest cha- 
racter, alien to ostentation, ami abhorrent 
from artilice, — with no pursuit of popularity, 
and no sacrifice to court favour, — by no 
other means than an universal reputation for 
good sense, humanity, and houcfty, he gain- 
ed universal confidence, and was sunimoned 
to the higlu>st ollices at (>very call of danger. 
He has left us an useful t>.\ainple of the 
tnu> dignity of these invaluable <|nalities. 
and has given ns new reason to thank CJoil 
that we are the natives of a country yet so 
uncorrupteil as to pri/.i^ them llius highly. 
He has left ns an example of the pure states- 
man, — of a paternal governor, — of a warrior 
who loved peace, — of a hero without ambi- 
tion. — of a comjueror who showed unfeigned 
mocteration in the moment of victory, — and 
of a j)atiiot who devoted himself to death for 
his country. May this example be as fruit- 
ful, as his memory will be immortal ! M.-vy 
the last generations of Hritain aspire to copy 
and rival so jnnv a model! Ami when tiie 
nations of India turn their eyes to his monu- 
ment, rising amidst lields which his paternal 
care has restored to their ancient fertility, 
may they who have long snlFered from the 
violence of those who are unjustly called 
'Great,' at length learn to love and revo- 
reuco the Good. 



CHARACTER 



RIGHT HONOURABLE GEORGE CANNING; 



Without invidious coinparison, it may be 
safely said that, from the circumstances in 
which he died, his death was more gene- 



• ContriliuioH to ilio " Koopsnko of 1828, under 
iho tide of " Skoiili of 11 Kr;\o;niont of the History 
of the NineloontU Coiitviry." in which, as the 
Author nniiounees. in a noiioe pretixed to if. ilie 
tPinner of the tuiure historian of the present liiiies 
is nneeted. — Ed. 



' rally interesting among civilized nations than 
that of any other English statesman had ever 
been. It was an event in the internal his- 
tory of every country. From Lima to At hens, 
every nation strug<rling for independence or 
existence, was filled by it with sorrow aul 
dismay. The Miguelites of Portugal, the 
Apostolicals of Spain, the Jesuit faction in 
France, and the Divau of Constantinople, 



CHARACTER OF MR. CANNING. 



139 



raised a shout of joy al thn fall of their 
dreaded ei-ierrvy. He was rr-f^rclled by all 
who, he.'itiid by no personal or ])aity resent- 
ment, felt rorf^<MiiuH strnek down in the act 
of attemplinf^ to heal ih(! rijvolutioiiary dis- 
temper, and to render fuluro improvernentB 
pacific, oil the j)rincipl(! since snccessfully 
adopted by more fortnnalt;, thoiif;h not more 
deseivinir, minislcMs, — that of an honest 
compromise between the int(Me»ts and the 
opinions, — the prejudices and tlie demands, 
— of the snpj)oiti;i.o of estabiiblinicjnts, and 
the followers of reformation. 

m * * * * 

The family of Mr. Carirn'nfr, which for 
more than a century had filled honourable 
stations in Ireland, was a jonnj^er brancli of 
an anci(,'nt one atnon;^ the English g(!iilry. 
His lather, a man of l(;tters, had been disin- 
hfniled for an imprudent marriage; and the 
inheritance went to a younger brother, whose 
pon was afterwards created Lord (Jarvagh. 
Mr. Canning was educated at Eton and O.v- 
ford, according to that exclusively classical 
system, wliieh, whatever maybe its defects, 
must be owncul, when taken with its con- 
sliiDt a])])fndiiges, to bo eminently favourable 
to the cultivalion of sense and taste, as w^ll 
as to the developrntMit of wit aiid spirit. 
From his boyhood he was the foremost 
among very disiinguished confempoiaries, 
and continued to be regarded as the best 
specimen, and the most brilliant representa- 
tive, of llirit eminently national education. 
His yonihfnl eye sparkled with quickness 
and arch pleasantry; and his coinitenance 
early bftrayfu! that jealousy of his own dig- 
nity, and sensibility to suspiscted disregard, 
which were afterwards softened, but never 
(juit(! subdued. Neither the habits of a great 
school, nor those; of a popular assembly, were 
calcnlati'd to weak(>n his Irjve of [Haise and 
passion for distinction: but, as he advanced 
m y(!ars, liis fine; countenance was ennobled 
by t}ie (!.\prr!Ssion of thought and feeling; 
h.(; more pursued that lasting praise, which 
is not to be earned without praiseworlhiness; 
and, if he continued to be a lover of fame, 
he also passionately loved the glory of his 
country. Even he who almost alone was 
(Mitilled to look down on fame as 'that last 
infirmity of noble mind.s,' liad not forgotten 
that il was — 

" Tiie spur that the clear spirit doth raise, 
To scorn dclii;h!.s, anl live laborious days."* 

The natural bent of charficter is, perhaps, 
better ascertained from the undisturbed and 
nncon.scious play of the mind in the common 
intercourse of society, than from its move- 
ments under the power of strong interest or 
warm passions in public life. In social in- 
tercoursf! Mr. Canning wasd(;lightful. Ilap- 

})ily lor the true charm of his conversation 
le was too busy not to treat society as more 
fitted for relaxation than for display. It is 
but little to say, that he was neither disputa- 
tiou.s, declamatory, nor sententious, — neither 

* L}'ci(las 



a dictator nor a jester. His manner was 
simple and unobtrusive ; his language alway.s 
f]uil(! familiar. If a higher thought stole 
from his mind, it came in its conversational 
undress. From this plain ground his plea- 
santry sprang with the happiest (dlect; and 
it was nearly exmnpt from that alloy of taunt 
and banter, which he sometimes mixed with 
more precious materials in public contest. 
He may be added to the list of those emi- 
nent p(!rsons who pleased most in their 
friendly circle. H(! had tin; agreeable cpiality 
of being more easily i)leased in society than 
might have been exi)ected from the keen- 
ness of his discernment, and llie sensibility 
of his temper: still lie was liable to be dis- 
composed, or (!ven silenced, by the presence 
of any one whom he did not liKe. Ilis man- 
ner in company betrayiMJ the political vexa- 
tions or anxieties which preyed on his mind: 
nor could he; conc(;al that sensitiveness to 
public attacks which their frequent recur- 
rence wears out in most English ])oliticians. 
These last foibles may be thought interesting 
as the remains of natural character, not 
destroyed by refined society and political 
affairs. He was assailed by some adversa- 
ries so ignolde as to wouii'l him ihiough his 
filial affection, which pieserved ils respectful 
character through the whole course of his 
advancement. 

The ardent zeal for his memory, which 
appeared immediately a.(\vt his death, attests 
the warmth of those domestic affectiontj 
which seldom prevail where they are not 
mutual. To his touching epila[)h on his son, 
parental love has given a charm which is 
wanting in his otlier verses. It was said of 
him, at one time, that no man had so liltio 
popularity and such afTectionale friends ; and 
tlie truth was certainly more sacrificed to 
point in the former tluin in the latter mem- 
ber of the contrast. Some of liis friendships 
continued in spite of polilical differences 
(which, by rendering intercourse less un- 
constrained, often undermine friendship:) 
and others were remarkable for a warmth, 
constancy, and disinterestedness, whicdi, 
though chiefly lionourable to ,tho.se who 
were capable of so pure a kindnes.s, yet re- 
dound to the credit of him who was the ob- 
ject of it. No man is thus b(doved who is 
not himself formed for friendship. 

Nolwithstandinir his disregard for money, 
he was not tempted in youth by the exam- 
ple or the kindness of affluent friends much 
to overstep his little patrimony. He nev<'r 
afterwards sacrificed to j)ara(l(! or personal 
indulgence : though his occu))atioiis scarcely 
allowed him to think enough of his private 
affairs. Even from hismoderat*; fortune, his 
bounty was often liberal to suitors to whom 
ofTicial relief could not be granted. By a 
sort of generosity still harder for him to prac- 
tise,* he endeavoured, in cases where the 
RufTering was great, though thr; suit could 
not be granted, to satisfy ihe feedings of tho 
suitor by a full explanation in writing of thu 
causes which rendered compliance impracti- 



240 



MACKLNTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



cable. Wherever he took an interest, he 
showed it as much by delicacy to the feel- 
ings of those w hom he served or relieved, as 
by snbstantial consideration for their claims; 
— a rare and most praiseworthy merit among 
men in power. 

In proportion as the opinion of a people 
acquires iiiliuence over public affairs, the 
faculty of persuading men to support or op- 
pose political measures acquires mrportance. 
The peculiar nature of Parliamentary debate 
contributes to render eminence in that pro- 
vince not so imperfect a test of political 
abihty as it might appear to be. Recited 
speeches can seldom show more than poweis 
of reasoning and imagination ; which have 
little coni'iection with a capacity for aflairs. 
But the unforeseen events of debate, and the 
necessity of immediate answer in unpreme- 
ditated language, afford scope for the quick- 
ness, lirmness, boldness, wariness, presence 
of mind, and address in the management of 
men, which are among the qualities most 
essential to a statesman. The most flour- 
ishing period of our Parliamentary eloquence 
extends for about half a century, — from the 
maturity of Lord Chatham's genius to the 
death of Mr. Fox. During ihe twenty years 
which succeeded, Mr. Canning was some- 
times the leader, and always the, greatest 
orator, of the party who supported the Ad- 
ministration ; in which there were able men 
who supported, without rivalling him, against 
opponents also not thought by him inconsi- 
derable. Of these last, one, at least, was felt 
by every hearer, and acknowledged in pri- 
vate by himself, to have always forced his 
faculties to their very uttermost stretch.* 

Had he been a dry and meagre speaker, 
he would have been universally allowed to 
have been one of the greatest masters of 
argument ; but his hearers were so dazzled 
by the splendour of his diction, that they did 
not perceive the acuteness and the occasion- 
ally excessive refinement of his reasoning: 
a consequence which, as it shows the inju- 
rious influence of a seductive fault, can with 
the less justness be overlooked in the esti- 
mate of his understanding. Ornament, it 
must be owned, when it only pleases or 
amuses, without disposing the audience to 
adopt the sentiments of the speaker, is an 
offence against the first law of public speak- 
ing ; it obstructs instead of promoting its only 
reasonable purpose. But eloquence is a 
widely extended art, comprehending many 
sorts of excellence ; in some of which orna- 
mented diction is more liberally employed 
than in others; and in none of which the 
highest rank can be attained, without an ex- 
traordinary combination of mental powers. 
Among our own orators, Mr. Canning seems 
to have been the best model of the adorned 
style. The splendid and sublime descrip- 
tions of Mr. Burke, — his comprehensive^nd 
profound views of general principle, — though 



* Mr. (now Lord) Brougham is the person al- 
luded to. — Ed. 



they must ever delight and instruct the rea- 
der, must be owned to have been digressions 
which diverted the mind of the hearer from 
the object on which the speaker ought to have 
kept it steadily fixed. Sheridan, a man of 
admirable sense, and matchless wit, laboured 
to follow Burke into the foreign regions of feel- 
ing and grandeur. The specimeris preserved 
of his most celebrated speeches show too 
much of tlie exaggeration and excess to 
whicli those are peculiarly liable who seek 
by art and effort what nature has denied. 
By the constant part which Mr. Canning took 
in debate, he was called upon to show a 
knowledge which Sheridan did not possess, 
and a readiness which that accomplished 
man had no such means of strengthening and 
displaying. In some qualities of style, Mr. 
Canning surpassed Mr. Pitt. His diction was 
more various, — sometimes more sim})le. — 
more idiomatical, even in its more elevated 
parts. It sparkled with imagery, and was 
brightened by illustration ; in bolh of which 
Mr. Pitt, for so great an orator, was defec- 
tive. 

No English speaker used the keen and 
brilliant weapon of wit so long, so often, or 
so^ effectively, as Mr. Canning. He gained 
more triumphs, and incurred more enmity, 
by it than by any other. Those whose im- 
portance depends much on birth and for- 
tune are impatient of seeing their own arti- 
ficial dignity, or that of their order, broken 
down by derision; and perhap.s fev.' men 
heartily forgive a successful j^'st against 
themselves, but those who are conscious of 
being unhuit by it. Mr. Canning often used 
this talent imprudently. In sudvlen flashes 
of wit, and in the playful description of men 
or things, he was often distinguished by that 
natural felicity which is the charm of plea- 
santry ; to which the air of art and labour is 
more fatal than to any other talent. Sheri- 
dan was sometimes betrayed by an imitation 
of the dialogue of his master, Congreve, into 
a sort of laboured and finished jesting, so 
balanced and expanded, as sornetime^s to vie 
in tautology and monotony with the once 
applauded triads of Johnson; and which, 
even in its most happy passages, is more 
sure of commanding serious admiration than 
hearty laughter. It cannot be denied that 
Mr. Canning's taste was, in this respect, 
somewhat influenced by the example of his 
early friend. The exuberance of fancy and 
wit lessened the gravity of his general man- 
ner, and perhaps also indisposed (he audi- 
ence to feel his earnestness where it clearly 
showed itself. In that important quality he 
was inferior to Mr. Pitt, — 

" Deep on whose front engraven, 
Deliberaiion sat, and public care ;"* 

and no less inferior to Mr. Fox, whose fervid 
eloquence flowed from the love of his coun- 
try, the scorn of baseness, and the hatred of 
cruelty, which were the ruling passions of 
his nature. 

* Paradise Lost, Book II. — Ep. 



CHARACTER OF MR. CANNING. 



241 



On the whole, it may be observed, that 
ihe range of Mr. Canning's powers as an 
orator wa.s wider than that in which he usu- 
ally e.Yorted ihem. When mere statement 
only wa? allowabh', no man of h s age was 
more simple. W^hen infirm health com- 
pelled him to be brief, no speaker could 
compress his matter with so little sacrifice 
of clearnes;-!, ease, and elegance. In his 
speech on Colonial Reformation, in 1823, he 
seemed to have brought down the philoso- 
phical principles and the moral sentiments of 
Mr. Burke to that precise level where they 
could be happily blended with a grave and 
dignified speech, intended as an introduction 
to a new 63-stem of legislation. As his ora- 
torical faults were those of youthful genius, 
the progress of age seemed to purify his elo- 
quence, and every year appeared to remove 
some speck which hid, or, at least, dimmed, 
a beauty. He daily rose to larger views, 
and made, perhaps, as near approaches to 
philosophical principles as the great dif- 
ence between the objects of the philoso- 
pher and those of the orator will commonly 
allow. 

Mr. Canning possessed, in a high degree, 
the outward advantages of an orator. Ilis 
expressive countenance varied with the 
changes of his eloquence : his voice, fle.vi- 
ble and articulate, had as much compass as 
hi? mode of speaking required. In the calm 
part of his speeche.s, his attitude and gesture 
might have been selected by a painter to 
rep^-esent grace rising towards dignity. 

When the memorials of his own time, — 
the composition of which he is said never to 
have interrupted in his busiest moments, — 
are made known to the public, his abilities 
as a writer may be better estimated. His 
only known writings in prose are State Pa- 
pers, which, when considered as the compo- 
sition of a Minister for Foreign Afl^airs, in 
one of the most extraordinary periods of 
European history, are undoubtedly of no 
small importance. Such of these papers as 
were intended to be a direct appeal to the 
judgment of m.ankind combine so much 
precision, with such uniform circumspection 
and dignity, that they must ever be studied 
as models of that very difficult species of 
composition. His Instructions to ministers 
abroad, on occasions both perplexing and 
momentous, will be found to exhibit a rare 
union of comprehensive and elevated views, 
with singular ingenuity in devisincr means 
of e.xecution; on which last faculty he some- 
times relied perhaps more confidently than 
the short and dim foreiiight of man will war- 
rant. -'Great aflaii^'"' says Lord Bacon, "are 
commonly too coarse and stubborn to be 
worked upon by the fine edges and points of 
wit.'"* His papers in negotiation were occa- 
sionally somewhat too controversial in their 
tone : they were not near enough to the man- 
ner of an amicable conversation about a dis- 



* It may be proper to remind the reader, that 
here the word " wit" is used in its ancient sense. 
31 



puled point of business, in which a negotia- 
tor does not so much draw out his argument, 
as hint his own object, and sound the inten- 
tion of his opponent. He .sometimes seems 
to have pursued triumph more than advan- 
tage, and not to have remembered that to 
leave the opposite party satisfied with what 
he has got, and in good humour v.ith him- 
self, is not one of the least proofs of a nego 
tiator's skill. Where the papers were in- 
tended ultimately to reach the public through 
Parliament, it might have been prudent to 
regard chiefly the final object; and when 
this excuse was wanting, much must be par- 
doned to the controversial habits of a Parlia- 
mentary life. It is hard for a debater to be 
a negotiator : the faculty of guiding public 
assemblies is very remote from the art of 
dealing with individuals. 

Mr. Canning's power of writing verse may 
rather be classed with his accomplishments, 
than numbered among his high and noble 
faculties. It would have been a distinction 
for an inferior man. His verses were far 
above those of Cicero, of Burke, and of Ba- 
con. The taste prevalent in his youth led 
him to feel more relish for sententious de- 
ciaimers than is shared by lovers of the true 
poetry of imagination and sensibility. In 
some respects his poetical compositions were 
also influfenced by his early intercourse with 
Mr. Sheridan, though he was restrained by 
his more familiar contemplation Of classical 
models from the glittering conceits of that 
extraordinary man. Something of an artifi- 
cial and composite diction is discernible in 
the English poems of those who have ac- 
quired reputation by Latin verse, — more 
especially since the pursuit of rigid purity 
has required so timid an imitation as not 
onl}' to confine itself to the words, but to 
adopt none but the phrases of ancient poets. 
Of this effect Gray must be allowed to fur- 
nish an example. 

Absolute silence about Mr. Canning's writ- 
ings as a political satirist. — which were for 
their hour so popular, — might be imputed to 
undue timidity. In that character he yielded 
to General Fitzpatrick inarch stateliness and 
poignant raillery; to Mr. Moore in the gay 
prodigality with which he squanders his 
countless stores of wit ; and to his own 
friend Mr. Frere in the richness of a native 
vein of original and fantastic drollery. In 
that ungenial province, where the brightest 
of laurels are apt very soon to f;ule. and 
where Dryden only boasts immortal lays, it 
is perhaps his best praise (o record that 
there is no writing of his, which a man of 
honour might not have avowed as soon as 
the first heat of contest was past. 

In s^nne of the amusements or tasks of his 
boyhood there are passages which, without 
much help from fancy, might appear to con- 
tain allusions to his greatest measures of 
policy, as well as to the tenor of his life, 
and to the melancholy splendour which sur 
rounded his death. In the concluding line 
of the first English verses written by hira at 



242 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Eton, he expressed a wish, which has been 
singularly realised, that he might 

"Live in a blaze, and in a blaze expire." 

It is a striking coincidence, that the states- 
man, whose dying measure was to mature 
an alliance for the deliverance of Greece, 
should, when a boy, have written English 
verses on the slavery of that country; and 
that in his prize poem at O.xi'ord, on the Pil- 
grimage to Mecca. — a composition as much 
applauded as a modern Latin poem can as- 
pire to be — he should have as bitterly deplo- 
red the lot of other renowned countries, now 
groaning under the same barbarous yoke, — 



" Nunc SatrapiE impcrio et srcvo subditaTur-:tB."* 

To conclude : — he was a man of fine and 
brilliant genius, of warm afTcctions, of a high 
and generous spirit, — a statesman who, at 
home, converted most of his opponents :nto 
warm supporters; who, abroad, was the sole 
hope and trust of all whosouglil an orderly and 
legal liberty ; and who was cut oil' in the midst 
of vigorous and splendid measures, Avhich, if 
executed by himself, or with his own spirit, 
promised to place his name in the first class 
of rulers, among the founders of lasting peace, 
and the guardians of human improvement. 



* Iter ad Meccam, Oxford, 1789. 



PREFACE 



TO A REPRINT OF 



THE EDINDURGH REVIEW 



OF 1755.* 



It is generally known that two numbers 
of a Critical Journal were published at Edin- 
burgh in the year 1755, under the title of the 
"Ediidnirgh Review." The following vo- 
lume contains an exact reprint of that Re- 
view, now become so rare that it is not to be 
found in the libraries of some of the most 
curious collectors. To this reprint are added 
the names of the writers of the most impor- 
tant articles. Care has been taken to authen- 
ticate the list of names by reference to well- 
informed persons, and by comparison with 
copies in the possession of those who have 
derived their information from distinct and 
independent sources. If no part of it should 
be now corrected by those Scotclimen of let- 
ters still living, who may have known the 
fact from the writers themselves, we may 
regard this literary secret as finally discover- 
ed, with some gratification to the curious 
reader, and without either pain to the feel- 
ings, or wrong to the character of any one. 
There are few anonymous writers the dis- 
covery of whose names would be an object 
of curiosity after the lapse of sixty years : 
there are perhaps still fewer whose secret 
might be exposed to the public after that 
long period with perfect security to their 
reputation for equity and forbearance. 

The mere circumstance that this volume 
contains the first printed writings of Adam 
Smith and Robertson, and the only known 
publication of Lord Cnancellor Rosslyn, will 

• Published in 1816.— Ed. 



probably be thought a sufficient reason for 
its present appearance. 

Of the eight articles which appear to have 
been furnished by Dr. Robertson, six are on 
historical subjects. Written during the com- 
position of the History of Scotland, they show 
evident marks of the wary understanding, 
the insight into character, the right judgment 
in affairs, and the union of the sober specu- 
lation of a philosopher Avith the practical 
prudence of a statesman, as well as the 
studied elegance and somewhat ceremonious 
statoliness of style Avhich distinguish his 
more elaborate writings. He had already 
succeeded in guarding his diction against 
the words and phrases of the dialect which 
he habitually spoke ; — an enterprise in which 
he had no forerunner, and of which the diffi- 
culty even now can only be estimated by a 
native of Scotland. The dread of inelegance 
in a language almost foreign kept him, as it 
has kept succeeding Scotch writers, at a dis- 
tance from the familiar English, the perfect use 
of which can be acquired only by conversation 
from the earlist years. Two inaccurate ex- 
pressions only are to be found in these early 
and hasty productions of this elegant writer. 
Instead of "individuals" he uses the Galli- 
cism "particulars;" and for "enumeration" 
he employs "induction," — a term properly 
applicable only with a view to the general in- 
ference which enumeration affords. In the 
review of the History of Peter the Great it ia 
not uninteresting to find it remarked, that the 
Tiolence and ferocity of that renowned barba> 



PREFACE TO A REPRINT OF THE EDINBURGH REVIEW OF 1755. 243 



lian pel haps [>artly fitted him to bo the reform- 
er <jf a. barbaious jx-oplc; j as it was afterwards 
obK(!rve<l in the Ilistorii's oi HcaXUiiid and of 
CharhiH V., that a taiidef and more rcnned 
character rni^ht liave Komewhat di«(jualified 
Lutlier and Knox for their f^reat work. Two 
artichjs beinj^ on .Scottish alfairs were liatu- 
ral relaiations for the historian of iS<;<jtland. 
In tliitt which relati.'S to the Catalogue of 
Scottish liishops we observe a subdued smile 
at the eagerness of the anti(juary and the 
ecclesiastical partisan, rpialitied inde(i<J by a 
just sense of lua value of the <yjllat(;ral infor- 
mation which their toil maychanwi to throw 
up; but which he was too cautious and de- 
corous to hav(j li;izarded in his avowed writ- 
ings. That he reviewed Douglas' Accoiuit 
of North Arneri<;a was a fortunate circum- 
atance, if we may supjwse that the recollec- 
tion might at a distant period have contribut- 
ed to suggest the composition of the History 
of America. None of these writings could 
have justified any expectation of his histori- 
cal fame ; because they furnished no occa- 
sion for exerting the talent for narration, — 
the most difficult but the rno.st necessary 
attainment for an historian, and one in which 
he has often equalled the greatest masters 
of his art. In perusing the two essays of a 
literary sort ascribed to him, it may seem 
that he has carried leniejit and liberal criti- 
cism to an e.vcess. His mercy to tlie vicious 
style of Hervey may have been in some 
mrsxsure the ref^uJt of professional prudence: 
but it must be owned that he does not seem 
enough aware of the interval between Or.iy 
and Shensl/jne, and that he names versifiers 
now wholly forgotten. Had he and his asso- 
ciates, however, erred on the o{)i)osite ex- 
treme,— had they underrated and vilified 
works of genius, their fault would now ap- 
pear much more ofl'eiiBive. To overrate 
somewhat the inferior degrees of real merit 
which are reiiXihed by contemporaries is 
indeed the natural disposition of superior 
minds, when they are neither degraded by 
j<;alousy iwr infJaraed by hostile prejudice. 
The faint and secondary beauties of contem- 
poraries are aided by novelty; they are 
broii'dit near enough to the attention by cu- 
riosity ; and they are compared with their 
competitors of the same time instead of being 
tried by the test of likeness to the produce 
of all ages and nations. This goodnatured 
exaggeration encourages talent, and gives 
pleasure to readers as well as writers, with- 
out any permanent injury to the public taste. 
The light which seems brilliant only because 
it is near the eye, cannot reach the distant 
observer. Books which please for a year, 
which please for ten years, and which please 
for ever, gradually lake their destined sta- 
tions. There is little need of harsh criti- 
cism to forward this final justice. The very 
critic who has bestowed too prodigal praise, 
if he long survives his criticism, will survive 
also his harmless error. liobertson never 
ceased to admire Gray : but he lived long 
enough probably to forget the name of Jago. 



In the contributions of Dr. Adam Smith 
it Ls easy to tia<;e his general habit,s both of 
thinking and writing. Among the inferiot 
excellencies of this great iihirosoj^hci, it is 
not to be forgotten that in his full and flow- 
ing cornjiobilion he manages the Ellgli^h 
languag«j with a fiiicr hand and with more 
iialive ease than any other Scottish writer. 
Robertsfjn avoidrt iScolticisms: but Smith 
might be taken for an EiigliBh writer not 
jjeculiarly idiornatical. It is not improbable 
that the early lectures of Hutcheson, an elo- 
quent native of Ireland, and a residence at 
Oxford from tJie age of seventeen to tluit of 
Iwetity-fbur, may have aided Smith in the 
attainrmint of this more free and native style. 
It must however be owned, that his works, 
confined to subjects of science or specula- 
tion, do not afford the severest test of a 
writer's familiarity with a language. On 
such subjects it is comparatively easy, with- 
out any a{)[Xiaraiice of constraint or jiarade, 
to avoid the difficulties of idiornatical expres- 
sion by the employment of general and tech- 
nical terms. His review of Johnson's Dic- 
tionary is chiefiy valuable as a proof that 
neith<;r of these eminent persons was well 
(jualified to write an English dictionary. 
The plan of Johiis^Ki and the specimens of 
Smith are alike faulty. At that period, in- 
deed, neither the cultivation of our old litera- 
ture, nor the study of the languages from 
which the English springs or to which it is 
related, nor the habit of observing the gene- 
ral structure of language, was so far advanced 
as to render it possible for this t/reat work to 
approach perfection. His parallel between 
French and English writers* is equally just 
and ingenious, and betrays very little of that 
French taste in [xjlito letters, especially in 
dramatic poetry to wliich Dr. Smith and 
his friend Mr. Hume were prone. The ob- 
servations on the life of a savage, which 
when seen from a distance appears to be di- 
vided between Arcadian repose and chival- 
rous adventure, and by this union is the most 
alluring object of general curiosity and the 
natural scene of the golden age both of the 
legendary, and of the para/Joxical sophist, 
are an example of those original speculations 
on the reciprocal influence of society and 
opinions which characterize the genius- of 
Smith. The commendation of Rousseau's 
eloquent Dedication to the Republic of Ge- 
neva, for expressing " that nrdeid and passion- 
ale esteem which it becomes a good citizen to 
entertain for the government of his country 
and the character of his countrymen," is an 
instance of the seeming exaggeration of just 
principles, arising from the employment of 
the language of moral feeling, as that of ethi- 
cal philosophy, which is very observable in 
the Theory of Moral Sentiments. 

Though the contributions of Alexander 
Wedderburn, afterwards Earl of Rosslyrijaf 
forded little scope for the display of mental 
superiority, it is not uninteresting to examioM 



Letter to the Editor, at the end of ihe volume. 



244 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



the fitst essays in composition of a man whose 
powers of reason and eloquenco raised him 
to the highest dignity of the state. A Greek 
grammar ami two law books were allotted to 
him as subjects of criticism. Ilumblo as 
these subjects are, an attentive perusal will 
discover in his remarks on them a distinct- 
ness of conception and a terseness as well as 
precision of language which are by no means 
common qualities of writing. One error in 
the use of the future tense deserves notice 
only as it shows the ditliculties which he 
had to surmount in acquiring what costs an 
Englishman no study. The praise bestowed 
in his Preface on Buchanan for an " un- 
daunted spirit of liberty," is an instance of 
the change which si.vty years have produced 
in political sentiment. Though that great 
writer was ranked among the enemies of 
monarchy,* the praise of liim, especially in 
Scotland, was a mark of fidelity to a govern- 
ment which, though monarchical, was found- 
ed on the principles of the Revolution, and 
feared no danger but from the partisans of 
hereditary right. But the criticisms and the in- 
genious and judicious Preface show the oarlv 
taste of a man who at the age of twenty-two 
withstands every temptation to unseason- 
able display. The love of letters, together 
with talents already conspicuous, had in the 
preceding year (1754) placed him in the 
chair at the first meeting of a literary society 
of which Hume and Smith were members. 
The same dignified sentiment attemled him 
through a long life of activity and ambition, 
and shed a lustre over his declining years. It 
was respectably manifested by fidelity to the 
literary friends of his youth, and it g-ave him 
a disposition, perhaps somewhat excessive, 
to applaud every shadow of the like merit in 
others. 

The other writers are only to be regarded 
as respectable auxiliaries in such an under- 
taking. Dr. Blair is an useful example, that 
a station among good writers may be attained 
by assiduity and good sense, with the help 
of an uncorrupted taste ; while for the want 
of these qualities, it is often not reached by 
others whose powers of mind may be allied 
to genius. 

The delicate task of reviewing the theolo- 
gical publications of Scotland was allotted to 
Mr. Jardine, one of the ministers of Edin- 
burgh, whose performance of that duty 
would have required no particularnotice, had 
it not contributed with other circumstances 
to bring the work to its sudden and unex- 
pected close. At the very moment when 
Mr. Wedderburn (in his note at the end of 
the second number) had announced an in- 
tention to eidarge the plan, he and his col- 
leagues were obliged to relinquish the work. 

The temper of the people of Scotland was 
at that moment peculiarly jealous on every 
Question that approacheil the boundaries of 
theology. A popular election of the paro- 

• He is usualiv pinced with Languet and Althu- 
Bon among the Monarchomists. 



chial clergy had been restored with Presby- 
tery by the Kevolution. The rights of Pa- 
trons had been reimposed on the Scottish 
Church in the last years of Queen Anne, 
by Ministers wlio desired, if they did not 
meditate, the re-establishment of Episco- 
pacy. But for thirty years afterwanls this 
unpopular right was either disused by the 
Patrons or successfully resisted by the people. 
The zealous Presbyterians still retahied the 
doctrine and spirit of tire Covenanters; and 
their favourite jireachers, brt>d up amidst the 
furious persecutions of CluirU's the Second, 
had rather learnt piety ami fortituiie than ac- 
quired tliat useful and ornamental learning 
which becomes their order in times of ([uiet. 
Some of them had separated from the Church 
oir account of lay Patronage, among other 
marks of degeneracy. But besides these 
Seceders, the majority of the Established 
clergy were adverse to the law of Patronage, 
and (lisposed to connive at resistance to its 
execution. On the other hand, the more 
lettered and refined muiisters of the Church, 
who had secretly relinquished many parts of 
the Calvinistic system, — from the unpopu- 
larity of their own opinions and modes of 
preaching, from their connection with the 
gentry who held the rights of Patronage, 
and from repugnance to the vulgar and illite- 
i"ate ministers whom turbulent elections had 
brought into the Church, — became hostile to 
the interference of the people, and zealously 
laboured to enforce the execution of a law 
which had hitherto remained almost dormant. 
The Orthodox party maintained the rights of 
the people against a regulation uuposed on 
them by their enemies ;"and the party which 
m matters of religion claimed the distinction 
of liberality and toleration, contended for the 
absolute authority of the civil magistrate to 
the destruction of a ridU wliich more than 
any other interested the conscience of the 
people of Scotland. At the head of this last 
party was Dr. Robertson, one of the contribu- 
tors to the present volume, who about the 
time of its appearance was on the eve of 
effecting a revolution in the practice of the 
Church, by at length compelling the stubborn 
Presbyterians to submit to the authority of a 
law which they abhorred. 

Another circumstance rendered the time 
very perilous for Scotch reviewers of eccle- 
siastical publications. The writings of Mr. 
Hume, the intimate friend of the lender of 
the tolerant clergy, very naturally excited 
the alarm of the Orthodox party, who, like 
their predecessors of the preceding age, were 
zealo\is for the rights of the people, but con- 
fined their charity within the pale of their 
own communion, and were much disposed 
to reg-ard the impunity of heretics and infidels 
as a reproach to a Christian magistrate. In 
the year 1754 a complaint to the General 
Assembly against the philosophical writings 
of Mr. Hume and Lord Kames was with dif- 
ficulty eluded by the friends of free discus- 
sion. The writers of the Review were aware 
of the danger to which they were exposed by 



ON THE WRITINGS OF MACHIAVEL. 



245 



thcBe circumstances. They kept the secret 
of their Kevicnv from Mr. Hume, the most 
intimate frieiul of some of them. They for- 
bore to notice in it h:s History of the Stuarts, 
oX which the first volume appeared at Edin- 
burfjh two months before the pubHcation of 
the Reviinv; thou;;h it is little to say that it 
was the most remarkable work which ever 
i6sn(\] fiom the Scottish press. 

They trusted that the motleration and well- 
known piety of Mr. Jardine would conduct 
them safely through the suspicion and jeal- 
ousy of jarrini: jiartiefi. Nor does it in fact ap- 
pear that any part of his criticisms is at va- 
riance with that enliiihtened reverence for 
reli^^ion which he was known to feel; but he 
was somewhat influenced by the ecclesiasti- 
cal party to which he adhered. He seems to 
have thouylit that he mi<iht securely assail the 
opponents of Patronage through the sides of 
Erskiue, Boston, and other popular preachers, 
who were either Seccders, or divhies of the 
same! school. He even ventured to use the 
weapon of ridicule against their extravagant 
metaphors, thfsir wire-drawn allegories, their 
mean allusions, and to laugh at those who 
complained of '■ the connivance at Popery, 
the tolination of Prelacy, the pretended rights 
of Lay Patron.s, — of heretical profes.sors in tiie 
universities, and a lax clergy in pA)ssession 
of the churches,"' as the crying evils of tlie 
thne. 

This species of attack, at a moment when 
the religious feelings of the public were thus 
fiusceptible, appears to have excited general 
alarm. The Orthodox might blame the writ- 
ings criticised without approving the tone 
assumed by the critic : the multitmle were 
exasperated by the scorn with which their 
favourite writers were treated: and many 
who altogether disapproved these writings 
might consider ridicule as a weapon of 
doubtful propriety against language nabitu- 



ally employed to convey the religious and 
moral feelingsof a nation. In these circum- 
stances the authors of the Review did not 
think themselves bound to hazard their quiet, 
reputation, and interest, by perseverance in 
their attempt to improve the taste of their 
countrymen. 

It will not be supposed that the n marks 
made above on the ecclesiastical parties in 
Scotland sixty years ago can have any refer- 
ence to their political character at the present 
! day. Th<; principles of toleration now seem 
! to prevail among the Scottish clergy more 
than among any other established church in 
I Europe. A public act of the General As- 
1 sembly may be considered as a renunciation 
' of that ho.stility tothe full toleration of Catho- 
lics which was for a long time the disgrace 
of the most liberal Protestants. The party 
called 'Orthodox' are purified from the in- 
tolerance which unhappily reigned among 
their predeces.sors, and have in general 
adopted those principles of religious liberty 
which the sincerely piou.s, when consistent 
with themselves, must be the foremost to 
maintahi. Some of them also, even in these 
times, es^TOuse tho.se generous and sacred 
principles of civil liberty which distinguished 
the old Puritans, and which in spite of their 
faults entitle them to be ranked among the 
first benefactors of their country.* 



* " The precious spark of liberty had been kin- 
dled and was preserved by the Puritans alone: 
and it was to this sect, wliope principles appear so 
Involous and habits so ridiculous, that the English 
owe the whole freedom of their constitution." — 
Hume, History of England, chap. xl. This testi- 
mony to the merits of the Puritans, from the 
mouth of tiieir enemy, nnist be owned to be 
founded in exairgeration. But if we allow them 
to have materially coniributcd to the preservation 
of English liberty, we must acknowledge that the 
world owes more to the ancient Puritans than lo 
, any other sect or parly among men. 



ON THE 



WRITINGS OF MACIIIAVEL; 



Literature, which lies much nearer to 
tlie feelings of mankind than science, has 
the most important effect on the sentiments 
with which the sciences are regarded, the 
activity with which they are pursued, and 
ih'i mode in which they are cultivated. It 
is th(! instrument, in particular, by which 
ethical science is generally diffused. As the 
us"ful arts maintain the general honour of 
ph}sical knowledge, so polite letters allure 

* From the Edinburgh Review, vol. xxvii. p. 
207.— Ed. 



the world into the neighbourhood of the 
sciences of morals and of mind. Wherever 
the agreeable vehicle of literature docs not 
convey their doctrines to the public, they re- 
main as the occupation of a few recluses in 
the schools, Avith no root in the general feel- 
ings, and liable to be destroyed by the dis- 
persion of a handful of doctors, and the 
destruction of their uidamentcd semiiiAries. 
Nor is this all: — polite Iherature is not only 
the true guardian of the moral sciences, ana 
the sole instrument of spreading their bene- 
fits among men, but it becomes, from these 
V 2 



246 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



veiv circumstances, the regulator of their 
cultivation and their progress. As long as 
they are confined to a small number of men 
in scholastic retirement, there is no restraint 
upon their natural proneness to deg^enei-ate 
either into verbal subtilties or shadowy 
dreams. As long as speculation remained 
in the schools, all its followers were divided 
into mere dialecticians, or mystical visiona- 
ries, both alike unmindful of the real world, 
and disregarded by its inhabitants. The re- 
vival of literature protluced a revolution at 
once in the state of society, and in the mode 
of philosophizing. It attracted readers from 
the common ranks of society, who were 
gradually led on from eloquence and poetry, 
to morals and philosophy. Philosophers and 
moralists, after an interval of almost a thou- 
sand yeai-s, during which they had spoken 
only to each other, once more discovered 
that they might address the great body of 
mankind, with tlie hope of fame and of use- 
fulness. Intercourse with this great public, 
supplied new materials, and imposed new 
restraints: the feelings, the common sense, 
the ordinary affairs of men, presented theni- 
selvcs ag-ain to the moralist ; and philosophers 
were compelled to speak in terms intelligible 
and agreeable to their new hearers. Before 
this period^ little prose had been written in 
any modern language, except chronicles or 
romflivces. Boccacio had indeed acquired a 
classical rank, by compositions of the latter 
kind ; and historical genius had risen in Frois- 
sart and Comines to a height ^^•hich has not 
been equalled among the same nation in 
times of greater refinement. But Latin was 
sJill the langtKige in which all subjects then 
deemed of higher thgnity, and which occu- 
pied the life of. the learned by profession, 
were treated. This system continued till 
the Reformation, which, by tlie employment 
of the living lanoaxages iu public worship, 
gave them a dignity unknown before, and, 
by the versions of the Bible, and the practice 
of preaching and writing on theology and 
morals in the common tongxieSj did more 
for polishing modem literature, for diffusing 
knowledge^ and for improving morality, than 
t all the other events and discoveries of that 
active age. 

Machiavel is the fii-st still celebrated writer 
who discussed grave questions in a modern 
language. This peculiarity is the more wor- 
thy of notice, because he was not e.xcited by 
the powerful stimulant of the Reformation. 
Tfrat event was probably regarded by him 
as a disturbance in a barbarous country, pro- 
duced by the novelties of a vulg-ar monk, 
vmworthy of the notice of a man wholly oc- 
cupied with the affairs of Florence, and the 
hope of expelling strangers from Italy; and 
having reached, at the appearance of Luther, 
the last uiihixppy period of his agitated life. 

The Pi-inee is an account of the means by 
which tyrannical power is to be acquired and 
])reserved : it is a theory of that class of 
plienomena in the history of mankind. It is 
esaeiitial to its purpose, therefore^ that it 



should contain an enumeration and e.xpoi^- 
tion of tyrannical arts ; and. on that account, 
it may be viewed and used as a manual of 
such arts. A pliilosopltical treatise on poi- 
sons, would in like manner determine the 
quantity of each poisonous substance capable 
of producuig death, the circumstances favour- 
able or adverse to its operation, and every 
other information essential to the purpose ot" 
the poisoner, though not intended for his use. 
But it is also plain, that the calm statement 
of tyrannical arts is the bitterest of all satires 
against them. The Prince must therefore 
have had this double aspect, though neither 
of the objects which they seem to indicate 
had been actually in the contemplation of 
the author. It may not be the object of the 
chemist to teach the means of exhibiting an- 
tidotes, any more than those of administer- 
ing poisons; but his readers maj- employ his 
discoveries for both objects. Aristotle* had 
long before given a similar theory of tyranny, 
wthout the suspicion of an immoral mten- 
tion. Nor was it an)' novelty in more recent 
times, among those who mast have hccn the 
first teachers of Machiavel. The School- 
men followed the footsteps of Aristotle too 
closely, to omit so strikijig a passage ; and 
Aquinas explains it, m his commentary, like 
the rest, in the unsuspecting sunpHcity of hia 
heart. To us accordingly, we confess, the 
plan of Machiavel seems, like those of for- 
mer writers, to have been purely scientific ; 
and so Lord Bacon seems to have understood 
him, where he thanks him for an exposition 
of immoral policy. In that singTilar passage, 
where the latter lays doAvn the theory of the 
advancentent of fortune (which, when com- 
pared with his life, so well illustrates the 
fitness of his understanding, and the unfitness 
of his character for the affairs of the world), 
he justifies his application of learnuig to suck 
a subject, on a principle which extends to 
The Prince : — " that there be not any thing 
in being or action which should not be drawn 
and collected mto contemplation and doc- 
trine." 

Great defects of character, we readily ad- 
mit, are manifested by the writings of Ma- 
chiavel : but if a man of so powerful a genius 
had shov^^l a nature utterly depraved, it would 
have been a painful, and perhaps single, ex- 
ception to the laws of human nature. And 
no depravity can be conceived greater than 
a deliberate intention to teach perfidy and 
cruelty. That a man who was a warm lovei 
of his country, who bore cmel sufferings foi 
her liberty, and who was beloved by the best 
of his countr}-men,t should fall into such un- 
paralleled wickedness, may be considered 

* PoJiiics, lib. V. c. iii. 

+ Among other proofs of the esteem ii> which 
he was heFd by those who knew his character, \v& 
may refer to the afTt'ciionate letters of Guicciar- 
diiii', who, however itidepcndent hrs own opinions 
were, became, by hisempioyment underthe Popes 
of the House of Medici, the supporter of their 
authority, and consequently a political opponent 
of Machiavel, tlie most zealous of the Reimbli. 
cans. 



ON THE WRITINGS OF MACHIAVEL. 



247 



as wholly incredible. No such depravity is 
consistent with the composition of the History 
of Florence. It is only by exciting moral 
sentiment, that the narrative of human ac- 
tions can be rendered mteresting. Divested 
of morality, they lose their whole dignity, 
and all their power over feeling. History 
would be '.hrown aside as disgusting, if it did 
not inspire the reader with pity for the suf- 
ferer, — wilh a.nger against the oppressor, — 
with anxiety for the triumph of right ; — to 
say nothing of the admiration for genius, and 
valour, and energy, wliich, though it disturbs 
the justice of our historical judgments, par- 
takes also of a moral nature. The author of 
The Prince, according to the common notion 
of its intention, could never have inspired 
these sentiments, of which he must have 
utterly emptied his own heart. To pos- 
sess the power, however, of contemplating 
tyranny with scientific coldness, and of ren- 
dering it the mere subject of theory, must 
be owned to indicate a defect of moral sen- 
sibility. The happier nature, or fortune, of 
Aristotle, prompted him to manifest distinct- 
ly his detestation of the flagitious pohcy which 
he reduced to its principles. 

As another subject of regret, not as an 
excuse for Machiavel, a distimt approach to 
the same defect may be observed in Lord 
Bacon's History of Henry the Seventh; where 
we certainly find too httle reprehension of 
falsehood and extortion, too cool a display of 
the expedients of cunning, sometimes digifi- 
fied by the name of wisdom, and through- 
out, perhaps, too systematic a character given 
to the measures of that monarch, in order to 
exemplify, in him, a perfect model of king- 
craft; pursuing safety and power by any 
means, — acting well in quiet times, because 
it was most expedient, but never restrained 
from convenient crimes. This History would 
have been as delightful as it is admirable, if 
he had felt the difference between wisdom 
and cunning as warmly in that work, as he 
has discerned it clearly in his philosophy. 

Many historical speculators have indeed 
incurred some part of this fault. Enamoured 
of their own solution of the seeming contra- 
dictions of a character, they become indul- 
gent to the character itself; and, when they 
have explained its vices, are disposed, un- 
consciously, to write as if they had excused 
them. A writer who has made a successful 
e.vertion to render an intricate character in- 
telligible, who has brought his mind to so 
singular an attempt as a theory of villany, 
and has silenced his repugnance and indig- 
nation sufficiently for the purposes of rational 
examination, naturally exults in his victory 
over so many difficulties, delights in contem- 
plating the creations of his own ingenuity, 
and the order which he seems to have intro- 
duced into the chaos of malignant passions, 
and may at length view his work with that 
complacency which diffuses clearness and 
calmness over the language in which he 
communicates his imagined discoveries. 

It should also te remembered, that Ma- 



chiavel lived in an age when the events of 
every day must have blunted his m.oral feel- 
ings, and wearied out his indignation. In so 
far as we acquit the mtention of the writer, 
his work becomes a weightier evidence of 
the depravity which surrounded him. In this 
state of things, after the final disappointment 
of all his hopes, when Florence was subjected 
to tyrants, and Italy lay rmder the yoke of 
foreigners, — having undergone torture for the 
freedom of his country, and doomed to beg- 
gary in his old age. after a life of public ser- 
vice, it is not absolutely unnatural that he 
should have resolved to compose a theory of 
the tyranny under which he had fallen, and 
that ne should have manifested his indigna- 
tion against the cowardly slaves who had 
yielded to it, by a stern and cold description 
of its maxims. 

His last chapter, in which he seems once 
more to breathe a free air, has a character 
totally different from all the preceduig ones. 
His exhortation to the Medici to deliver Italy 
from foreigners, again speaks out his ancient 
feelings. Perhaps he might have thought it 
possible to pardon any means employed by 
an Italian usurper to expel the foreign mas- 
ters of his country. This ray of hope might , 
have supported him in delineating the means 
of usurpation ; by doing which he might have 
had some faint expectation that he could en- 
tice the usurper to become a, deliverer. — 
Knowing that the native governments were 
too base to defend Italy, and that all others 
were leagued to enslave her. he might, in his 
despair of all legitimate rulers, have hoped 
something for independence, and perhaps at 
last even for liberty, from the energy and 
genius of an illustrious tyrant. 

From Petrarch, with some of whose pa- 
thetic verses Machiavel concludes, to Alfieri, 
the national feehng of Italy seems to have 
taken refuge in the minds of her writers. 
They write more tenderly of their country 
as it is more basely abandoned by their coun- 
trymen. Nowhere has so much been well 
said, or so little nobly done. While we blame 
the character of the nation, or lament the 
fortune which in some measure produced it, 
we must, in equity, excuse some irregulari- 
ties in the indignation of men of genius, when 
they see the ingenious inhabitants of their 
beautiful and renowned country now appa- 
rently for ever robbed of that independence 
which is enjoyed by obscure and barbarous 
communities. 

The dispute about the intention of The 
Prince has thrown into the shade the merit 
of the Discourses on Livy. The praise be- 
stowed on them by Mr. Stewart* is scanty, 
that " they furnish lights to the school of 
Montesquieu" is surely inadequate com- 
mendation. They are the first attempts in a 
new science — the jihilosophv of history; and, 
as such, they form a brilliant point in the pro- 
gress of reason. For this Lord Bacon com 



* In ihe Dissertation prefixed to the Encydo 
paedia Britannica. — Ed. 



248 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



mends him : — " Ihe form of writing which is 
the fittest for this variable arfjument of ne- 
gotiation, is that which JMachiavel chose 
wisely and aptly for governtneiit, namely, 
discourse upon histories or examples: for, 
knowledge drawn freshly, and in onr view, 
out of particulars, ihideth its way best to 

f)articulars again ; and it hatli much greater 
ifeon practice wh^^i the discourse alleiuleth 
upon the example, than when the example 
attentleth upon the discourse." It is ob- 
servable, that the Florentine Secretary is the 
only modern writer who is named in that 
part of the Advancement of Learning which 
relates to civil knowledge. The apoloiry of 
Albericus Gentilis for the morality of The 
Prince, has been often quoted, and is cer- 
tainly weighty as a testimony, when we con- 
sider that the writer was born within twenty 
years of the death of Machiavel, and eihj- 
cated at no great distance fron: Florence. It 
is somewhat singular, that the context of this 
passage should never have been cpioted : — 
" To tlie Uiiowledge of history must be added 
that part of philosophy which treats of mo- 
rals and politics; for this is the soul of his- 
tor)', which explains the causes of the ac- 
tions and sayings of men, and of the events 
which befall them : and on this subjc^ct I 
am not afraid to name Nicholas Machiavel, 
as the most excellent of all writers, in his 
golden Observations on Livy. H(; is the 
writer whom I now seek, because he reads 
history not wi)h the eyes of a grammarian, 
but with those of a philosopher."* 

It is a just and retined observation of Mr. 
Hume, that the mere theory of Machiavel 
(to waive the more importaut consiih^ration 
of morality) was perverti'd by the atrocities 
which, among the Italians, then passeil un- 
der the name of 'policy.' The number of 
men who took a part in political measures in 
the republican governments of Italy, spread 
the taint of this pretemled policy farther, and 
made it a more national quality than in the 
TransLilpine monarchies. But neither the 
civil wars of France and Eiiirland, nor the 
administrations of Henry the Seventh, Ferdi- 
nand and Louis the Eleventh (to s;\y nothing 
of the succeeding religious wars), will allow 
us to consider it as peculiarly Italian. It 
arose from the circumstances of Europe iu 
those times. In every age in which contests 
are long maintained by chiefs too strong, or 
bodies of men too numerous for the ordinary 
cor.lrol of law, for power, or privileges, or 
possessions, or opinions to which they are 
ardently attached, the passions excited by 
eucli interests, lieated by sympathy, and in- 
Hamed to madness by resistance, soon throw 
off moral restraint in the treatment of ene- 
mies. Retaliation, which deters individuals, 
provokes multitudes to new cruelty : and the 
atrocities which originated in the rage of am- 
bition and fimaticism, are at length thought 
necessary for safety. Each party adopts the 
cruelties of the enemy, as we now adopt a 



* De Legal, lib. iii. c. ix. 



new discovery in the art of war. The craft 
and violence thought necessary for existence 
are admitted into the established policy of 
such deplorable times. 

But though this be the tendency of such 
circumstances in all times, it must be owned 
that these evils prevail among different na- 
tions, and in dillerent ages, in a very unequal 
liegree. Some part of these differences may 
depeiul on i:atioiial peculiarities, which can- 
not be satisfactorily explainetl: but, iu the 
greater part of them, experience is strikinjj 
and uinform. Civil wars are comparativelv 
regular and humane, under ciroumstanees 
that may be pretty exactly delined ; — among 
nations long accustomed to popular govern- 
ment, to free speakers and to free writers; 
familiar with all the boldness and turbulence 
of numerous asst^mblies; not afraid of ex- 
amining any matter human or divine; where 
great numbers take an interest in the con- 
duct of their superiors of every sort, watch 
it, and often censure it; where there is a 
public, and where that public boldly utters 
decisive opinions ; where no impassable lines 
of demarcation destine the lower classes tv 
eternal servitude, and the higher to envy 
and hatred and deep curses from iheir infe- 
riors; where the administration of law is so 
purified bj- the participation and eye of the 
public, as to become a grand school of hu- 
manity and jusfict^; and wJiere, as the con- 
sequence of all, there is a general ditlusion 
of the comforts of life, a general cnllivatioa 
of reason, and a widely dilTused feeling of 
equality and moral pride. The species seems 
to become gentler as all galling curbs are 
gradually tlisnsed. Quiet, or at least com- 
parative order, is promoted by the absence 
of all the expedients once thouglit essential 
to preserve tranquillity. Compare Asia with 
Europe; — the extremes are there seen. But 
if all the immediate degrees be examined, 
it will be found that civil wars are milder, 
in proportion to the progress of the body of 
the people in importance and well-being. 
Compare the civil wars of the two Eoses 
with tliose under Charles the First : compare 
these, again, with the humanity and wisdom 
of the Kevolution of sixteen hundred and 
eight\--elght. Examine the civil war wliich 
led to the American Kevolution: we there 
see anarchy without confusion, and govern- 
ments abolished and established without 
spilling a diop of blood. Even the progress 
of civilization, when unattended by the bless- 
ings of civil liberty, produces many of the 
same effects. When Mr. Hnme wrote the 
excellent observations quoted by Mr. Stew, 
art, Europe had for more than a century 
been exempt from those general convulsions 
which try the moral character of nations, 
and ascertain their progress towards a more 
civilized state of mind. AVe have since 
been visited by one of the most tremendous 
of these tempests; and our minds are yet 
filled with tlie dreadful cal. mities. and the 
ambiguous and precarious benefits, which 
have sprung from it. The contemporaries 



REVIEW OF THE LIVES OF MITON'S NEPHEWS. 



249 



of such terrific scenes are seldom in a tem- 
per to contemplate them calmly: and yet, 
though the events of this age have disap- 
pointed the expectations of sanguine bene- 
volence concerning the state of civilization 
in Europe, a dispassionate posterity will pro- 
bably decide that it has stood the test of 
general commotions, and proved its progress 
by their comparative mildness. One period 
of frenzy has been, indeed, horribly distin- 
guished, perhaps beyond any equal time in 
history, by popular massacres and judicial 
murders, among a people peculiarly sus- 
ceptible of a momentary fanaticism. This 
has haen followed by a war in which one 
party contended for universal dominion, find 
all the rest of Europe struggled for exist- 
ence. But how soon did the ancient laws 
of war between European adversaries re- 



sume the ascendant, which had indeed been 
suspended more in form than in fact ! How 
slight are the traces which the atrocities of 
faction and the manners of twenty years' 
invasion and conquest have left on the senti- 
ments of ICurope ! On a review of the d'i»- 
turbed period of the French Revolution, the 
mind is struck by the disappearance of 
classes of crimes which have often attended 
such convulsions; — no charge of poison; few 
assassinations, properly so called ; no case 
hitherto authenticated of secret execution ! 
If any crimes of this nature can be proved, 
the truth of history requires that the proof 
should be produced. But those who assert 
tlunn without proof must be considered as 
calumniating their age, and bringing into 
question the humanizing effects of order 
and good government. 



REVIEW OF MR. GODWIN'S LIVES 



EDWAUD AND JOHN PHILIPS, &c. &c. 



The public would have pcVhaps welcomed 
Mr. Godwin's reappearance as an author, 
most heartily, if he had chosen the part of a 
novelist. In that character his name is high, 
and his eminence undisputed. The time is 
long past since this would have been thought 
a slight, or even secondary praise. No ad- 
dition of more unquestionable value has 
been made by the moderns, to the treasures 
of literature inherited from antiquity, than 
those fictions which paint the manners and 
character of the body of mankind, and aflfect 
the reader by the relation of misfortunes 
which may befall himself. The English 
nation would have more to lose than any 
other, by undervaluing this species of compo- 
sition. Richardson has perhaps lost, though 
unjustly, a part of his popularity at home; 
but he still contributes to support the fame 
of his country abroad. The .small blemishes 
of his diction are lost in translation ; and the 
changes of English manners, and the occa- 
sionai homeliness of some of his represen- 
tations, are unfelt by foreigners. Fielding 
will for ever remain the delight of his coun- 
try, and will always retain his place in the 
libraries of Europe, notwithstanding the un- 
fortunate gros.sness, — the mark of an un- 
cultivated taste, — which if not yet entirely 
excluded from conversation, has been for 

• f rom the Edinb. Rev. vol. xxv. p. 485. — Ed. 
32 



some time banished from our writings, where, 
(luring the begt age of our national genius, 
it prevailed more than in those of any other 
polished nation. It is impossible in a Scot- 
tish journal, to omit Smollett, even if there 
had not been much better reasons for the 
mention of his name, than for the sake of 
observing, that he and Arbuthnot are suffi- 
cient to rescue Scotland from the imputation 
of wanting talent for pleasantry : though, it 
must be owned, we are grave people, hap- 
pily educated under an austere system of 
morals; possessing, perhaps, some humour, 
in our peculiar dialect, but fearful of taking 
the liberty of jesting in a foreign language 
like the English ; prone to abstruse specula- 
tion, to vehement dispute, to eagerness in 
the pursuit of business and ambition, and to 
all those intent occupations of mind which 
rather indispose it to unbend in easy play- 
fulness. 

Since the beautiful talcs of Goldsmith and 
Mackenzie, the composition of novels has 
been almost left to women; and, in the dis- 
tribution of literary labour, nothing seems 
more natural, than that, as soon as the talents 
of women are sufficiently cultivated, this 
task should be assigned to the sex which 
has most leisure for the delicate observa- 
tion of manners, and whose importance de- 
pends on the sentiments which most usually 
checker common life with poetical incidents. 



;m) 



IMACKINTOSirS JMISCKLLANKCU'S KSSAYS. 



Tlu'V liavt' pcrfoniunl llicir jnut with such 
signal suiH'i'ss, tlial llio liltMsuy works of 
WDiiuMi, iiistt>!iil of itH'inviiij^f iho luiuiiliatiiij; 
pniiso III' bciiiji ij;i/t>il at as woiulcis aiul pro- 
diijios, have, lor llif liist tiiiu', oompostul a 
oonsiiltiial)Ii' pail of tlio rcpiilatioii of an 
inu'ciiions nation in a loltiMtvl aye. ll oiiji^lit 
to bt' a»lvlt\l, lliat ihoir ili-Iii'ai'v, I'o-opt'ialnii;' 
w illi till' i)rogii>ss of rolinoiucnt, has i-ontii- 
IniU'vl to oii'ai'o from tlu>so inipoilani liotions 
tlio iiMn.iins v( Iniibaiisni uliirli liail ilis- 
{ViatM'il till' vi^oions {.",onins of onr aiK'cslois. 
J\lr. tiinlwin has prosoivtHl tlio plain' of 
inon ill this hianoli of litoratnit*. Cah'b 
Williams is [tiobably tho linost novel pio- 
Jnroil by a man.— at loast sinoo tho Vii'ar 
of \Vakt>lioKI. Tho sonlimonls, if not Iho 
opinions, from whii'h it aroso, \v('r»> transitMit. 
l.ooal usa>it>s aiul institutions woro tho siib- 
jtH'ts of its satiro, twai^ijoratoil b(>von(l tho 
usual priviloi;'t> of that spcH'ios ot writing;. 
Vi>t it has bi'iMi translatoil into most lan- 
j^nai^(>s ; ami it hasappoarod in various lorms, 
on tho tluMtii's, not only in Kiii.;laiul, but of 
I'ra .00 ami (lormany. Thon^ is st-arooly a 
(\>nliiioiital I'ironlatiiii;; library in whii'h it is 
not vHio of tho books wliii'li uu)st ipiii'kly rt>- 
quiro to bo roplaotul. 'riiouiih wntlon w ilh a 
tomporaiy piirposi", it will bo roail with iiitonso 
iiitorost, ami w ith ii painful impatioiioo for 
tho issno. loiij^ailor tho oiivimistanoos wliioh 
jnoibu'oil its original oomposiiion shall ooaso 
to bo known to all but to those who aro well 
vend in history. 'I'licro is si-arocK a liolion in 
any laii<;uai;'o which it is .so ilillioiill to lay by. 
A ^oulllI jHMson of uiulorslamling ami soiisi- 
bil'ity, not familiar with 'tho history of its 
oriji'in, nor torowarnoil of its oomiootion with 
jioonliar opinions, in whoso hivmls it is now 
put lor tho (list limo, will poruso it with 
pi'ihaps nioro ardoiit sympathy ami trom- 
blin;;' onriosity, than thoso who road it whon 
thoii atlontion was iliviiloil, ami thoir fool- 
ini^s ilisturboJ by ooiitrovorsy anil spoiMiIa- 
tiou. \ bniiiiiu^' thrown \\u for u season, has 
beoomo, by tho skill o( thelniiKler, a ilnrablo 
oililiot". It is u strikiiij;, but not a solitary 
ox.implo, of tho |)uipo»e of the writer beiiii;' 
Bwalloweil np4>v Iho interest of tho work, 
— of a man of abilily inlemling to take part 
iii tho ilispntes of tho moment, but loil by 
tho instinet of his talent to aiMress himself 
to the permanent feeliniis of human nature. 
ll must not, however, be ilenioil, that the 
marks of temporary origin ami peeuliar opi- 
nion, aro still the vuliierablo pari of the book. 
A lietion eontrivoil to support an opinion is 
a vieions eoniposition. I'^veii a lietion eon- 
trivoil to enforeo a maxim of eomliiet is not 
of the hii;ht<st elass. Ami thouiih the vifi'or- 
ous powers of Mr. (loilwin rai.soil him above 
his own intention, still tho n\arks of that 
intention ouiiht to bo ellaeeil as marks of 
inorlality; ami nolhiny oui>ht to remain in 
the book whieh will not always interest the 
roatler. The passatres whieh betray the me- 
taphysieian, more than the novelist, ou<iht 
to bo weedoil out with more than oiitmary 
euro. Tho eluuuctor of FalkUuul is a beau- 



tiful invention. 'I'hat sneh a maneoulil iinvs 
beoomo an as.sassin, is perhaps an improba- 
bility ; ami if sneh a erime bo j)ossibl«> for a 
soul so elevaleil. it may beilue to tho ili;L;nity 
of human nalmo to throw a veil over so hu- 
miliating a possibility, exeept when wo are 
eompelloil to expose it by its real oeenrrenoo. 
In a merely lileiary view, however, tho im- 
probability of this leailiiig ineuleiit is more 
than eompen.sateil. h\ all those agitating and 
terrible seeiies of whieh it is the parent : anil 
if the eolours hail been ilelieately shaileil, if 
all the steps in tho long progre.ss from ehi- 
valrous sentiment to assassination hail been 
more patiently traeoil, ami more ilislinelly 
brought into view, more might have been 
lost by W(>akeniiig the eontia>t, than woulil 
have been gaiiu>il by solliMiiiig or lemovinu 
the improbability. 'I'lio ehaiaeler of Tyirej, 
is a grosser oxaggiMation ; ami his «'oniluct 
is sneh as neither our manners woulil pio- 
ilnee. nor onr laws tolerate. One or two 
nuinstions examples of tyranny, nurseil antl 
armt"il by immense wealth, aro no authority 
for lietion, whieh is a iiielun* of geiu'ial nii- 
ture. The ileseriptive power of several jmrtB 
of this novel is of the highest onler. The 
lanil.seap(» in the morning o( t'aleb's (".seaj^e 
from prison, ami a similar escape from a S|)an- 
ish prison in St. Leon, art> among the seeiies 
of lietion whieh must tht> most freqnenlly anil 
viviilly reappear in the imaginalioii ol a rea- 
ltor of sensibility. Ills ili.-^gnises and eseapi'S 
in I.omlou. though ilelaileil at loogreat length, 
have a fnghllnl reality, perhaps nowhere piv- 
lalleleil in onr language, unless it be in some 
paintings of Paniel He Foe,* w ilh whom it is 
ilistinetion enoui^h to beareomparison. 'I'hero 
are several somewhat similar settles in the 
Colonel .laek of ihat ailmiiable w riter, whieh, 
among his novels, is imleoil only tho sooontl ; 
but wliieh eoulil bo seeoml to none but Ko- 
binson Crusoe, — one of those very tew books 
w hieh are equally popular in every eountry 
of iMiiope, ami whieh ilelight every reader 
from the philo.sopher to tlie ehilil. Caleb 
Williams resembles the novels of l">o I'oo, 
in the au.sterity with whieh it rejeets tho 
ageney of women ami the power of love. 

It woulil be aHeetalion to pass over in 
pileneo so remarkable a work as tho Inquiry 
into I'olitieal Justiee; but it is not tho time 
to say miu'h of it. Tho .season of eontro- 
versy is past, ami the periml of history is not 
yt>l arrived. \VhaIever may bt> its mistakes, 
whieh we shall be the last to underrate, it i.h 
eerlain that works in whieh errors equally 
dangerous are maintained with far less inge- 
nuity, have obtained for their authors a eoii- 
spieuous plaeo in ihe philosophieal history 
of tho eighteenth eiMitury. Hut book.s us 
well as men, aro subjeet to what is ealleil 
'fortnno.' Tho snn\e oireumstanees whieh 

• .\ jircnt-prnnilson of nmiicl Vv l'\w\ ol ilio 
siono iiinuo, is lunv » crfiliiiil)!!' irmtcsiiiMii in 
lliii\}^crl.iiil Murkot in London. Mis mnniiors 
i;ivc I) tiiviuniiMo improssinn of iiis soiisr niui mo- 
nils. Ilo i.t iii'iiluT aiu'onsi-ioiis of his uni'Oslor's 
fiuno, uor osii-iiuitious of it. 



KKVIKW f)F IflK r.lVKS OK Mlf/I'ON'S NKl'UKWH. 



251 



favoiir(;i| itH KiiililiMi iKijiiilaiity, iiavn hIiich 
unduly (lr|)i:^M«i'(| iIn icpnliilioii. Mad il ap- 
pitiiicil Ml a nn'ta|)liyMical a;,'c, and in a pi'iiod 
ot haii'indlily, it would liavo Ij(-<mi diH(-.nHHi;d 
by |)lidoK()|)lHMM, and iiii^.dil liavi; fxtrili'd a(;- 
rirtionioiiK diKjUilcN; hut llinwi would Jiavo 
tnidnd, a(l<!r llii! «roirr'<;fioM ol' (mtoiicouh 
MpoiMilalioMH, ill aHMi{;niii;L( lo llin autlior thai 
f<iat/iiii lo \vlii(;li liiM I'tniiK'nt talcntn liad imi- 
titlitd liirri. Il would k(K)ii havi! I)i-<mi ac- 
kliowiiMl^nd, llial till! antlioi ol oiid o( tlio 
Iiio-tt diM;j)ly intrtii'Hliii;^ tictioiiM ol hiH nn'', 
and o( a triiutiHi; on inctapli^Hical inoialH 
wtii(th (ixc-ilnd [^Diifia! alarm, wlialcvcr cImi; 
III! rni^lit !)(!, ninsl Ixt u prnMuii of viyorouH 
and v(!iMatil(! povvi-iH. Hiit Itin (tiicntriHtanci'H 
of till) tiirii'H, in Hpilo ol' tin! aullior'H in- 
ti'iition, traiiMniutird ii pliiloHopliical ti'i;atiis(! 
into a politi(;al pariiptilot. It Kci'iriiid to In; 
thrown nj) hy lliu vr)rl('v ol tin; Knnirh |{<'Vo- 
jution, and it Hiiiik aivordin^ly hh that wliirl- 
jHtol KiiliHidud ; wliil(! hy a pinviMMo (ortiiiM!, 
lli<! Iioiicsty ol till) aiillior'rt iiitrutions con- 
tnhiili^d to lln" |)ri-jiidii;(! a^'ainwt liis vvoik. 
With til"! Kini|)li<;ily and j^ood lailh of a rc- 
tiri;d HpfMinlalor, coiiKcioii.-t o( no object ixit 
Iho ]iurHtiit ol linlh, ho lollowcd his icaMon- 
iiijLjs wli<Mi'V(!r ihoy H<!(!rrn'il to liirn to li-ad. 
without lookiiif^ uj) lo «'.vainln<) iho array of 
Hcntirri'-Mt and iiiKljIntion, aw well a« ol iii- 
t(!i(!Kt and prr-judico, wliirih ho wan ahoul to 
cnrounlor. Inlnndinj^ no rriiKrdiii.'f, Ii<; (!ori- 
nidiMf^d no conHiJcpirTiccH ; and, in lh«! ryr. ol 
th<! rnnllitudH, wan IrariHlorrncd into an in- 
ciMidiary, only hi-rjanw! ho waH an undcMit,'n- 
ini( M|)0(:iilator. 'I'lio orilinary clarnonr wan 
fjxcitod a;.^ainHt liini : (rvim Iho liln-ial Hacii- 
iuu-.ii him to thoir chaiaiitor lor lilii'iaiity.- a 
fall! not vory uncommon for iIiomi! u ho, in 
critical lirnon, aro Miipposod lo {,'o loo lar; and 
many ol liiw own diMciplon. roluriiiii'^ into Iho 
world, and, aH usual, iccoilini,^ mowt violently 
from tlioir viMiouK, to iho ^roKMCHt worldly- 
mindodnoHH, odorcd Iho I'arrio ol' ihoir maHlor 
art an atonomont for ihoir «)\vn I'anllM. For a 
tirru) il ro(jiiir(!d coiira^o to Inavo lho pro- 
jiidico oxcitod hy hin iiarno. It rnay, oven 
now [loihapH, nood Mom<! fortilndo r>f adlffi-r- 
JMit kind to writo, thoni,'h in lho rrioHt imjiar- 
tial tornpor, tho Mrnall ria;';moiil ol literary 
hintfiry which rcrlatoH lo it. The moment 
for doiri<j; full and exact jiistici! will cfjmn. 

All ol)K(!rvatiori on tho perMonal corirlnct of 
a writer, when that conduftl in not of u pnh- 
lic nature, in of (lan^(o|•olJK exarrijilo; and, 
when it loadH lo hiamo, in Hcvorely repro- 
horiHihlo. liut it in hut cornrrion jiiHlico lo 
Hay, tli:it there aro ri!W iiiHlanceH of iriore ro- 
H|)f!clal)le conduct amrintr wrilerH, than in afi- 
par(!nt in tho KnhHoipiont workn of Mr. ^jod- 
win. He calmly r-ornrcted what appeared lo 
hiiri to ho liiK own miKlakoH; and ho jiroved 
tho perfect dihinloreHledneMH of Imh correc 
tioiiH, hy adhorini? lo ojiinioiiH aH ohnoxioun 
to the powcirlnl hh thoMo whicli he rrdiiKpiiMh- 
ed. (Inlerriptod hy lho hiii-cckh of hiH Kcho- 
larH in payin;^ iheir (!Oiirt to tho diHjieiiKerH 
of favour, ho adheiod lo tho old and rational 
principloM of lihorty, — violently Kliakoti a» 



llicMo venerahio principlcM had heen, Jiy lho 
tcmpe«l wliii^h hail healen down ihe iiei(»||. 
honiiii;^ I'leciioiiM of anai<:hy. He continued 

10 Hcek ind(!pcniloii<;o and ie|nilalioii, with 
that varioiiM hiiccoMM to which llie lahhionn 
of literal uio Hiihjeiii jirofoMMod wrilorKj and 
to Klrii;/;^lo with lho dillicultioH inoiflonl to 
oilier rnodi'M of induMlry. for wliicth hin jiru- 
vioim hahilH had not pii;parod liim. Ho lian 
lliUH, in oiii' hnmhio o|)inion, dcHorved tho 
rcMjiect of all lln»(e, w hatr-ver may ho their 
opniioiiM, who mIiII wimIi that mime men in 
jMi(;land may lliink for ihemMclvr-H, even at 
the rihk of thinkni;/ wronj,'; hut more ohpo- 
rially of tho liiendH <ii liheily, to whoHO 
cauHo ho haM <*-onraf^'oonHly adimred. 

'I'lio work heforo ijh, \h a contrihulion to 
tho literary hinlory <»f lho «r!Venlrcnlh cuil- 
tiiry. It aroHo from thai woll-j^'roundiid r<J- 
veronco for tho morality, aH well mh lho go- 
iiiiiH, of Milton, which ((ivcH imj)ortiin(!o to 
ev(!ry cii(;uriiHtanco coniicclr'd wilh him. 
Alter all thai had heen written ahoiit liiin, it 
apjieaied lo Mr. (Godwin, that there wan Hiill 
an iiiianpioaciied jioint of view, from whicli 
Millon'M <'liaia(;tor mi;.;ht he Hiiivo^ed, lho 
history of ihoHo n(!phewH to whom ho had 
hi-en a nreceptor and a father. " 1 1 wan ac- 
cident,'' hi! IcIIh uh, "that liiHt throw in my 
way two or three piodiH;lioiiM of them! wri- 
torn, that my literary acipi.iirilance,* whom 
I coiiHiilled, had iievr-r heaid of. Dr. JohiiHori 
had told me, that lho pujiiln of Milton had 
t'iven to tho w«nld 'only one L^enuiiK! pro- 
duction.' I'eiKonH hotter informed Ihan Dr. 
.lolniHon, could tell mo perhapK of half a 
dozen. How f^'reat wan my HiiipiiHe, when I 
found my colleclion nwelliny lo forty or 
fifty !" (,'hii'lly from tlieco piihlicalioiiM, hift 
from a coiiMiderahlo variety of lillle. known 
HOurccH, ho han collecti-d, wilh Hint:;ular in- 
duHlry, all the iioticoH, {.generally incidi'iital, 
<;oiK!orniii;< Iheno two jjorHOiiH, which aro 
Hcaltered over lho wrilin;.;H of lliijir a{^o. 

'iheir livcH aro not only inlorf!Htin(( a» n 
fra^^rnent of tho hintory of Milloii, hut curl- 
oiiKt an a Hpecim(!n of thf! condition of jiro- 
foHHcd anlnoiH in tho Hi-venleenlh (;enliiry. 

11 they had heen men rjf (jfitniiiK, or con- 
temptihle HcrihhIerH, they would not in eillier 
c.HHi; liavo heen fair hjii^cimeiiH of llieir chiHH. 
Drydon and p'lecknoe are emially excejilioiiH. 
Tho nephewH of Milton \)c\t)in.'ri\ to that 
laiKi! hody of literary rnen who aro dcMliiMid 
to miniHler lo the ^'(!neral curiosity ; to krfcp 
up lho Hlo(;k of ])uhlic information; to com- 
pile, lo ahridfjfi!, to trariHlat<! ; — a hoily of irn- 
()orlan(!f! in a ^rreal connlry, hein^.^ nt'ccHKary 
lo maintain, Ihoii^di ihey cannot advan(;e, ilN 
literatiiro. 'J'hi! de^rree of fjoixl hciihc, t'ood 
laKle, and Hoiind opinioiiH difluf< d amon^^ tluH 
claKH of wrilerH, m of no hiriall motnuiit to 

* 'riiJN pliiriil iiHi; of ' ncqiiiiiiiintino' im no Jpiibt 
iiliiiridniiily «iirriiiii(;(l liy iIk; cxiiinplfr ol DrytU'.u, 
iIk; IiIuIk^hI niillinrily in ii ciiNi! ol (lirluiii, ol iinv 
huikIi; MiikIIhIi wrin.'r : liiil iih die in-ii|M; in diviflcu, 
lln; convciiiiriic*' of (liHiiii|;>iiHliiiJ(( ilic (liiiriil Iroin 
ilio HiiiKuliir nl HrMl hIkIiI hci-iiim io di-iiriniiiu, thai 
the {ircfvrulito plural in " acquaiotancoit." 



J52 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSA^^. 



liic publio ivason aiul riioials ; ami wo know 
not wboro wo slionlil liiul t^o o.vaot u ropro- 
soMlatiou of tlio litorarv lifo of two authors, 
of tlio poiioii botwotii tho liostoialioii ami 
llio Itovohition, as in tliis volunio. Tl>o ii>m- 
plaiiit, lliat llio violails aro too imilliplioil ami 
iniiuito tor tlio in\portaiu'o ot tlu> siibjort. will 
bo uii^iai'ions in an aito liistiiiiinishoil by a 
passion lor biblii)iiraphv, aiul a voraoi()ns ap- 
poiilo lor anoovloto. It oaiuiol bo ilonioil, 
that ijroat aontonoss is shown in assonibbiijr 
and woiii!iin<j- all tlio vorv niinnto oironm- 
slanoos, tVoni vvliioh thoir liistory must ot'ton 
bo ralhor oonjooturtnl than intorrod. It may 
uppoar siiiiiular, that wo, in this spooulativo 
part of tho islainl, shouKl oonsiiii-r tho ili- 
grossioiis tVom tho bioi^raphy, anil tho pas- 
saii'os of ii't^noi-al spooulation, as tho jxirt of 
iho work whioh mii^ht, with tho i^roatost nd- 
vantajio, bo rtUronohoil : but tl»t>y aro oor- 
tainly opiso.los too larj;o lor tho action, and 
havo somotinios tho air »)f opt>iiiniis of ohap- 
t'MS in an inlouvloil history of Enii'Iauvl. 
Thoso two faults, of cli-iivssions too o\panil- 
oJ, ami ilotails too niinuto, aro tho principal 
tloloots of th(» voluuio ; which, howovor, 
must bo consiilorod horoafU'r as a nocossary 
part of all colloctious rospoctinu' tho biogiii- 
phv of Milton. 

kdward and John Philips woro tho sons 
of Kdwarvl Philips of Shrewsbury, Secondary 
of tho Crown ttllico in tiio Court oi Chancery, 
by Anno, sister of John Mdton. Edward 
was bam in London in lolUK and John ni 
HkU. To this sister tht> tirsi orii^inal Kui^lish 
versos of Miltou woro advlressed, — which ho 
composed before tho ai>o of sovontiUMi, — to 
stHillio her sormw lor the loss of an inlani son. 
Uislirst publishotl versos wore tho Epitaph on 
Shakespeare. To perform the ollices of do- 
nnvstic tenderness, and to render due honour 
to kindred li'onius, were the noble pnrpos("s by 
which he consecrated his poetical power at 
tho oponnii.1; of a lite, ov<My mouiont of whicli 
corres[Hiiideil to this <\\\\y piomiso. On his 
return tVoni his travels, ho found his ne- 
phews, bv tho death of their faiher, become 
orphans. He look them into his hovise, .sup- 
jH>rlin>; and educatinir them ; which ho was 
enabled to do by tho recompense which ho 
received for tho instruction of other pupils 
And for this act of respectable industry, and 
ffouemns alloction, in thus romemborinij tho 
numblest claims o( prudouci' and kindness 
umidst the lolly ambition and sublime con- 
templations of his mature powers, ho has 
been sneorovl at by a moralist, in a work 
which, boinsi' a system of our jxietical bio- 
graphy, oujiht ospooially to have recom- 
mondoil this most moral example to the imi- 
tation of British youth. 

John published very early a vindication 
of his uncle's IVfonce of the People of Eng- 
land. lv>th brothers, in a very tow years, 
weary of the austere n\orals oi the Kt>publi- 
cans, ipiittoil the jxnty of Milton, and adopted 
the |H»litics, with tho wit and festivity, of the 
young Cavaliers: but tho oKler, a person 
of ;i[eutio dis^x)^itiou und amiable luanaors, 



more a man of letters than a politician, retain- 
oil at least due roveronce ami giatitudt* for his 
beiielactor, and is conjt>ctured by Mr. (lod- 
win, upon tjrounds that do not seem itnproba- 
blo, to have contribnUvI to save his mide at 
the Kesloratiou. Twenty yeais alter tho 
dt>ath of iSIillon. the lirsl Life o( him was 
pnblisheil by Eilwanl Philips; upon which 
all sucee«>dini: nariatives have been built. 
This Theatrnm Poetarum will be always 
road with intorosi, as containing the opinions 
concerning poetry and ]H>ets, which he pro- 
bably imbibed from Milton. 'J'his amiable 
writer dioii bi>tween H>!»1 and 1()!»8. 

John Philips, a coarse bnlloon. and a vul- 
g-ar debauchee, was. throughont lite, chiefly 
a iH)litical pamphleteer, who turned with 
everv change of forlimo and breath of pojni- 
lar clamour, but on all siiles preserved a con- 
sistency in violence, scurrility, and servility 
to his masters, whether they were the ta- 
vouritesof the Court, or the IcadoVs of the 
rabble. Having cried out for tho blood of 
his former friends at the Restoiation. he in- 
sulted the memory of Milton, within two 
yearsof his death. Ho adhered to thecauso 
t)f Charles II. till it became unpopular; ami 
di.-^gracod tho then now name of Whig by 
a.ssociating with tho atrocious Tilns Oate.s. 
In his vindication of tli;^ execnible wretch, 
lie ailopts the maxim, ''that tho attesiations 
of a hundred Catholics cannot be put in bal- 
ance w ilh the oath of one Protestant ;'" — 
which, if'onriwvn |Xirty'woie substituted 
tor 'Protestant,' and 'the opposite one' for 
' Catholic,' nnty bo re«.rarded as the general 
principle of the jurisprudence of most tri- 
umphant factions. Ho was silenced, or driven 
to literary compilation, by thoso fatal events 
in 1(!S3, which seemed to be the final tri- 
umph of the Comt over public liberty. His 
stMvile voice, however, hailed the accession 
o( James H. The Pevolution ]iriHluced a 
new turn of this weathercock ; but. happily 
for tho kingdom, no second Kesloration gave 
occasion to another display of his incon- 
stancy. In H>S1 ho had been the associate 
of Oates, and the tool of Shallesbury : in 
U»S5 he thus addresses James 11. in doggciol 
scurrility : 

" Must tlio Kui'li's true Pofeiulcr bleed toi!cni!i, 
A ssuritloo to CooiH^r's wrath t" 

In U»05 he took a part in that vast nias5 of 
bad verse occasioned by the death of Queen 
Mary ; and in l»iS>7 lie celebrated Kit^g Wil- 
liam as Augustus Hritannicus, in a poetn on 
the Peace of l\\swick. From tho Ke volu- 
tion to his death, about 1701. ho was use- 
fully employed as editor of the Monthly 
Moreurv, a journal which was wliolly, or 
principally, a translation from Le Mercure 
llistorujue, published at the Hague, by some 
of those ingenious and excellent Protosiattt 
refugees, whoso writings contributt\! to »\x- 
cite all Europe ag-ainst Louis XIV. ^Ir. 
Codw in at last, very naturallv, relents a lit- 
tle towards him: he is unwilling to part on 
bail terms w ah cue who lias been so long a 



KKVIICW OF 'J-IIK MVKS OF MILTON'S NKPHKVVS. 



253 



companion. All, liDwovtn-, tlial jn{lul;L,'i'nt 
ingiMinity can tlirt\'.()V(M- in his (avour iH, Iliat 
lio w.iH ati inilciali^aljlc) \vriti!i'; and llial, 
(luiinj; liiH lant y(,-ar.s, hn rcHlcd. al'li-r ko 
many vilnatioiiM, in the ()j)inionH of u const i- 
tiitional VVlll;^^ Jiiil, in a man lilu; .NjIui 
Pliilips, tli(3 lallcr cni-iiinslanci! is only oni; 
of till! sitjnH of till' timcH, and j)iovcs no hiok; 
than tlial tli<! principles ol Jui^ilisli Jdn-ity 
W'lMo pationiziul by a iL^oVcinincnt uliicli 
owed to these [)iin('ipl(;s its (ixistence. 

Tlie above is a very slight sketch of tin; 
iivcfs of these two piiisons, which Mr. (^od- 
win, wilit «!f|ual j)atienco and acMiteness of 
resL'aich, has gleaned IVoiii publications, of 
which il nspiired a much more than ordi- 
nary fairiiliarity with thi; lileralunj of iho last 
century, even to know the cxistmict!. Il is 
HOiiKUvhat singular, that no inipiiries s(!em lo 
hav(! been madi; icspi-cting ihe history of thi; 
d(!scend. mis of Milton's brotlnn-, Sir ('lirislo- 
pher : and that it has not bei'u ascertained 
whetlicr cither of his iM!i)hews lei't childrcMi. 
TlmmafJ Milton, IIk; son of Sir (Christopher, 
was, it sc(!iMK, Secrondary lo the Crown ()ili<;e 
in Chancery; and il t;ould iiol be very diffi- 
cult fora resident in London to ascertain Ihe 
niniotl of his death, and perhaj)s lo discovcu' 
liis i'esid(Mice and ihi! slate of liis family. 

Milton's direct desc(Miilanls (ran only e.visl, 
if they exist at all, among Ihe posterity of his 
youngest and favomiti; daugliter Deborah, 
aiterwards Mrs. ('larke, a woman of culliva- 
ted imderslauding, and not nnpleasing man- 
IKMS, who was known to Hicrhardson and 
I'rolessor Ward, and was patronized by Ail- 
(lisoM.* Her allecling exclamation is well 
known, on s(!cing hcv father's portrait for th(! 
first time more than thirty years after his 
death: — "Oh my f'atIi(M-, my dear fath(!r!" 
" She spoke of him," says Uichardson, " with 
preat Icnidcuiuiss; .she said he was (hdight- 
I'ul company, llie life of the conversation, 
not oidy by a flow of Hul)j(r(!l, but by unal- 
f(!cl(;d cheerfulness and civility." J'his is 
the (diaract(T of one whom Dr. .lohnson rt;- 
pri!senls as a morose tyrant, diawn by a 
Hupposcid victim of his dorrnrslic oj)pressi()n. 
Her daughter, Mrs. Foster, for whos(i benidil 
Dr. Ncwtou and Dr. liirc h procnired Comus 
to 1)0 acl(!d, survived all lurr childriMi. 'J'he 
oidy child of D(!l)orah Milton, of whom we 
liav(vany accounts besidcrs Mrs. Foster, was 
Caleb Clarki^ who went to Madras in Ihe 
first years of the eighUrenth century, and 
who then vanishes from the viinv of the bio- 
graphers of Milton. We have bcren enabled, 
by accident, to enlarge a vt^ry little this ap- 
pendag(! to liis liislory. Il aj)pears from an 
exuminution of the parish register of Fort St. 
Georg«>, that Caleb Clarke, who seems to 
havo b(M'n parish-clerk of that place from 
1717 to 1719, was buried Ihero on the 2()lh 
of October of the latter year. Hy his wife 
Mary, whose original surname doers not ap- 
pear, li(! had three children born at Madras; 

• Who inlondod to hnvo procured a pirrmnncnt 
provision (or her. Hlio wus prcscnlcu witli fitly 
guiitcuH by Quucii CaroUno. 



Abraham, bajilized on the 2d of Juno, 
I7():{; Mary, baiili/.rd on the 17th oi' March, 
17()(i, and buried on Deeri'mber I.Olh of the 
same year; and Isaac, baptized llilhol Feb- 
ruary, 1711. Of Isaac no fiulher a(<!(junt 
apjiears, y\biaiiam, the great-giaiidson of 
Milton, in Sejitember, 17i.'r>, married Anna 
(.'laike; and iIk; baptism of their daugliter 
Maiy is registered on tlnr 2d oi April, 1727. 
With this all notices olj this family (reaso. 
I'.ul as neither Abraham, nor any ol iiis fami- 
ly, nor his brothi'r Isaac, (li(;d at Madias, and 
as 111! was only lw(!nty-four years of age ut 
the l)a])tism of his daughter, it is jirobable 
tliiit ihe family migrated lo some; other jjart 
of India, and that some trace of them might 
yet be discoverred by examinalion of tho 
])arish rr'gisters oi Calcutta and I'ombay. If 
llicy had reiurned to Kngland, they could not 
have escajied the curiosity oi the admirers 
and hislorians of Milton. We cannot apolo- 
gize! for the minnti'iiess rif iliis genealogy, or 
for Ihe eagerness of (uir desire that it sh(Jlild 
be enlarged. W<! iirofess that sujier.stitioua 
V(rneratioii for the memory of the greatest of 
jHiets, which would regard tlu; slightest rvUc 
of him as sacred ; and w(? cannol coiict:ivo 
either true poetical sensibility, or a just stmso 
of the glory of Fiiigland, lo belong to that 
Kiigiishman, wlio would not feel tin; strong- 
etit emotions at the sight of a (h-scendaiit 
of Milton, disirovereul in tin! person ev(!n of 
the most liumblo and unlettered of human 
beings. 

While the grandson of Milton resided at 
Madias, in a condition so hurnbhr as lo inako 
the oflicc! of jiarish-clerk an object of ambi- 
tion, il is somewlial remarkabl<! that tho 
fld(;r brother of Addison should have been 
the (jovirrnor of that seltlement. Th(! lio- 
nourabl(! (Jalstoii Addison died then; in iho 
year 170!>. Thomas I'itI, grandl'alher to 
Lord Chatham, had lieen his immediate i)ro- 
decessor in tin; government. 

It was in the same year that Mr. Addison 
began ihoscr contributions to periodical es- 
says, which, as long as any sensibility to 
the beauties of ICiiglish style remains, must 
be considered as its purest and most j)erfect 
models. Hut it was not until eighli-en montha 
aft(Mwards, — when, influenced by fidelity to 
his friends, and attachment to the (raus(i of 
liberty, Ik; had retired from office, and wlien, 
willi his usual judgrneiil, Ik; resolvi'd lo re- 
sum«r till! moni active cultivation of literature, 
as the elegant emploprient of liis lei.suie, — 
that he undertook the series of essays on 
Paradise Lost; — not, as has bei-n weakly 
supposed, with lln; )iresum|)luous ho])(! of 
exalling Milton, but with IIk; more reasonable 
intention of cultivating llur public taste, and 
instructing tlur nation in llur princijilesof just 
criticism, by ol)servalions on a work already 
acknowledged lo bo the first of Knglish 
poems. If any doubt could l)e entertained 
respecting the pur[)os(! of tliis excellent wri- 
ter, it must bo ftihrnced by the language in 
wliicli he announces his criticism :—" As tho 
first place among our Knglisli poets '.8 due to 
W 



254 



MACKINTOSH'S AHSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Milton," says he, "I shall enter into a regu- 
lar oritieism upon his Paradise Lost." &c. ft 
is clear tliat he takes lor granted the para- 
mount jjreatness of INIilton; and that his 
object was not to disinter a poet who had 
been buried in unjust oblivion, but to illus- 
trata the rules of criticisnr by observations 
on the writings of him whom all his readers 
revered as the greatt>st poet of their country. 
This passage might have been added by Rlr. 
Godwin to the numerous proofs by which ho 
iias demonstrated the ignorance and negli- 
gence, if not the malice, of those who would 
persuade us that the English nation couKl 
nave suspended their admiration of a poem, 
— the glory of their country, and the boast 
of human genius. — till they were taught its 
excellences by critics, and enabled by politi- 
cal revolutions to indulge their feelings with 
Kifety. It was indeed worthy of Lord Somers 
to have been one of its earliest admirers; 
and to his inlluence and conversation it is 
not improbable that we owe, though indi- 
rectly, the essays of Addison. The hitter's 
criticism manifests and inspires a more genu- 
ine sense of poetical beauty than others of 
more ambitions pretensions, and now of 
greater name. Ihit it must not be forgotten 
tlrat iNtilton had subdued the adverse preju- 
dices of Diyden and Attcrbury, long before 
he liad extorted from a more acrimonious 
kostility, that unwilling but noble tribute of 



justice to the poet, for which Dr. Johnson 
seems to have made satisfaction to his hatred 
by a virulent Idud on the man.* 

It is an e.\cell(Mice of Mr. Godwin's narra- 
tive, that he thinks and feels about the men 
and events of the age of Mdton, in some 
measure as Milton himself fi-lt and thought. 
Exact conformity of sentiment is neither pos- 
sible nor desirable: but a Life of Milton, 
written by a zealous opponent of his princi- 
ples, in the relation of events which so much 
exasperate thi^ passions, almost inevitably 
degenerates into a libel. The constant hos- 
tility of a biographer to the subject of his 
narrative, whether it be just or not, is teazing 
and vexatious: the natural frailty of over- 
partiality is a thousand times more agreeable. 

* The sirnnffo misrepresonialions, Ions; prova- 
lont nnioDs; oiirsfives respecting- the slow progress 
of iMilion's repuiaiion, sanetioiied as (hey were 
both l>y .lolinsi)!! and by Thomas W'arion, liave 
produced ridiculous elleois abroad. 0\\ ilie Idili 
of Novemhor. 1811, a Parisian poet named Caiii- 
peiion was, in the present unhappy etaicot French 
literature, received at ilie .-\eadeiny as the succes- 
sor td' the Abbe Deiille. In his Discours de 
Reception, he speaks of tlie Abbe's transhilion 
" de CO Taradis I'erdu, dont I'Agleterre est si 
ficre dcpui;; (ju'clle acesse d'en ignorer le merile." 
The president M. Re-riiauh de St. Jean d'Angely 
said tliat M. Deiille repaid our hospitality liy trans- 
latins; Milton. — " en doublant aiiisi la eelelirito du 
Pocie ; doni le genio a inspire ii I'Angleicrre UU 
si tardif uiais si legitime orgueil." 



REVIEW 

OF 

ROGERS' POEMS. 



It seems very doubtful, M'hether the pro- 
gress and the vicissitudes of the eleg~ant arts 
ciui be referred to the operation'of general 
laws, with the s;ime plausibility as the exer- 
tions of the more robust faculties of the 
liuman mind, in the sm'erer forms of science 
and of useful art. The action of fancy and 
of taste setnns to be atlected by causes too 
various and minute to be emnnerated with 
sufficient completeness for the pnrjwses of 
pliilosophical theory. To explain them, may 
appear to be as hopeless an attempt, as to 
account for one summer being more warm 
and genial than another. The ditliculty 
would be insurmountable, even in framing 
the most general outline of a theory, if the 
various I'cnins assumed by imagination, in 
the fine art.s. did not depend on some of the 
most conspicuous, as well as powerful agents 
in the moral world. But these arise from 
t evolutions of popular sentiments, and are 
connected with the opinions of the age, and 



with the manners of the refined class, as 
certainly, though not in so great a degree, as 
with the passions of the multitude. The 
comedy of a polished monarchy never can 
be of the s;\me character with that of a bold 
and tumultuous democracy. Changes of re- 
li>i'.on and of govt^rinnent, civil or foreign 
wars, conquests which derive splendour from 
distance, or extent, or diHiculty, long tran- 
quillity, — all these, and indeed every con- 
ceivable modification of the state of a com- 
munity, show themselves in the tone of its 
jwetry, ami leave long and deep traces on 
every part of its literature. Geometry is the 
same, not only at London and Paris, but in 
the extremes of Athens and Samarcand : but 
the state of the general feeling in England, 
at this moment, requires a ditferent jwetry 
from that which delighted our ancestors in 
the time of Luther or Alfred. 

During the greater part of the eighteenth 
century, the comiection of the character of 



REVIEW OF ROGERS' POEMS. 



255 



English poetry with the state of the country, 
vas very easily traced. The period which 
extended from the English to the French 
Revolution, was the golden age of auth(;ntic 
history. Goverinnents vverf; secure, nations 
tranrjuil, irnprovcmculs nipid. manners mild 
beyond the <'\arn])l(! of any former age. Tlie 
English nation which possessed the greatest 
of all human blessings, — a wisely constructed 

i)opular government, necessarily enjoyed the 
arg(;st share of every other benefit. Thii 
tranquillity of that fortunate period was not 
disturb(;d byany of those calamitous, or even 
extraordinary events, which (!xcite the imagi- 
nation and inflame the passions. No age 
was more exempt from the prevalence of 
any species of po{)ular enthusiasm. Poetry, 
in this slate of things, partook of that calm, 
argumentative, moral, and directly useful 
character into which it naturally subsides, 
when there are no events to call up the 
higher passions, — when every talent is al- 
lured into the immediate service of a pros- 
perous and improving society, — and when 
wit, taste, diffu.sed literature, and fastidious 
criticism, combine to deter the young writer 
from tPie more arduons enterprises of poetical 
genius. In such an age, every art becomes 
rational. Reason is the power which presides 
in a calm. Bat reason guides, rather than 
impels; and, though it must regulate every 
exertion of genius, it never can rouse it to 
vigorous action. 

The school of Dryden and Pope, which 
prevailed till a very late period of the last 
century, is neither the most poetical nor the 
most national part of our literary annals. 
These great poets sometimes indeed ventur- 
ed into the regions of pure poetry : but their 
general character is, that " not in fancy's 
maze they wandered long;" and that they 
rather approached the elegant correctness of 
our Continental neighbours, than supported 
the daring flight, which, in the former age, 
had borne English poetry to a sublimer ele- 
vation than that of any other modern people 
of the West. 

Towards the middle of the century, great, 
though quiet changes, began to manifest 
themselves in the republic of letters in every 
European nation which retained any portion 
of mental activity. About that time, the e,\- 
clusive authority of our great rhyming poets 
began to be weakened ; while new taste»and 
fashions began to show themselves in the 
political world. A school of poetry must 
nave prevailed long enough, to be probably 
on the verge of downfal, before its practice 
is embodied in a correspondent system of 
criticism. 

Johnson was the critic of our second poet- 
ical school. As far as his prejudices of a po- 
litical or religious kind did not disqualify him 
for all criticism, he was admirably fitted by 
nature to be the critic of this species of poe- 
try. Without more imagination, sensibility, 
or delicacy than it required, — not always 
with perhaps quite enough for its higher 
parts, — he possessed sagacity, shrewdness, 



experience, knowledge of maidtind, a taste 
for rational and orderly compositions, and a 
disposition to accept, instead of poetry, that 
lofty and vigorous declamation in harmo- 
nious verse, of which he himself was capa- 
ble, and to which his great master sometimes 
descended. His spontaneous admiration 
scarcely soared above Dryden. " Merit of a 
loftier clas3 he rather saw than felt." Shake- 
speare has transcendent excellence of every 
sort, and for every critic, except those who 
are repelled by the faults which ursually at- 
tend sublime virtues, — character and man- 
ners, morality and prudence, as well as ima- 
gery and passion. Johnson did indeed per- 
form a vigorous act of reluctant justice to- 
wards Milton ; but it was a proof, to use his 
own words, that 

" At lencth our mighty Bard's victorious lays 
Fill ilie loud voice of universal prais-e ; 
And liafili d Sjjiic, with hopeless anguish dumb, 
Yields to renown ihc centuries to coine !''* 

The deformities of the Life of Gray ought 
not to be ascribed to jealousy, — for Johnson's 
mind, though coarse, was not mean, — but to 
the prejudices of his university, his political 
faction, and his poetical sect : and this last 
bigotry is the more remarkable, because it is 
exerted against the most skilful and tasteful 
of innovators, who, in reviving more poetical 
subjects and a more splendid diction, has 
employed more care and finish than those 
who aimed only at correctness. 

Tlie interval which elapsed between the 
death of Goldsmith and the rise of Cowper, 
is perhaps more barren than any other twelve 
years in the history of our poetry since the 
accession of Elizabeth. It seemed as if the 
fertile soil was at length exhausted. But it 
had in fact only ceased to exhibit its accus- 
tomed produce. The established poetry had 
worn out either its own resources, or the con- 
stancy of its readers. Former attempts to 
introduce novelty had been either too weak 
or too early. Neither the beautiful fancy of 
Collins, nor the learned and ingenious indus 
try of Warton, nor even the union of sublime 
genius with consummate art in Gray, had 
produced a general change in poetical com- 
position. But the fulness of time was ap- 
proaching ; and a revolution has been accom- 
plished, of which the commencement nearly 
coincides — not, as we conceive, accidental- 
ly — with that of the political revolution which 
has changed the character as well as the 
condition of Europe. It has been a thousand 
times observed, that nations become weary 
even of excellence, and seek a new way of 
writing, though it should be a worse. But 
besides the operation of satiety — the general 
cause of literary revolutions — several par- 
ticular circumstances s»em to have affected 
the late changes of our poetical taste j of 
which, two are more conspicuous than the 
rest. 

In the natural progress of socie'.y, the songs 
which are the effusion of the feelings of a 



* Prologue 10 Comus. — Ed. 



256 



AIACIvINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



rntlo trib?, are gradually polished into a form 
of poetry still retaiiiinp- ihe marks of the na- 
tional opinions, sontiimnits, ant! manners, 
from which it originally sprung. The jilants 
are improvoil by cnllivatioii ; but they are 
still the native produce of the soil. The 
only perfect example which we know, of 
this sort, is Greece. Knowledge aiul useful 
art, and perhaps in a great measure religion, 
the Greeks received from the East: but as 
they studied no foreign langnnge, it was im- 
possible that any foreign literature slionld in- 
Huence the progress of theirs. Not even the 
name of a Persian, Assyrian, I'henician, or 
Egyptian poet is alhuletl to by any Greek 
writer: The Gieek poetry was, therefore, 
wholly national. The Pelasgie balhuls were 
insensibly formed into Epic, and Tragic, and 
Lyric poems: but the heroes, the opinions, 
and the customs, continued as exclusively 
Grecian, as they had been when the Helle- 
nic minstrels knew little be3-oiul the Adriatic 
and the ^Egean. The literature of Eome 
was a copy from that of Greece. ^Vhen the 
classical studies revived amiil the chivalrous 
manners and feudal institutions of Gothic 
Europe, the imitation of ancient poets stiug- 
gled against the power of modern sentiments, 
with various event, iu different times ami 
countries, — but every where in such a man- 
ner, as to give somewhat of an artificial and 
exotic character to poetry. Jupiter and the 
Muses appeared in the poems of Christian 
nations. The feelings and principles of de- 
mocracies were copied by the gentlemen of 
Teutonic monarchies or aristocracies. The 
sentiments of the poet in his verse, were not 
those which actnated him in his conduct. 
The forms and rnles of comjiosition were 
borrowed from anlitiuily, instead of sponta- 
neously arising from the manner of thinking 
of modem communities. In Italy, when let- 
ters first re vi veil, the chivalrous princiiJe 
was too near the periotl of its full vigour, to 
be oppressed by his foreign learning. An- 
cient ornaments were borrowed ; but the ro- 
mantic form was prevalent : and where the 
forms were classical, the spirit contitmed to 
be romantic. The structure of Tasso's poem 
was that of the Grecian epic; but his heroes 
were Christian knights. French poetiy 
having been somewhat unaccountably late 
in its rise, and slow in its progress, reached 
its mo.st brilliant period, when all Europe had 
considerably lost its ancient characteristic 
principles, and was fully imbued with classi- 
cal ideas. Hence it acquired faultless ele- 
gance : — hence also it became less natural, — 
more timid and more imitative, — more like 
a feeble translation of Roman poetry. The 
first age of Eny:Iish poetry, in the reign of 
Elizabeth, displayed^i combination, — fantas- 
tic enough, — of chivalrous fancy and feeling 
with classical pedantry: but, upon the whole, 
lis native genius was uiisubdued. The poems 
of thai age, with all their faults, and partly 
perhaps from their faults, are the most na- 
tional part of our poetry, as they undoubtedly 
contain its highest beauties. From the. ai?- 



ccssion of James, to the Civil War, the glory 
of Shakes])eare turneil the whole national 
genius to llie drama ; and, after the Kestora- 
t:on, a new and classical school arose, under 
whom our old and peculiar literature was 
abandoned, and almost forgotten. But all 
imported tastes in liteniture must be in some 
measure superlicial. The poetry which once 
grew in the bosoms of a people, is always 
capable of being revived by a skilful hand. 
\Vlien tlie brilliant and jioignant lines of 
Pope began to pall on the public ear, it was 
natural that we should revert to the cultiva- 
tion of our indigenous jioetry. 

Nor was this the sole, or perhaps the chief 
ajjent wliich was working a poetical change. 
As the condition and character of the former 
age had produced an argumentative, di- 
dactic, sententious, prudential, and satirical 
poetry; so the approaches to a new order (or 
rather at first disorder) in political society, 
were attended by correspondent movements 
in the poetical world. Boliier .speculations 
began to prevail. A combination of the 
science and art of the tranipiil period, with 
the hardy enterprises of that which suc- 
ceeded, gave rise to scientific jioems, in which 
a bold attempt was made, by the mere force 
of diction, to give a political interest and 
elevation to the coldest parts of knowledge, 
and to those arts which have been hitherto 
considered as the meanest. Having been 
forced above their natural place by the won- 
der at first elicited, they have not yet reco- 
vered from the subsequent depression. Nor 
will a similar attempt be successful, without 
a more temperate use of power over style, 
till the difi'usion of physical knowledge ren- 
ders it familiar to the popular imagination, 
and till the prodigies woiked by the mechani- 
cal arts shall have bestowed on them a cha- 
racter of grandeur. 

As the agitation of men's minds approach- 
ed the period of an explosion, its eil'ecls on 
literature became more visible. The desire 
of strong emotion succeeded to the solici- 
tude to avoid disgust. Fictions, both dra- 
matic and narrative, were formed according 
to the .school of Rousseau and Goethe. The 
mixture of comic and tragic pictures once 
more displayed itself, as in the ancient and 
national drama. The sublime and energetic 
feelings of devotion began to bo more fre- 
quently associated with poetry. The ten- 
dency of political speculation concurred in 
directing the mind of the poet to the intense 
and un(lisizuised passions of the uneducated ; 
which fastidious politen.ess hail excluded 
from the subjects of poetical imitation. The 
history of nations unlike ourselves, the fan- 
tastic mvthology anil ferocious superstition 
of distant times and countries, or the legends 
of onr own antiijue faith, and the romances 
of our fabulous and heroic ages, became 
themes of poetry. Traces of a high'^r order 
of feeling appeared in the contemplations in 
which l.he poet indulged, and in tiie events 
and scenes which he delighted to describe. 
The fire with which a chivalrous tale was 



REVIEW OF ROGERS' POEMS 



257 



told; made the reader inattentive to negli- 
gences ill the eiory or the style. Poetry be- 
came more devout, more contemplative; more 
mystical, more visionary, — more alien from 
the taste of those whose poetry is only a 
polished prosaic verse, — more full of antique 
superstition, and more prone to darinj^ inno- 
vation, — painting both coarser realities and 
purer imaginations, than she had before ha- 
zarded, — sometimes buried in the profound 
quiet required by the dreams of fancy, — 
sometimes tuibuhuit and martial, — seeking 
"fierce wars and faithful loves" in those 
limes long past, when the frequency of the 
most dreadful dangers produced heroic ener- 
gy and the ardour of faithful affection. 

Even the direction given to the traveller 
by the accidents of war has not been with- 
out its influence. Greece, the mother of 
freedom and of poetry in the West, which 
had long employed only the antiquary, the 
artist, and the philologist, was at length des- 
tined, after an interval of many silent and 
inglorious ages, to awakcMi the genius of a 

f)oet. Full of enthusiasm for those perfect 
orms of heroism and liberty, which his 
imagination had placed in the recesses of 
antiquity, he gave vent to his impatience of 
the imperfections of living men and real in- 
Btilutions, in an original strain of sublime 
satire, which clothes moral anger in imagery 
of an almost horrible grand<iur; and which, 
though it cannot coincide with the estimate 
of reason, yet coukl only How from that 
worship of perfection, which is the soul of 
all true poetry. 

The tendency of poetry to become na- 
tional, was in more than one case remarkable. 
While the Scottish middle age inspired the 
most popular poet perhaps of the eighteenth 
century, the national genius of Ireland at 
length found a poetical representative, whose 
exquisite ear, and flexible fancy, wantoned 
in all the varieties of poetical luxury, from 
the levities to the fondness of love, from 
polished pleasantry to ardent passion, and 
from the social joys of private life to a 
tender and mournful patriotism, taught by 
the melancholy fortunes of an illustrious 
country, — with a range adapted to every 
nerve in the composition of a people sus- 
ceptible of all feelings which have the colour 
of generosity, and more exempt probably 
than any other from degrading and unpoeti- 
cal vices. 

The failure of innumerable adventurers is 
inevitable, in literary, as well as in political, 
revolutions. The inventor .seldom perfects 
his invention. The uncouthness of the no- 
velty, the clumsiness with which it is ma- 
naged by an unpractised hand, and the dog- 
matical contempt of criticism natural to the 
pride and enthusiasm of the innovator, com- 
oipe to expose him to ridicule, and generally 
terminate in his being admired (though 
warmly) by a few of his contemporaries, — 
remembered only occasionally in after times, 
— and supplanted in general estimation by 
more cautious and skilful imitators. With 
33 



the very reverse of unfriendly feelings, we 
observe that erroneous theories respecting 
poetical diction, — exclusive and prescriptive 
notions in criticism, which in adding new 
provinces to poetry would deprive her of an- 
cient dominions and lawful instruments of 
rule, — and a neglect of that extreme regard 
to geneial sympathy, and even accidental 
prejudice, which is necessary to guard poeti- 
cal novelties against their natural enemy the 
satirist, — have powerfully countfiactcd an 
attempt, equally moral and philosophical, 
made by a writer of undisputed poetical 
genius, to enlarge the territories of art, by un- 
folding the poetical interest which lies latent 
in the common acts of the humblest men, 
and in the most ordinary modes of feeling, as 
well as in the most familifir scenes of nature. 

The various opinions which may naturally 
he formed of the merit of individual writers, 
form no necessary part of our consideration. 
We consider the present as one of the most 
flourishing periods of English poetry: but 
those who condemn all contemporary poets, 
need not on that account dissent from our 
speculations. It is sufficient to have proved 
the reality, and in part perhaps to have ex- 
plained the origin, of a literary revolution. 
At no time does the success of writers bear 
so uncertain a proportion to their genius, as 
when the rules of judging and the habits of 
feeling are unsettled. 

It is not uninteresting, even as a matter of 
speculation, to observe the fortune of a poem 
which, like the Pleasures of Memory, ap- 
peared at the commencement of this literary 
revolution, without paying court to the revo- 
lutionary tastes, or seeking distinction by re- 
sistance to them. It borrowed no aid either 
from prejudice or innovation. It neither co- 
pied the fashion of the age which was pass- 
ing away, nor offered any homage to the 
rising novelties. It resembles, only in mea- 
sure, the poems of the eighteenth century, 
which were written in heroic rhyme. Neither 
the brilliant sententiousness of Pope, nor the 
frequent languor and negligence perhaps in- 
separable from the exquisite nature of Gold- 
smith, could be traced in a poem, from which 
taste and labour equally bani.shed mannerism 
and inequality. It was patronized by no sect 
or faction. It was neither imposed on the 
public by any literary cabal, nor forced into 
notice by the noisy anger of conspicuous 
enemies. Yet, destitute as it was of every 
foreign help, it acquired a popularity origi- 
nally very grcaft ; and which has not only 
continnecl amidst extraordinary fluctuation 
of general taste, but has increased amid a 
succession of formidable competitors. No 
production, so popular, was probably ever so 
little censured by criticism : and thus is com- 
bined the applause of contemporaries with tlie 
suffrage of the representatives of posterity. 

It is heedless to make extracts from a 
poem which is familiar to every reader. In 
selection, indeed, no two readers would pro- 
bably agree : but the description of the 
Gipsies, — of the Boy quittiiig bis Father'* 
w2 



258 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



house, — and of the Savoyard recalling the 
mountainous scenery of his country, — and 
the descriptive commencement of the tale in 
Cumberland, have remained most deeply 
impressed on our minds. We should be dis- 
posed to quote the following verses, as not 
surpassed, in pure and chaste elegance, by 
any English lines:— 

" When Joy's bright sun has shed his evening 

rav. 
And Hope's delusive meteors cease to play ; 
When clouds on cloudsLthe smihng prospect 

close, 
Still through the gloom thy star serenely glows : 
Like yon fair orb she gilds the brow of Night 
With the mild magic of reflected light." 

The conclusion of the fine passage on the 
Veterans at Greenwich and Chelsea, has a 
pensive dignity which beautifully corres- 
ponds with the scene : — 

" Long have ye known Reflection's genial ray 
Gild the calm close of Valour's various day." 

And we cannot resist the pleasure of quo- 
ting the moral, tender, and elegant lines 
which close the Poem : — 

." Lighter than air, Hope's summer-visions fly, 
If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky ; 
If but a beam of sober Reason play, 
Lo, Fancy's fairy frost-work melts away ! 
But can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power, 
Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour? 
These, when the trembhng spirit wings her 

flight. 
Pour round her path a stream of living light; 
And gild those pure and perfect realms of rest, 
Where Virtue triumphs, and hfr sons are blest!" 

The descriptive passages require indeed a 
closer inspection, and a more exercised eye, 
than those of some celebrated contempora- 
ries who sacrifice elegance to effect, and 
whose figures stand out in bold relief, from 
the general roughness of their more unfin- 
ished compositions : and in the moral parts, 
there is often discoverable a Virgilian art, 
which suggests, rather than displays, the 
various and contrasted scenes of human life, 
and adds to the power of language by a cer- 
tain air of reflection and modest)', in the 
preference of measured terms to those of 
more apparent energy. 

In the View from the House,* the scene is 
neither delightful from very superior beauty, 
nor striking by singularity, nor powerful from 
reminding us of terrible passions or memo^ 
rable deeds. It consists of the more ordinary 
of the beautiful features of nature, neither 
exaggerated nor represented with curious 
minuteness, but exhibited with picturesque 
elegance, in connection with those tranquil 
emotions which they call up in the calm 
order of a virtuous mind, in every condition 
of society and of life. The verses on the 
Torso, are in a more severe style. The 
Fragment of a divine artist, which awakened 
the genius of Michael Angelo, seems to dis- 
dain ornament. It would be difficult to 
name two small poems, by the same writer, 

• In the Epistle to a Friend. — Ed. 



in which he has attained such high degrees 
of kinds of excellence so dissimilar, as are 
seen in the Sick Chamber and the Butterfly, 
The first has a truth of detail, which, con- 
sidered merely as painting, is admirable ; 
but assumes a higher character, when it is 
felt to be that minute remembrance, with 
which afl^ection recollects every circumstance 
that could have affected a beloved suflerer. 
Though the morality which concludes the 
second, be in itself very beautiful, it may be 
doubted whether the verses would not have 
left a more unmixed delight, if the address 
had remained as a mere sport of fancy, with- 
out the seriousness of an object, or an appli- 
catjon. The verses written in Westminster 
Abbey are surrounded by dangerous recol- 
lections ; they aspire to commemorate Fox, 
and to copy some of the grandest thoughts 
in the most sublime work of Bossuet. No- 
thing can satisfy the expectation awakened 
by such names : yet we are assured that 
there are some of them which would be en- 
vied by the best writers of this age. The 
scenery of Loch Long is among the grandest 
in Scotland ; and the description of it shows 
the power of feeling and painting. In this 
island, the taste for nature has grown with 
the progress of refinement. It is most alive 
in those who are most brilliantly distinguish- 
ed in social and active life. It elevates the 
mind above the meanness which it might 
contract in the rivalship for praise ; and pre- 
serves those habits of reflection and sensi- 
bility, which receive so many rude shocks 
in the coarse contests of the world. Not 
many summer hours can be passed in the 
most mountainous solitudes of Scotland, with- 
out meeting some who are worthy to be 
remembered with the sublime objects of 
nature, which they had travelled so far to 
admire. 

The most conspicuous of the novelties of 
this volume is the poem or poems, entitled 
"Fragments of the Voyage of Columbus." 
The subject of this poem is, politically or 
philosophically considered, among the most 
important in the annals of mankind. The in- 
troduction of Christianity (humanly viewed), 
the irruption of the Northern barbarians, the 
contest between the Christian and IMussul- 
man nations in Syria, the two inventions of 
gunpowder and printing, the emancipation 
of the human understanding by the Refor- 
mation, the discovery of America, and of a 
maritime passage to Asia in the' last ten 
years of the fifteenth century, are the events 
which have produced the greatest and most 
durable effects, since the establishment of 
civilization, and the consequent commence- 
ment of authentic history. But the poetical 
capabilities of an event bear no proportion to 
historical importance. None of the conse- 
quences that do not strike the senses or the 
fancy can interest the poet. The greatest 
of the transactions above enumerated is ob- 
viously incapable of entering into poetry. 
The Crusades were not without permanent 
effects on the state of men : but their poeti- 



REVIEW OF ROGERS' POEMS. 



259 



cal interest does not arise from these effects, 
and it immeasurably surpasses them. 

Whether the voyage of Columbus be des- 
tined to be for ever incapable of becoming 
the subject of an epic poem, is a question 
which we have scarcely the means of answer- 
ing. The success of great writers has often 
60 little corresponded with the promise of 
their subject, that we might be almost tempt- 
ed to thuik the choice of a subject indifferent. 
The story of Hamlet, or of Paradise Lost, 
would beforehand have been pronounced to 
be unmanageable. Perhaps the genius of 
Shakespeare and of Milton has rather com- 
pensated for the incorrigible defects of un- 
grateful subjects, than conquered them. The 
course of ages may produce the poetical 
genius, the historical materials and the na- 
tional feelings, for an American epic poem. 
There is yet but one state in America, and 
that state is hardly become a nation. At 
some future period, when every part of the 
continent has been the scene of memorable 
events, when the discovery and conquest 
have receded into that legendary dimness 
which allows fancy to mould them at her 
pleasure, the early history of America may 
afford scope for the genius of a thousand 
national poets; and while some may soften 
the cruelty which darkens the daring energy 
of Cortez and Pizarro, — while others may, 
in perhaps new forms of poetry, ennoble the 
pacific conquests of Penn, — and while the 
genius, the exploits, and the fate of Raleigh, 
may render his establishments probably the 
most alluring of American subjects, every 
inhabitant of the new world will turn his 
eyes with filial reverence towards Columbus, 
and regard, with equal enthusiasm, the 
voyage which laid the foundation of so many 
states, and peopled a continent with civilized 
men. Most epic subjects, but especially 
such a subject as Columbus, require either 
the fire of an actor in the scene, or the reli- 
gious reverence of a very distant posterity. 
Homer, as well as Er^ilJa and Camoen.«, 
show what may be done by an epic poet 
who himself feels the passions of his heroes. 
It must not be denied that Virgil has bor- 
rowed a colour of refinement from the court 
of Augustus, in painting the age of Priam 
and of Dido. Evander is a solitary and ex- 
quisite model of primitive manners, divest- 
ed of grossness, without losing their sim- 
plicity. But to an European poet, in this age 
of the world, the Voyage of Columbus is loo 
naked and too exactly defined by history. 
It has no variety, — scarcely any succession 
of events. It consists of one scene, during 
which two or three simple passions continue 
in a state of the highest excitement. It is a 
voyage with intense anxiety in every bosom, 
controlled by magnanimous fortitude in the 
leader, and producing among his followers 
a fear, — sometimes submissive, sometimes 
mutinous, always ignoble. It admits of no 
variety of chai-acter, — no unexpected revolu- 
tions. And even the issue, though of un- 
speakable importance, and admirably adapt- 



ed to some kinds of poetry, is not an event 
of such outward dignity and splendour as 
ought naturally to close the active and bril- 
liant course of an epic poem. 

It is natural that the Fragiments should 
give a specimen of the marvellous as well 
as of the other constituents of epic fiction. 
We may observe, that it is neither the inten- 
tion nor the- tendency of poetical machinery 
to supersede secondary causes, to fetter the 
will, and to make human creatures appear 
as the mere instruments of destiny. It is 
introduced to satisfy that insatiable demand 
for a nature more exalted than that which 
we know by experience, which creates all 
poetry, and which is most active in its high- 
est species, and in its most perfect produc- 
tions. It is not to account for thoughts and 
feelings, that superhuman agents are brought 
down upon earth : it is rather for the con- 
trary purpose, of lifting them into a myste- 
rious dignity beyond the cognizance of rea- 
son. There is a material difference between 
the acts which superior beings perform, and 
the sentiments which they inspire. It is 
true, that when a god fights against men, 
there can be no uncertaintj- or anxiety, and 
consequently no interest about the event, — 
unless indeed in the rude theology of Homer, 
where Minerva may animate the Greeks, 
while Mars excites the Trojans: but it is 
quite otherwise with these divine persons 
inspiring passion, or represented as agents in 
the great phenomena of nature. Venus and 
Mars mspire love or valour; they give a 
noble origin and a dignified character ta 
these sentiments : but the sentiments them 
selves act according to the laws of our na 
ture ; and their celestial source has no ten, 
dency to impair their power over human 
sympathy. No event, which has not too much 
modern vulgarity to be susceptible of alliance 
with poetry, can be incapable of being enno- 
bled by that eminently poetical art which 
ascribes it either to the Supreme Will, or to 
the agency of beuigs who are greater than 
human. The wisdom of Columbus is neither 
less venerable, nor less his o^^^^, because it 
is supposed to flow more directly than thai 
of other wise men, from the inspiration of 
heaven. The mutiny of his seamen is nol 
less interesting or formidable because the 
poet traces it to the suggestion of those ma- 
lignant spirits, in whom the imagination, in- 
dependent of all theological doctrines, is 
naturally prone to personify and embody the 
causes of evil. 

Unless, indeed, the marvellous be a part 
of the popular creed at the period of the 
action, the reader of a subsequent age will 
refuse to sympathize with it. His poetical 
faith is founded in sympathy with that of the 
poetical personages. Still more objectionablo 
is a marvellous influence, neither believed in 
by the reader nor by the hero ; — like a great 
part of the machinery of the Henriade and 
the Lusiad, which indeed is not only ab- 
solutely ineffective, but rather disennoblea 
heroic fiction, by association with light and 



260 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



frivolous iiltMS. Alloi^orioal persons (if the 
p.vprossion may be aliowtvl) are only in tht> 
way to bocoino ai;iMits. Tin* abstraction has 
ri'roivfd a faint ontlint^ of form; but it has 
not yet aoi|uirtHl thos(» iiuliviilual marks ami 
I'harai'Iciistii' ptH-uliaritios, whioh roii'Jt>r it 
a really ovistinij brin;:. On the other hand, 
the more sublime parts of our own reliiiion, 
aiul more especially those which are common 
to all reliijion, are too awful ami too philoso- 
phical fo\- poetical eifect. If wo exce]it Pa- 
radise Lt)st, where all is supernatural, ami 
where the ancestors of the human race are 
not strictly himian beiin^s, it must be owned 
that no successful attempt has been made to 
ally a iunnan action with the sublimer prin- 
ciples of the Christian theolopy. Some opi- 
nions, which may perhaps, without irrever- 
ence, be said to be rather appendages to the 
Christian system, thai\ essential parts of it, 
are in that sort of iutermiHliate state which 
fits them for the purposes of poetry; — sutli- 
ciently exalted to einioble the human actions 
with which they are blemlcil, but not so 
exactly delined, nor so deeply revered, as to 
be inconsistent with the liberty of imaijina- 
tion. The -ruardiau anirels. in the project of 
Dryden, had the incouvtMiieuce of haviuii' 
never taken any deep root in popular belief: 
the aii-ency of evil spirits was (irmly believed 
in thi> asie of Colmnbus. With the tr\ith of 
facts poetry can liave no concern ; but the 
truth of manners is iu»ces-;ary to its persons. 
If the minute investipitiousof the Notes to 
this poem had related to historical details, 
they wouKl have been insiunilicaut ; but thi^y 
are iuleruled to justify the human and tlie 
supernatural parts of it, by an ajipeal to the 
maimers and to the opinions of the aije. 

Perhaps there is no volume in our language 
of which it can be so truly said, as of the 
present; that it is equally exempt from tlie 



frailties of nejrli<:;ence and the vices of affec- 
tation. E\(]uisite polish of style is indeed 
more admired by the artist than by the peo- 
ple. The gentle and elegant pleasure which 
it imparts, can only be felt by a calm reason, 
an exerciscil taste, and a mind free from tur- 
bulent passions. Kut these beauties of exe- 
cution can exist only in combination with 
much of the primary beauties of thought and 
feeling; and poets of the lirst rank depeml 
on them for no small part of the perpetuity 
of their fame. In poetry, though not in elo- 
quence, it is less to rouse the passions of a 
moment, than to satisfy the taste of all 
ages. 

In estimating the poetical rank of ]\Tr. 
Rogers, it must not be forgotten tliat popu- 
larity never can arise from eleg-ance alone. 
The vices of a poimi may render it popular; 
and virtues of a faint character nuiy be sulli- 
cient to prestMve a languishing ami cold re- 
piitation. But to be both popular poets and 
classical writers, is the rare lot of those few 
who are rt^leasml from all solicitutle about 
their literary fame. It otteu happens to suc- 
cessful writers, that the lustre of their first 
proiluctions throws a ttmiporary cloud over 
sonre of those which follow. Of all literary 
misfortunes, this is the most easily endured, 
and the most spectlily repaired. It is gene- 
rally no more than a momiMitary illusion 
produced by illsappointed ailmiration, which 
exptH'ted more from the talents of the ail- 
mired writer than any talents could perform. 
l\lr. Rogers has long passed that period of 
probation, during whicli it may be excus^able 
to feel some painful solicitude about the re- 
ception of every new work. Whatever may 
be the rank assigned hereafter to his writ- 
ings, when comparetl with each other, the 
writer has most certainly taken his place 
among the classical poets of his country. 



REVIEW 



MADAME-DE STAEL'S 'l)E L'ALLEMAGNE/* 



Till the middle of the eighteenth cent my, 
Germany was, in one important respect, sin- 
gular among the great nations of Christendom. 
She had attained a high rank in Europe by 
discoveries and inventions, by science, by 
abstract speculatioti as well as positive know- 
ledge, by the genius and the art of war, 
and above all, by the theolo<;ical revolution, 
which unfettered the understanding in one 



lf>3, 



* From the Edinburgh Review, vol. xxii, p. 
■'^ — Ed, 



part of Europe, and loosened its chains in 
the other; but she was whhout a national 
literature. The country of Guttenberg, of 
Copernicus, of Luther, of Kepler, and of 
Leibnitz, had no writer in her own language, 
whose name was known to the neighbouring 
nations. German captains and statesmen, 
pliilosophers and scholars, were celebrated : 
but German writers were unknown. The 
nations of the Spanish peninsula formed the 
exact contrast to Germany. She had every 
mark of mental cultivation but a vernacular 



REVIEW OF DE L'ALLEMAGNE. 



261 



literature : they, since the Reformation, had 
ceased to exercise their reason; and they 
retained only their poets, whom they were 
content to admire, wuhout daring any longer 
to emulate. In Italy, Metaslasio was the 
only renowned poet j and sensibility to the 
arts of design hiid survived genius: but the 
monuments of ancient times still kept alive 
the pursuits of antiquities and philology; and 
the rivalship of small stat<!S, and the glory 
of former ages, preserved an interest in lite- 
rary history. Tlie national mind retained 
that tendency towards experimental science, 
which it perhaps principally owed to the 
fame of Galileo ; and began also to take some 
part in those attempts to discover the means 
of bettering the human condition, by inquiries 
into the principles of legislation and political 
economy, which fonn the most honourable 
distinction of the eighteenth century. France 
and England abated nothing of their activity. 
Whatever may be thought of the purity of 
taste, or of the soundness of opinion of Mon- 
tes(iuieu and Voltaire, ButTon and Rousseau, 
no man will dispute the vigour of their genius. 
The same period among us was not marked 
by the loss of any of our ancient titles to 
fame; and it was splendidly distinguished 
by the rise of the arts, of history, of oratory, 
and (shall we not add"?! of painting. Rut 
Germany remained a solitary example of a 
civilized, learned, and scientilic nation, with- 
out a literature. The chivalrous ballads of 
tlie middle age, and the efforts of the Silesian 
poets in the beginning of the seventeenth 
century, were just sufficient to render the 
general delect more striking. French was 
the language of every court ; and the number 
of courts in Germany rendered this circum- 
stance almost equivalent to the exclusion of 
German from every society of rank. Phi- 
losophers employed a barbarous Latin, — as 
they had throughout all Europe^, till the 
Riilormalion had given dignity to the ver- 
nacular tongues, by employing them in the 
service of Ri^ligion, and till Montaigne. Gali- 
leo, and Bacon, bioke down the barrier 
between the learned and the people, by phi- 
losophizing in a popular language; and the 
German language continued to be the mere 
instrument of the most vulgar intercourse of 
life. Germany had. therefore, no exclusive 
mental possession: for poetry and eloquence 
may, and in some measure must be national ; 
but knowletlge, which is the common patri- 
mony of civilized men, can be appropriated 
by no people. 

A great revolution, how^-ver, at length 
began, which in th(! course of half a century 
terminated in bestowing on Germany a litera- 
ture, perhaps th(f most characteristic pos- 
sessed by any European nation. It had the 
important peculiarity of being the first which 
had its birth in an enlightened age. The 
imagination and sensibility of an infant poe- 
try were in it singularly blended with the 
refinements of philosophy. A studious and 
learned people, familiar with the poets of 
other iiatisof, Hfith the first simplicity of 



nature and feeling, were too often tempted 
to pursue the singular, the excessive, and the 
monstrous. Their fancy w/is attracted to- 
wards the deformities and dist^ases cf moral 
nature; — the wildncssof an infant literature, 
combined with the eccentric and fearless 
speculations of a philosoj)hical age. Some 
of the qualities of tin; childhood of art Were 
united to others which usually attend its de- 
cline. German literature, various, rich, bold, 
and at length, by an inversion of the usual 
progres.S; working itself into originality, was 
tainted with the exaggeration natural to the 
imitator, and to all those who know the pas- 
sions rather by study than by feeling. 

Another cause concurred to widen the 
chasm which separated the German writers 
from the most polite; nations of Europe. 
While England and France had almost re- 
linquished those more ab.struse speculations 
which had employed them in the age of 
Gassendi and HobbfS, and, with a confused 
mixture of contempt and despair, had tacitly 
abandoned questions which seemed alike 
inscrutable and unprofitable, a metaphysical 
passion arose in Germany, stronger and more 
extensive than had been known in Europe 
since the downfall of the Scholastic philoso- 
phy. A system of metaphysics apjMarcd, 
which, with the ambition natural to that 
science, asi)ired to dictate princii)les to every 
part of human knowli'dgc;. It was for a long 
time universally adopted. Other systems, 
derived from it, succeeded each othin- with 
the rapidity of fashions in dress. Metaphy- 
sical publications were multiplied almost to 
the same degree, as political tracts in the 
most factious period of a popular government. 
The subject was soon exhausted, and the 
metaphysical passion seems to be nearly ex- 
tinguished : for the small circle of dispute 
respecting first princij)]cs, must be always 
rapidly described ; and the speculator, who 
thought his course infinite, finds himself al- 
most instantaneously returned to the point 
from which he began. But the language 
of abstruse research spread over the whole 
German style. Allusions to the most subtile 
speculations were common in poj)ular writ- 
ings. Bold mi'taphors, derived from their 
peculiar philosophy, became familiar in ob- 
servations on literature and manners. The 
style of Germany at length difrered from 
that of France, and even of England, more 
as the literature of the East difiers from that 
of the West, than as that of one European 
people from that of their n(,Mghb(nirs. 

Hence it partly arose, that while physical 
aifd political Germany was so familiar to 
foreigners, intellectual and literary Germany 
contiimed almost unknown. Thirty years 
ago,* there were probably in London as 
many Persian as (ierman scholars. Neither 
Goethe nor Schiller conquered the repug- 
nance. Political confusions, a timid and 
exclusive taste, and the habitual neglect of 
foreimi lanirnaaes, excluded German litera- 



♦ Written in 1813.— Ei.. 



262 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



ture from France. Temporaryand permanent 
causes contributed to banish it; aftera short pe- 
riod of success, fgani England. Diamas, more 
remarkable fur theatrical effect, than dramati- 
cal genius, exhibited scenes and c^iaracters of 
a parado.xical morahty (on Avhich no writer 
has animadverted with more philosophical 
and moral eloquence than Mad. de Stael), — 
imsafe even in the quiet of the schools, but 
pecuharly dangerous in the theatre, where 
It comes into contact with the inflammable 
passions of ignorant multitudes, — and justly 
alamiing to those whOj with great reason, 
considered domestic virtue as one of the 
privileges and safeguards of the English na- 
tion. These moral paradoxes, which were 
chiefly found among the mferior poets of 
Germany, appeared at the same time with 
the political novelties of the French Eevolu- 
tion, and underwent the same fate. German 
literature was branded as the accomplice of 
freethhiking philosophy and revolutionary 
politics. It happened rather Avhimsically, 
that we now began to throw out the same 
reproaches against other nations, which the 
French had directed against us in the begin- 
ning of the eighteenth century. We were 
then charged by our polite neighbours with 
the vulgarity and turbulence of rebellious 
upstarts, who held nothing sacred in religion, 
or stable in government ; whom — 

" No king could govern, and no God could 
please ;''* 

and whose coarse and barbarous literature 
could excite only the ridicule of cultivated 
na,tions. The political part of these charges 
we applied to America, which had retained as 
much as she could of our government and 
laws; and the literary part to Germany, where 
literature had either been formed on our mo- 
dels, or moved by a kindred impulse, even 
where it assumed somewhat of a different 
form. The same persons who applauded 
wit, and pardoned the shocking licentious- 
ness of English comedy, were loudest in 
their clamours against the immorality of the 
German theatre. In our zeal against a few 
scenes, dangerous only by over-refinement, 
we seemed to have forgotten the vulgar 
grossness which tainted the whole brilliant 
period from Fletcher to Congreve. Nor did 
we sjifficiently renfiember, that the most 
daring and fantastical combinations of the 
German stage, did not approach to that union 
of taste and sense in the thought and expres- 
sion, with wildness and extravagance in the 
invention of monstrous character and horrible 
incident, to be found in some of our earlier 
dramas, which, for their energy and beauty, 
the public taste has lately called from obi ivion . 
The more permanent causes of the slow 
and small progress of German literature in 
France and England, are philosophically de- 
veloped in two beautiful chapters of the 
present work.t A translation from German 



* Absalom and Achitophel. — Ed, 
+ Part ii., chap. 1, 2. 



into a language so different in its structure 
and origin as French, fails, as a piece of 
music composed for one sort of instrument 
when perfornied on another. In Germany, 
style, and even language, are not yet fixed. 
In France, rules are despotic : " the reader 
will not be amused at the expense of his 
literary conscience ; there alone he is scru- 
pulous." A German writer is above his 
public, and forms it : a French writer dreads 
a public already enlightened and severe ; he 
constantly thinks of immediate effect ; he is 
in society, even while he is ccm])0sing ; and 
never loses sight of the effect of his writings 
on those whose opinions and pleasantries he 
is accustomed to fear. The German writers 
have, in a higher degree, the first requisite 
for writing — the power of feeling wiih viva- 
city and force. In France, a book is read 
to be spoken of, and must therefore catch 
the spirit of society : in Germany, it is read 
by solitary students, who seek instruction or 
emotion 3 and, "in the silence of retirement, 
nothing seems more melancholy than the 
spirit of the world." The French require a 
clearness which may sometimes render their 
writers superficial : and the Germans, in the 
pursuit of originalit)' and depth, often convey 
obvious th(uights in an obscure style. In 
the dramatic art, the most national pnrt of 
literature, the French are distinguished in 
jvhatever relates to the action, (he intrigue, 
and the interest of events : but the Germians 
surpass them in representing the impressions 
of the heart, and the secret storms of the 
strong passions. 

This work will make known to future ages 
the state of Germany in the highest degree 
of its philosophical and poetical activity, at 
the moment before the pride of genius was 
humbled by foreign conquest, or the national 
mind turned from literary enthusiasm by 
struggles for the restoration of independence. 
The fleeting opportunity of observation at so 
e.xtraordinary a moment, has happily been 
seized by one of those very few persons, 
who are capable at once of observing and 
painting manners. — of estimating and ex- 
pounding philosophical systems, — of feeling 
the beauties of the most dissimilar foims of 
literature, — of tracing the peculiarities of 
usages, arts, and even speculations, to their 
common principle in national character,^- 
and of disposing them in their naiural place 
as features in the great portrait of a people. 

The attainments of a respectable travel- 
ler of the second class, are, in the present 
age, not uncommon. Many persons are per- 
fectly well qualified to convey exact infor- 
mation, wherever the subject can be exactly 
known. But the most important objects in 
a country can neither be numbered nor 
measured. The naturalist gives no picture 
of scenerj' by the most accurate catalogue 
of mineral and vegetable produce ; and, after 
all that the political arithmetician can tell us 
of wealth and population, we continue igno- 
rant of the spirit which actuates them, and 
of the character which modifies their appli- 



REVIEW OF DE L'ALLEMAGNE. 



263 



cation. The genius of the philosophical and 
poetical traveller is of a higher order. It is 
founded in the power of catching, at a rapid 
glance, the physiognomy of man and of na- 
ture. It is, in one of its parts, an e.vpansion 
of that sagacity which seizes the character 
of an indiridaal, in his features, in his e.v- 
pression, in his gestures, in his tones, — in 
every outward sign of his thoughts and feel- 
ings. The application of this intuitive power 
to the varied mass called a "nation," is one 
of the most rare efforts of the human intel- 
lect. The mind and the eye must co-ope- 
rate, with electrical rapidity, to recall what 
a nation has been, to sympathize with their 
present sentiments and passions, and to trace 
the workings of national character in amuse- 
ments, in habits, in institutions and opinions. 
There appears to be an extemporaneous fa- 
cility of theorizing, necessary to catch the 
first aspect of a new country, — the features 
of which would enter the mind in absolute 
confusion, if they were not immediately re- 
ferred to some principle, and reduced to 
some system. To embody this conception, 
there must exist the power of painting both 
scenery and character, — of combining the 
vivacity of lirst impression with the accuracy 
of minute examination, — of placinga nation, 
strongly individualized by every mark of its 
mind and disposition, in the midst of ancient 
monuments, clothed in its own apparel, en- 
gaged in its ordinary occupations and pas- 
times amidst its native scenes, like a grand 
historical painting, with appropriate drapery, 
and with the accompaniments of architecture 
and landscape, which illustrate and charac- 
terize, as well as adorn. 

The voice of Europe has already applaud- 
ed the genius of a national painter in the 
author of Corinne. Bat it was there aided 
by the power of a pathetic fiction, by the 
variety and opposition of national character, 
and by the charm of a country which unites 
beauty to renown. In the work before us, 
ehe has thrown off the aid of fiction ; she de- 
lineates a less poetical character, and a coun- 
try more interesting by expectation than by 
recollection. But it is not the less certain 
that it is the most vigorous effort of her 
genius, and probably the most elaborate and 
masculine production of the faculties of wo- 
man. What other woman, indeed, (and we 
may add how many men,) could have pre- 
served all the grace and brilliancy of Parisian 
society in analyzing its nature, — explained 
the most abstruse metaphysical theories of 
Germany precisely, yet perspicuously and 
agreeably, — and combined the eloquence 
which inspires exalted sentiments of virtue, 
with the enviable talent of gently indicating 
the defects of men or of nations, by the skil- 
fully softened touches of a polite and merci- 
ful pleasantry ? 

In a short introduction, the principal na- 
tions of Europe are derived from three races, 
— the Sclavonic, the Latin, and the Teutonic. 
The imitative and feeble literature, — the 
recent precipitate and superficial civilization 



of the Sclavonic nations, sufficiently distin- 
guish them from the two great races. The 
Latin nations,, who inhabit the south of Eu- 
rope, are the most anciently civilized : social 
institutions, blended with Paganism, pre- 
ceded their reception of Christianity. They 
have less disposition than their norlhern 
neighbours to abstract reflection ; they un- 
derstand better the business and pleasures 
of the world ; they inherit the sagacity of 
the Romans in civil affairs; and •' they alone, 
like those ancient masters, know how to 
practice the art of domination." The Ger- 
manic nations, who inhabit the north of Eu- 
rope and the British islands, received their 
civilization with Christianity : chivalry and 
the middle ages are the subjects of their 
traditions and legends; their natural genius 
is more Gothic than classical ; they are dis- 
tinguished by independence and good faith, 
— by seriousness both in their talents and 
character, rather than by address or vivacity. 
" The social dignity which the English owe 
to their pol'tical constitution, places them at 
the head of Teutonic nations, but does not 
exempt them from the character of the race." 
The literature of the Latin nations is copied 
from the ancients, and retains the original 
colour of their polytheism: that of the na- 
tions of Germanic origin has a chivalrous 
basis, and is modified by a spiritual religion. 
The French and Germans are at the two ex- 
tremities of the chain; the French con- 
sidering outward objects, and the Germans 
thought and feeling, as the prime movers of 
the moral world. "The French, the most 
cultivated of Latin nations, inclines to a clas- 
sical poetry : the English, the most illustri- 
ous of Germanic ones, delights in a poetry 
more romantic and chivalrous." 

The theory which we have thus abridged 
is most ingenious, and exhibits in the live- 
liest form the distinction between different 
systems of literature and manners. It is 
partly true ; for the principle of race is 
doubtless one of the most important in the 
history of mankind ; and the first impressions 
on the susceptible character of rude tribes 
may be traced in the qualities of their most 
civilized descendants. But, considered as 
an exclusive and universal theory, it is not 
secure against the attacks of sceptical inge- 
nuity. The facts do not seem entirely to 
correspond with it. It was among the Latin 
nations of the South, that chivalry and ro- 
mance first flourished. Provence was the 
earliest seat of romantic poetry. A chival- 
rous literature predominated in Italy during 
the most brilliant period of Italian genius. 
The poetry of the Spanish peninsula seems 
to have been more romantic and less sub- 
jected to classical bondage than that of any 
other part of Europe. On the contrary, chi- 
valry, which was the refinement of the mid- 
dle age, penetrated more slowly into the 
countries of the North. In general, the 
character of the literature of each European 
nation seems extremely to depend upon the 
period at which it had reached its highest 



264 



MACKINTOSH'S IMISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



point of cuhivation. Spanish and Italian 
jXH'try rtourishod whilo Eiiropo was still olii- 
valrons. FriMioh literatiiro attainoil its high- 
est splendiHir attor the CJnvian ami Koiuan 
writers had booiMUO the object o( universal 
reverence. The Germans cnltivated their 
poetry a huiulred years later, when the study 
ot" antiquity had revived the knowledge of 
the CJothic sentiments and principles. Na- 
ture produced a chivalrous poetry in the six- 
teenth century; — learning in the eighteenth. 
Perhaps the history of English poetry retlects 
the revolution of European taste more dis- 
tinctly than that of any other nation. We 
have successively cultivated a Gothic poetry 
friMii nature, a classical poetry from imita- 
tion, and a second Gothic t'rom the study of 
our own ancient poets. 

To this consideration it must be added, 
that Catholic and Protestant nations must 
ditfer in their poetical system. The festal 
shows and legendary polytheism of the Ca- 
tholics had the effect of a sort of Christian 
Paganism. The Protestant poetry was spirit- 
ualized by the genius of their worship, and 
was undoubtedly e.valted by the daily peru- 
sal of translations of the sublime poems of 
the Hebrews. — a discipline, without which it 
is probable that the nations of the West 
never could liave been prepared to endure 
Oriental jxietry. In justice, however, to the 
ingenious theory of Alad. de Stael, it ought 
to be observed, tliat the original character 
ascribed by her to the Northern nations, 
must have disjxised them to ihe adoption of 
a Pmtestant faith and worship; while the 
Popery of the South was naturally preserved 
by an early ilisposition to a splendid ceremo- 
nial, and a various and flexible mvthologv. 

The work is divided into four parts: — on 
Germany and German Manners; on Litera- 
ture and the Arts; on Philosophy and Mo- 
rals ; on Religion and Enthusiasm. 

The first is the most |:)erfe(n in its kind, 
belongs the most entirelv to the renins of 
the writer, and affords the best example of 
the talent for painting nations which we 
have attempted to describe. It seems also, 
as far as foreign critics can presume to de- 
cide, to be in the most finished style of any 
composition of the author, and" more se- 
curely to bid defiance to that minute ciifi- 
cism, which, in other works, her genius 
rather disdained than propitiated. The Ger- 
mans are a just, constant, and sincere i">eo- 
ple ; with great power of imagination and 
reflection ; without brilliancy in society, or 
address in atfairs; slow, and easily iniimi- 
dated in action ; adventurous and fearless in 
s{">ecu!ation ; ot'ten uniting enthusiasm for 
the eleg-ant arts with little proirr.\*s in the 
manners and refinements of lite ; more ca- 
pable of being inliame.l by opinions than bv 
interests; obedient to authoritv, rather from 
an orderly and meohanical character than 
from servility ; h.-'.ving learned to value li- 
berty neither by the enjoyment of it. nor bv 
severe opprf^s^ion ; divested by the nature 
of their governments, and the division of 



] their territories, of patriotic pride : fOo prone 
in the relations of domestic life, to substitute 
fancy and feeling lor positive duty ; not un- 
freqnently combining a natural character 
with artificial maimers, and much real feel- 
! ing with affected enthusiasm: divided by 
, the stenniess ol' feudal demarcation into au 
unletteieil nobility, unpolished scholar, and a 
depressed commonalty ; and exposing them- 
selves to derision, when, with their grave and 
clumsy honesty, they attempt to copy the 
lively and dexterous proilig-acy of i heir South- 
ern neighbours. 

In the plentiful provinces of Soul^liern Cer- 
manv, where religion, as well as govmiiment, 
shaclcle the activity of speculation, the peo- 
ple liave sunk info a sort of lethargic comfort 
and stupid enjoyment. It is a heavy and 
monotonous country, with no arts, except the 
national art of instrumental music, — no lite- 
rature, — a rude utterance. — vo society, or 
only crowded assemblies, which seemed to 
be brought together for ceremonial, more 
than for pleasure, — '-an obsequious polite- 
ness towards an aristocracy without ele- 
g"ance." In Austria, more especially, are 
seen a calm ami languid mediocrifv in sensa- 
tions and ilesires. — a peoj^le mechanical in 
their very sports, '• whose existence is neither 
disturbed nor exalted by guilt or genius, by 
intolerance or enthusiasm," — a phlegmatic 
admiuistmtion, inflexiblv adhering to its an- 
cient course, and repelling knowledge, on 
which the vigour of states must now depend, 
— great societies of amiable and respectable 
persons — which suggest the reflection, that 
'• in retirement monotony composi s the .soul, 
but in the world it wearies the mind.'' 

In the rigtuous climate and gloomy towns 
of Protestant Germany only, the national 
mind is displayed. There the whole litem- 
ture and philosophy are assembled. Berlin 
is slowly rising to be the capital of enlight- 
ened Germany. The Duchess of AVeimar, 
who compelled Napoleon to respect her in 
the intoxication of victory, has changed her 
little capital into a seat of knowledge and 
elegTuice, under the auspices of Goethe, 
Wieland, and Schiller. No European pa- 
lace has assembled so relined a society since 
some of the small Italian courts of the six- 
teenth century. It is only by the Protestant 
provinces of the North that Germany is known 
as a lettered and philosophical country. 

]\loralists and philosophers have often re- 
marked, that licentious giillantry is fatal to 
love, and destructive of the importance of 
women. "I will venture to assert,'' sa)-3 
Mad. de Stael, "against the received opinion, 
that France was perhaps, of all the countries 
of the world, that in which women had the 
least happiness in love. It was called the 
'paradise" of women, because they enjoyed 
the greatest liberty; but that liberty aiose 
from the negligent proriig-acy of the other 
sex." The observations* which follow this 
remarkable testimony are so beautiful and 

• Part i. chap. 4. 



REVIEW OF DE L'ALLEMAGNE. 



265 



forcible, that they ought to be enprraven on 
tho mind of every woman disposed to mur- 
mur al those restraints which maintain the 
dif^nity of womanhood. 

ivnne enthusiasm, says Mad. (\e Stael, or, 
in other words, some hif,'h passion, capable 
of actuatinfj multitudes, has beon felt by 
ev(!ry people, at those ejiodis of their na- 
tional existence, which are distinguished by 
great acts. Four periods are very remark- 
able in the progress of the European world : 
the heroic ages which founded civilization ; 
r(!publican patriotism, which was the glory 
of antiquity ; chivalry, the martial religion 
of Europe ; and the love of liberty, of which 
the history began about the period of the 
Reformation. The chivalrous impression is 
worn out in Germany; and, in future, says 
this generous and enlightened writer, ''no- 
thing great will be accomplished in that 
country, but by the liberal impulse which 
has in Europe succeeded to chivalry." 

The society and manners of Germany are 
continually illustrated by comparison or con- 
trast with those of France. Sfjme passages 
and chapters on this subject, together with 
the author's brilliant preface to the thoughts 
of the Prince de Ligne, may be considered 
as the first contributions towards a theory of 
the talent — if we must not say of the art — 
of conversation, which affords so considerable 
a part of the most liberal enjoyments of re- 
fined life. Those, indeed, who affect a Spar- 
tan or monastic severity in their estimate of 
the society of capitals, may almost condemn 
a talent, which in their opinion only adorns 
vice. But that must have a moral tendency 
which raises society from slander or intoxi- 
cation, to any contest and rivalship of mental 
power. Wit and grace are perhaps the only 
means which could allure the thoughtless 
into the neighbourhood of reflection, and 
inspire them with some admiration for supe- 
riority of mind. Society is the only school 
in which the indolence of the great will 
submit to learn. Refined conversation is at 
least sprinkled with literature, and directed, 
more often than the talk of the vulgar, to 
objects of general interest. That talent can- 
not really be frivolous which affords the 
channel through which some knowledge, or 
even some respect for knowledge, may be in- 
sinuated into minds incapable of labour, and 
who.se tastes so materially influence the com- 
munity. Satirical pictures of the vices of a 
great society create a vulgar prejudice against 
their most blameless and virtuous pleasures. 
But, whatever may be the vice of London or 
Paris, it is lessened, not increased, by the 
cultivation of every liberal talent which in- 
nocently fills their time, and tends, in some 
measure^ to raise them above malice and sen- 
suality. And there isa cjnsiderable illusion 
in the provincial estimate of the immoralities 
of the capital. These immoralities are public, 
from the rank of the parties; and they are 
rendered more conspicuous by the celebrity, 
or perhaps by the talents, of some of them. 
Men of letters, and women of wit, describe 
34 



their own suflTerings with eloquence, — the 
faults of others, and sometimes their own, 
with energy : their deKcrij>tions interest every 
reader, and are circulated throughout Eu- 
rope. But it does not follow that the mise- 
ries or tlie faults are greater or more frerjuent 
than those of ob.scure and vulgar persons, 
whose sufferings and vices are known to 
nobody, and would be uninteresting if they 
wtire known. 

The second, and most generally amusing, 
as well as the largest jiart of this work, is 
an animated sketch of the literary hi.story 
of Germany, with criticisms on the most 
celebrated German poets and poems, inter- 
spersed with reflections equally original and 
beautiful, tending to cultivate a comprehen- 
sive taste in the fine arts, and to ingraft the 
love of virtue on the sense of beauty. Of the 
poems criticis^id, some are well known to 
most of our readers. The earlier pieces of 
Schiller are generally read in translations of 
various merit, though, except the Robbers, 
they are not by the present taste of Germanv 
placed in the first class of his works, liiu 
versions of Leonora, of Oberon, of Wallen- 
stein, of Naflian, and of Iphigenia in Tauris, 
are among those which do the most honour 
to PInglish literature. Goetz of Berlichingen 
has been vigorously rentlered by a writer, 
whose chivalrous genius, exerted upon some- 
what similar scenes of British history, has 
since rendered him the most popular poet of 
his age. 

An epic poem, or a poetical romance, has 
lately been discovered in Germany, entitled 
'Niebelungen,' on the Destruction of the 
Burgundians by Attila; and it is believed, 
that at least some parts of it were composed 
not long after the event, though the whole 
did not assume its present shape till the 
completion of the vernacular languages about 
the beginning of the thirteenth century. Lu- 
ther's version of the Scriptures was an epoch 
in German literature. One of the innumera- 
ble blessings of the Reformation was to 
make reading popular by such translations, 
and to accustom the people to weekly at- 
tempts at some sort of argument or declama- 
tion in their native tongue. The vigorous 
mind of the great Reformer gave to his trans- 
lation an energy and conciseness, which made 
it a model in style, as well as an authority 
in language. Hagedorn, Weiss, and Gellert, 
copied the French without vivacity; and 
Bodmer imitated the English without genius. 

At length Klopstock, an imitator of Milton, 
formed a German poetry, and Wieland im- 
proved the languajje and versification ; though 
this last accomplished writer has sfjmewhat 
suffered in his reputation, by the recent zeal 
of (he Germans against the imitation of any 
foreign, but especially of the French school, 
" The genius of Klopstock was inflamed by 
the perusal of Milton and Young." This 
combination of names is astonishing to an 
English ear. It creates a presumption against 
the poetical sensibility of Klopstock, to find 
that he combined two poets, placed at an 



266 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



immeasurable distance from each other; and 
whose whole superficial resemblance arises 
from some part of INillton's subject, and from 
the doctrines of their theology, rather than 
the spirit of their religion. Through ail the 
works of Young, written w-ith such a variety 
of temper and manner, there predominates 
one talent, — mexhaustible wit, with little 
soundness of reason or depth of sensibility. 
His melancholy is artificial ; and his combi- 
nations are as grotesque and fantastic in his 
Night Thoughts as in his Satires. How ex- 
actly does a poet characterise his own talent, 
who opens a series of poetical meditations 
on death and immortality, by a satirical epi- 
gram against the sellishness of the world 1 
Wit and ingenuity are the only talents which 
Milton disdained. He is simple in his con- 
ceptions, even when his diction is overloaded 
with gorgeous learning. He is never gloomy 
but when he is grand. He is the painter of 
love, as well as of terror. He did not aim at 
mirth; but he is cheerful whenever he de- 
scends from higher feelings: and nothing 
tenas more to inspire a calm and constant 
delight, than the contemplation of that ideal 
purity and grandeur which he, above all 
poets, had the faculty of bestowing on every 
form of moral nature. Klopstock's ode on 
the rivalship of the muse of Germany with 
the muse of Albion, is elegantly translated 
by Mad. de Stael : and we applaud her taste 
for preferring prose to verse in French trans- 
lations of German poems. 

After having spoken of Winkelmann and 
Lessing, the most perspicuous, concise, and 
lively of German prose-writers, she proceeds 
to Schiller and Goethe, the greatest of Ger- 
man poets. Schiller presents only the genius 
of a great poet, and the character of a vir- 
tuous man. The original, singular, and rather 
admirable than amiable mind of Goethe, — 
his dictatorial power over national literature, 
— his iiiequality, caprice, originality, and fire 
in conversation, — his union of a youthful 
imagination with exhausted sensibilitj', and 
the impartiality of a stern sagacity, neither 
influenced by opinion^ nor predilections, are 
painted with extraordinary skill. 

Among the tragedies of Schiller which 
have appeared since we have ceased to trans- 
late German dramas, the most celebrated are, 
Mary Stuart, Joan of Arc, and William Tell. 
Such subjects as Mary Stuart generally ex- 
cite an expectation which cannot be grati- 
fied. We agree with Madame de Stael in 
admiring man)' scenes of Schiller's Mar}-, 
and especially her noble farewell to Leices- 
ter. But the tragedy would probably dis- 
please English readers, to say nothing of spec- 
tators. Our political disputes have giv^n a 
more inflexible reality to the events of Eliza- 
beth's reign, than history would otherwise 
have bestowed on facts equally moderiv 
Neither of our parties could endure a Mary 
who confesses the murder of her husband, or 
an Elizabeth who instigates the assassination 
of her prisoner. In William Tell, Schiller 
lias avoided the commonplaces of a repub- 



lican conspiracy, and faithfully represented 
the indignation of an oppressed Helvetian 
Highlander. 

Egmont is considered by Mad. de Stael as 
the finest of Goethe's tragedies, written, like 
Werther, in the enthusiasm of his youth. It 
is rather singular that poets have availed 
themselves so little of the chivalrous charac- 
ter, the illustrious love, and the awfuKraala- 
dy of Tasso. The Torquato Tasso of Goethe 
is the only attempt to convert this subject to 
the purposes of the drama. Two men of ge- 
nius, of very modern times, have suffered in 
a somewhat similar manner : but the habits 
of Rousseau's life w^ere vulgar, and the suf- 
ferings of Cowper are both recent and sacred. 
The scenes translated from Faust well repre- 
sent the terrible energy of that most odious 
of the works of genius, in which the whole 
power of imagination is employed to dispel 
the charms which poetry bestows on human 
life, — where the punishment of vice proceeds 
from cruelty without justice, and "where 
the remorse seems as infernal as the guilt." 

Since the death of Schiller, and the deser- 
tion of the drama by Goethe, several tragic 
writers have appeared, the most celebrated 
of whom are Werner, the author of Luther 
and of Attila, Gerstenberg, Klinger, Tieck, 
Collin, and Oehlenschlager, a Dane, who has 
introduced into his poetry the tenible my- 
thology of Scandinavia. 

The result of the chapter on Comedy 
seems to be, that the comic genius has not 
yet arisen in Germany. German novels have 
been more translated into English than other 
works of literature ; and a novel b}' Tieck, 
entitled 'Sternbald,' seems to deserve trans- 
lation. Jean Paul Richter, a popular novel- 
ist, but too national to bear translation, said, 
" that the French had the empire of the land, 
the English that of the sea, and the Germans 
that of the air." 

Though Schiller wrote the History of the 
Belgic Revolt, and of the Thirty Years' War, 
with eloquence and the spirit of libert}-, the 
only classical writer in this department is 
J. de Midler, the historian of Switzerland. 
Though born in a speculative age, he has 
chosen the picturesque and dramatic manner 
of ancient hisiorian^ : and his mmute erudi- 
tion in the annals of the Piliddlc Ases sup- 
plies his imagination with the particulars 
which characterise persons and actions. He 
abuses his extent of knowledge and power 
of detail ; he sometimes affects the senten- 
tiousness of Tacitus; and his pursuit of 
antique phraseology occasionally degenerates 
into affectation. But his diction is in general 
grave and severe ; and in his posthumous 
Abridgment of Universal History, he has 
shown great talents for that difHcult sort of 
composition, — the power of comprehensive 
outline, of compression w-ithout obscurity, of 
painting characters by few and grand strokes, 
and of disposing events so skilfully, that 
their causes and effects are seen without 
being pointed out. Like Sallust, another 
affecter of archaism, and declaimer against 



REVIEW OF DE L'ALLEMAGNE. 



267 



his age, his private and political life is said 
to have been repugnant to his historical mo- 
rality. "The reader of Miiller is desirous 
of believing that of all the virtues which he 
strongly felt in the composition of his works, 
there were at least some which he perma- 
nently possessed." 

The estimate of literary Germany would 
not be complete, without the observation that 
it possesses a greater number of laborious 
scholars, and of useful books, than any other 
country. The possession of other languages 
may open more literary enjoyment : the Ger- 
man is assuredly the key to most knowledge. 
The works of Fulleborn, Buhle, Tiedemann, 
and Tennemann, are the first attempts to 
form a philosophical history of philosophy, of 
which the learned compiler Brucker had no 
more conception than a monkish annalist of 
rivalling Hume. The philosophy of literary 
history is one of the most recently opened 
fields of speculation. A few beautiful frag- 
ments of it are among the happiest parts of 
Hume's Essays. The great work of Madame 
de Stael On Literature, was the first attempt 
on a bold and extensive scale. In the neigh- 
bourhood of her late residence,* and perhaps 
not uninfluenced by her spirit, two writers of 
great merit, though of dissimilar character, 
have very recently treated various parts of 
this wide subject; M. de Sismondi, in his 
History of the Literature of the South, and 
M. de Barante, in his Picture of French 
Literature during the Eighteenth Century. 
Sismondi, guided by Bouterweck and Schle- 
gel, hazards larger views, indulges his talent 
for speculation, and seems willi difficulty to 
suppress that bolder spirit, and those more 
liberal principles, which breathe in his His- 
tory of the Italian Republics. Barante, more 
thoroughly imbued with the elegancies and 
the prejudices of his national literature, feels 
more delicately the peculiarities of great 
writers, and traces w-ith a more refined saga- 
city the immediate effects of their writings. 
But his work, under a very ingenious dis- 
guise of literary criticism, is an attack on the 
opinions of the eighteenth century; and it 
will assuredly never be honoured by the dis- 
pleasure either of Napoleon, or of any of his 
successors in absolute power. 

One of our authoress' chapters is chiefly 
employed on the w-orks and system of Wil- 
liam and Frederic Schlegel ; — of whom Wil- 
liam is celebrated for his Lectures on Dra- 
matic Poetry, for his admirable translation 
of Shakespeare, and for versions, said to be 
of equal excellence, of the Spanish dramatic 

{)oets ; and Frederic, besides his other merits, 
las the very singular distinction of having 
acquired the Sanscrit language, and studied 
the Indian learning and science in Europe, 
chiefly by the aid of a British Orientalist, 
long detained as a prisoner at Paris. The 
general tendency of the literary system of 
these critics, is towards the manners, poetry, 
and religion of the Middle Ages. They have 

* Coppet, near Geneva. 



reached the extreme point towards which 
the general sentiment of Europe has been 
impelled by the calamities of a philosophical 
revolution, and the various fortunes of a 
twenty years' universal war. They are pe- 
culiarly adverse to French literature, which, 
since the age of Louis XIV., has, in their 
opinion, weakened the primitive principles 
common to all Christendom, as well as di- 
vested the poetry of each people of its origi- 
nality and character. Their system is exag- 
gerated and exclusive : in pursuit of national 
originality, they lose sight of the primary and 
universal beauties of art. The imitation of 
our owiv antiquities may be as artificial as 
the copy of a foreign ITterature. Nothing is 
less natural than a modern antique. In a 
comprehensive system of literature, there is 
sufficient place for the irregular works of 
sublime genius, and for the faultless models 
of classical taste. From age to age, the 
multitude fluctuates betw-een various and 
sometimes opposite fashions of literary ac- 
tivity. These are not all of equal value ; but 
the philosophical critic discovers and admires 
the common principles of beauty, from which 
they all derive their power over human 
nature. 

The Third Part of this work is the most 
singular. An account of metaphysical sys- 
tems by a woman, is a novelty in the history 
of the human mind ; and whatever may be 
thought of its success m some of its parts, it 
must be regarded on the whole as the boldest 
effort of the female intellect. It must, how^- 
ever, not be forgotten, that it is a contribution 
rather to the history of human nature, than 
to that of speculation 3 and that it considers 
the source, spirit, and moral influence of 
metaphysical opinions, more than their truth 
or falsehood. " Metaphysics are at least 
the g}"mnastics of the understanding." The 
common-place clamour of mediocrity will 
naturally be excited by the sex, and even 
by the genius of the author. Every example 
of vivacity and grace, every exertion of fancy, 
every display of eloquence, every eff"usion 
of sensibility, will be cited as a presumption 
against the depth of her researches, and the 
accuracy of her statements. On such prin- 
ciples, the evidence against her w ould doubt- 
less be conclusive. But dulness is not 
accuracy; nor are ingenious and elegant 
writers therefore superficial : and those who 
are best acquainted with the philosophical 
revolutions of Germany, will be most aston- 
ished at the genera] correctness of this short, 
clear, and agreeable exposition. 

The character of Lord Bacon is a just and 
noble tribute to his genius. Several eminent 
writers of the Continent have, however, 
lately fallen into the mistake of ascribing 
to him a system of opinions respecting the 
origin and first principles of human know- 
ledge. What distinguishes him among great 
philosophers is, that he taught no peculiar 
opinions, but wholly devoted himself to the 
improvement of the method of philosophising. 
He belongs neither to the English nor any 



268 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



other school of metaphysics ; for he was not 
a metaphysician. JMr. Locke was not a 
moralist ; and his collateral discussions of 
ethical subjects are not among the valuable 
parts of his great work. ''The works of 
Pugald Stewart contain so perfect a theory 
of the intellectual faculties, that it may be 
considered as the natural history of a moral 
being-." The French metaphysicians of the 
eighteenth century, since Condillac, deserve 
the contempt expressed for them, by their 
shallow, precipitate, and degrading misap- 
plications of the Lockian philosophy. It is 
unpossible to abridge the abridgment here 
given of the Kantian philosophy, or of those 
systems which have arisen from it, and 
which continue to dispute the supremacy of 
the speculative world. The opinions of Kant 
are more fully stated, because he has changed 
the general manner of thinking, and has given 
a new direction to the national mind. Those 
of Fichte, Schelling, and his other successors, 
it is of less importance to the proper purpose 
of this work to detail; because, though their 
doctrines be new, they continue and produce 
the same effect on national character, and 
the same inflnence on sciences and arts. 
The manner of philosophising remains the 
same in the Idealism of Fichte, and in the 
Pantheism of Schelling. Under various names 
and forms, it is the general tendency of the 
German philosophy to consider thought not 
as the produce of objects, or as one of the 
classes of phenomena, but as the agent which 
exhibits the appearance of the outward world, 
and which regulates those operations which 
it seems only to represent. The j^hilosophy 
of the human understanding is, in all coun- 
tries, acknowledged to contain the principles 
of all sciences; but in Germany, metaphysi- 
cal speculation pervades their application to 
particulars. 

The subject of the Fourth Part is the state 
of religion, and the nature of all those disin- 
terested and exalted sentiments which are 
here comprehended under the nam.e of ' en- 
thusiasm.' A contemplative people like the 
Germans have in their character the principle 
which disposes men to religion. The Re- 
formation, which was their Revolution, arose 
from ideas. " Of all the great men whom 
Germany has produced, Luther has the most 
German character. His firmness had some- 
thing rude ; his conviction made him opinion- 
ated ; intellectual boldness was the source 
of his courage ; in action, the ardour of his 
passions did not divert him from abstract 
studies; and though he attacked certain dog- 
mas and practices, he was not urged to the 
attack by incredulity, but by enthusiasm." 

" The right of examining what we ouglit 
to believe, is the foundation of Protestanism." 
Though each of the first Reformers esta- 
blished a practical Popery in his own church, 
opinions were gradually liberalised, and the 
lemper of sects was softened. Little open 
incredulity had appeared in Germany; and 
even Lessing speculated with far more cir- 
cumspection than had been observed by a 



series of English writers from Hobbes to 
Bolingbroke. Secret unbelievers were friend- 
ly to Christianity and Protestantism,as institu- 
tions beneficial to mankind, and far removed 
from that anti-religious fanaticism which was 
more naturally provoked in France by the 
intolerant spirit and invidious splendour of a 
Catholic hierarcliy. 

The reaction ot the French Revolution has 
been felt throughout Europe, in religion aa 
well as in politics. Many of the higher 
classes adopted some portion of those religi- 
ous sentiments of which they at first assumed 
the exterior, as a badge of their hostility to 
the firshions of France. The sensibility of 
the multitude, imjialient of cold dogmatism 
and morality, eagerly sought to be once more 
roused by a religion which employeti popular 
eloquence, and spoke to imagination and 
emotion. The gloom of general convulsions 
and calamities created a disposition to seri- 
ousness, and to the consolations of piety ; and 
the disasters of a revolution allied to incredu- 
lity, threw a more than usual discredit and 
odium on irreligious opinions. In Great 
Britain, these causes have acted most con- 
spicuously on the inferior classes ; though 
they have also powerfully aflected many en- 
lightenetl and accomplished individuals of a 
higher condition. In France, they liave pro- 
duced in some men of letters the play of a 
sort of poetical religion round the fancy : but 
the general effect seems to have been a dis- 
position to establish a double doctrine, — a 
system of infidelity for the initiated, with a 
contemptuous indulgence and even active 
encouragement of superstition among the 
vulg'ar, like that which prevailed among the 
ancients before the rise of Christianity. This 
sentiment (from the revival of which the 
Lutheran Reformation seems to have pre- 
served Europe), though not so furious and 
frantic as the atheistical fanaticism of the 
Reign of Terror, is, beyond any permanent 
condition of human society, destructive of 
ingenuousness, good faith, and probity, — of 
intellectual courage, and manl}' character.— 
and of that respect for all human beings, 
without which there can be no justice or 
humanity from the powerful towards the 
humble. 

In Germany the effects have been also very 
remarkable. Some men of eminence in lite- 
rature have become Catholics. In general, 
their tendency is towards a pious mysticism, 
which almost equally loves every sect where 
a devotional spirit prevails. They have re- 
turned rather to sentiment than to dogma, — ■ 
more to religion than to theology. Their 
disposition to religious feeling, which they 
call ' relic'iosity,' is. to use the words of a 
strictlv orthodox English theologian, " a love 
of divine things for the beauty of their moral 
qualities." It is the love of the good and 
fair, wherever it exists, but chiefly wheji ab- 
solute and boundless excellence is contem- 
plated in " the first good, first perfect, first 
fair." This moral enthusiasm easily adapts 
itself to the various ceremonies of worsliip, 



REVIEW OF DE L'ALLEMAGNE. 



269 



and even systems of opinion prevalent among 
mankind. The devotional Bpirit, contemplat- 
ing different parts of the order of nature, or 
influenced by a different temper of mind, 
may give rise to very different and apparently 
repugnant theological doctrines. These doc- 
trines are considered as modifications of 
human nature, under the influence of the re- 
ligious principle, — not as propositions which 
argument can either establish or confute, or 
reconcile with each other. The Ideal phi- 
losophy favours this singular manner of con- 
sidering the subject. As it leaves no reality 
but in the mind, it lessens the di.stance be- 
tween belief and imagination; and disposes 
its adherents to regard opinions as the mere 

Elay of the understanding, — incapable of 
eing measured by any outward standard, 
and important chiefly from reference to the 
sentiment, from which they spring, and on 
which they powerfully react. The union of 
a mystical piety, with a philosophy verging 
towards idealism, has accordingly been ob- 
served in periods of the history of the human 
understanding, very distant from each other, 
and, in most of their other circumstances, 
e.xtremeiy di.ssimilar. The same language, 
respecting the annihilation of self, and of the 
workl. may be used by the sceptic and by 
the enthusiast. Among the Hindu philoso- 
phers in the most ancient times, — among the 
Sufis in modern Persia, — during the ferment 
of Eastern and Western opinions, which pro- 
duced the latter Platonism, — in Malebranche 
and his English disciple Norris, — and in 
Berkeley himself, though in a tempered and 
mitigated state, — the tendency to this union 
may be distinctly traced. It seems, how- 
ever, to be fitted only for few men ; and for 
them not long. Sentiments so sublime, and 
so distant from the vulgar affairs and boister- 
ous passions of men, may be preserved for a 
time, in the calm solitude of a contemplative 
visionary; but in the bustle of the world 
they are likely soon to evaporate^ when they 
are neither embodied in opinions, nor adorned 
by ceremonies, nor animated by the attack 
and defence of controversy. When the ar- 
dour of a short-lived enthusiasm has subsided, 
the poetical philosophy which exalted fancy 
to the level of belief, may probably leave the 
same ultimate result with the argumentative 
scepticism which lowered belief to the level 
of fancy. 

An ardent susceptibility of every disinte- 
rested sentiment, — more especially of every 
social affection, — blended by the power of 
imagination with a passionate love of the 
beautiful, the grand, and the good, is, under 
the name of ' enthusiasm,' the subject of the 
conclusion, — the most eloquent part (if we 
perhaps except the incomparable chapter on 
' Conjugal Love,) of a work which, for variety 
of knowledge, flexibility of power, elevation 
of view, and comprehension of mind, is un- 
equal among the works of women ; and 

which, in the union of the graces of society 
and literature with the genius of philosophy, 

'» not surpassed by many among those of 



men. To affect any tenderness in pointing 
out its defects or faults, would be an absurd 
assumption of superiority : it has no need 
of mercy. The most obvious and general 
objection will be, that the Germans are too 
much praised. But every writer must be 
allowed to value his subject somewhat higher 
than the spectator: unless the German feel- 
ings had been adopted, they could not have 
been forcibly represented. It will also be 
found, that the objection is more apparent 
than real. ]\Iad. de Stacl is indeed the most 
generous of critics; but she almost always 
speaks the wfiole truth to intelligent ears; 
though she often hints the unfavourable parts 
of it so gently and politely, that they may 
escape the notice of a hasty reader, and be 
scarcely perceived by a gross understanding. 
A careful reader, who brings together all 
the observations intentionally .scatfered over 
various parts of the book, will find sufficient 
justice (though administered in mercy) in 
whatever respects maimers or literature. It 
is on subjects of philosophy that the admi- 
ration will perhaps justly be considered as 
more undistinguishiiig. Something of the 
wonder excited by novelty in language and 
opinion still influences her mind. Many 
writers have acquired philosnpliical celebrity 
in Germany, who, if they had written with 
equal power, would have been unnoticed or 
soon forgotten in England. Ourtheosophists, 
the Hutchinsonians, had as many men of 
talent among them, as those whom M. de 
Slael has honoured by her mention among 
the Germans : but they have long since irre- 
coverably sunk into oblivion. There is a 
writer now alive in England,* who has pub- 
lished doctrines not dissimilar to those which 
Mad. de Stael ascribes to Schelling. Not- 
withstanding the allurements of a singular 
character, and an unintelligible style, his 
paradoxes are probably not known to a dozen 
persons in this busy country of industry and 
ambition. In a bigoted age, he might have 
suffered the martyrdom of Vanini or Bruno : 
in a metaphysical country, wheie a new 
publication was the most interesting event, 
and where twenty universities, unfettered 
by Church or State, were hotbeds of specu- 
lation, he might have acquired celebrity as 
the founder of a sect. 

In this as in the other writings of Mad. de- 
Stael, the reader (or at least the lazy English 
reader) is apt to be wearied by too constant 
a demand upon his admiration. It seems 
to be part of her literary system, that the 
pauses of eloquence must be filled up by 
ingenuity. Nothing plain and unornamented 
is left in composition. But we desire a plain 
groundwork, from which wit or eloquence is 
to arise, when the occasion calls them forth. 
The effect would be often greater if the ta 
lent were less. The natural power of inte- 
resting scenes or events over the heart, is 
somewhat disturbed by too uniform a colour 

* Probably Mr. William Taylor, of Norwich. 
—Ed 

X2 



270 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



of sentimont, and by the constant pursuit of 
uncommon rt'flcclious or ingoniuus turns. 
The eye is ilazzlcil by unvaried brilliancy. 
We long for the grateful vicissitude of repose. 

In the statement of facts and rea.soinngs, 
no style is more clear than that of Mad. de 
Staol ; — what is so lively must indeed be 
clear : but in the e.vpression of sentiment 
she has been often thought to use vague lan- 
guage. In expressing either intense degrees, 
or delicate shades, or intricate combinations 
of feeling, the common reader will seKlom 
understand that of which he has never been 
conscious; and the writer placed on the ex- 
treme frontiers of human nature, is in dan- 
ger of mistaking chimeras for realities, or of 
failing in a struggle to e.vpress what language 
does not afford the means of describing. 
There is also a vagueness incident to the 
language of feeling, which is not so properly 
a defect, as a quality which distinguishes it 
from the language of thought. Very often 
in poetry, and sometimes in eloquence, it is 
the oflice of words, not so much to ilenote a 
succession of separate ideas, as, like musical 
sounds, to inspire a series of emotions, or to 
produce a durable tone of sentiment. The 
terms ' per.spicuity' and 'precision,' which 
denote the relations of language to intellec- 
tual iliseeriunent, are inapplicable to it when 
employed as the mere vehicle of a succes- 
sion of feelings. A series of words may, in 
this manner, be very expressive, where few 
of them singly convey a precise meaning: 
and men of greater intellect than suscepti- 
bility, in such passages as those of Mad. de 
Slael, — where eloquence is employed chiedy 
to inspire feeling, — unjustly charge their own 
defects to that deep, moral, and poetical sen- 
sibility with which they are unable to ^"m- 
pathise. 

The few persons in Great Britain who 
continue to take an interest in speculative 
philosophy, will certainly complain of some 
injustice in her estimate of German meta- 
physical system!. The moral painter of 
nations is indeed more authorised than the 
speculative philosopher to try these opinions 
by their tendencies and results. When the 
logical consecpicnces of an opinion are false, 
the opinion itself must also be false : but 
whether the supposed pernicious influence 
uf the adoption, or habitual contemplation 
of an opinion, be a legitimate objection to 
the opinion itself, is a question which has 
not yet been decided to the general satis- 
faction, nor perhaps even stated with suffi- 
cient precision. 

There are certain facts in human nature, 
derived either from immediate consciousness 
or unvarying observation, vihieh are more 
certahi than the conclusi\)ns of any abstract 
reasoning, and which metaphysical theories 
are destined only to explain. That a theory 



is at variance with such facts, ijnd logically 
leails to the denial of their existence, is a 
strictly philosophical objection to the theory: 
— that there is a real distinction between 
right and wrong, in some measure appre- 
hended and felt by all men, — that moral 
sentiments and disinterested affections, how- 
ever originating, are actually a part of our 
nature, — that praise and blame, reward and 
punishment, may be properly bestowed on 
actions according to their moral character, — 
are principles as much more indubitable as 
they are more important than any theoretical 
conclusions. Whether they be demonstrated 
by reason, or perceived by intuition, or re- 
vealed by a primitive sentiment, thej' are 
equally indispensable parts of every sonml 
mind. But the mere inconvenience or dan- 
ger of an opinion can never be allowed as 
an argument against its truth. It is indeed 
the duty of every good man to ]>resent to 
the public what he believes to be truth, in 
such a manner as may least wound the feel- 
ings, or disturb the principles of the simple 
and the ignorant : and that duty is not always 
easily reconcilable with the duties of sincer- 
ity and free Inquiry. The collision of such 
conflicting iluties is the painful and inevitable 
consequence of the ignorance of the mul- 
titude, and of the immature state, even in 
the highest minds, of the great talent for. 
presenting truth under all its aspects, ami 
adapting it to all the degrees 'of capacity or 
varieties of prejudice which distinguish men. 
That talent must one day be formed ; and 
we may be perfectly assured tha', the whole 
of truth can never be injurious to the whole 
of virtue. In the mean time philosophers 
would act more magnanimously, and there- 
fore, perhaps, more wisely, if tney were to 
suspend, diuing discussion,* their moral 
anger against doctrines which they deem 
pernicious; and. while they estimate actions, 
habits, and institutions, by their tendency, 
to weigh opinions in the mere balance of 
reason. Vntue in action may require the 
impulse of sentiment, and even of enthu- 
siasm : but in theoretical researches, her 
champions must not appear tO' decline the 
combat on any ground chosen by their ad- 
versaries, and h\ist of all on that of intellect. 
To call in the aid of pojiular feelings in 
jihilosophical contests, is some avowal of 
weakness. It seems a more magnanimous 
wisdom to defy attack from every quarter, 
and by every weapon ; and to use no topics 
which can be thought to imply an nnwoilhy 
doubt whether the principles of -virtue be 
impregnable by argument, or to betray an 
irreverent distrust of the final and perfect 
harmony between morality and truth. 

* The observation may be npplied to Ciceio and 
Stewart, as well as to Mad. de. Slael. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



271 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES 



THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



CHAPTER I. 

General state of affairs at home — Abroad. — 
Characters of the Ministry. — Sunderland. — 
Rochester. — Halifax. — Godolphin. — Jef- 
freys. — Feversham. — His conduct after the 
victory of Scdgemoor. — Kirke. — Judicial 
proceedin<rs in the West. — Trials of Mrs. 
Lisle. — Behaviour of the King. — Trial of 
Mrs. Gaunt and others. — Case of Hampden. 
— Prideaux. — Lord Brandon. — Dclamere. 

Though a stnig£^le with calamity strength- 
ens and elevates the mind, the necessity of 
f)assive submission to Ion?? adversity is rather 
ikcly to weaken and subdue it : great mis- 
fortunes disturb the understanding perhaps 
as much as great success ; and extraordinary 
vicissitudes often produce the opposite vices 
of rashness and fearfulness by inspiring a 
disposition to trust too much to fortune, and 
to yield to it too soon. Few men experienced 
more sudden changes of fortune than James 
II. ; but it was unfortunate for his character 
that he never owed his prosperity, and not 
always his adversity, to himself. The affairs 
of his family seemed to be at the lowest ebb 
a few mouths before their triumphant restora- 
tion. Four years before the death of his 
brother, it appeared probable that he would 
be excluded from the succession to the 
crown; and his friends seemed to have no 
other means of averting that doom, than by 
proposing such limitations of the royal pre- 
rogative as would have reduced the govern- 
ment to a merely nominal monarchy. But 
the dissolution by which Charles had safely 
and successfully punished the independence 
of his last Parliament, the destniction of some 
of his most formidable opponents, and the 
general discouragement of their adherents, 
paved the way for his peaceable, and even 
popular, succession ; the defeat of the revolts 
of Monmouth and Argyle appeared to have 
fixed his throne on immovable foundations ; 
and he wtft then placed in circumstances 
more favourable than those of any of his 
predecessors to the extension of his power, 
or, if such had been his purpose, to the un- 
disturbed exercise of his constitutional autho- 
,ity. The friends of liberty, dispirited by 
events which all, in a greater or less degree, 
irought discredit upon their cause, were 



confounded with unsuccessful conspirators 
and defeated rebels : they seemed to be at 
the mercy of a prince, who, with reason, 
considered them as the irreconcilable ene- 
mies of his designs. The zealous partisans 
of monarchy believed themselves on the eve 
of reaping the fruits of a contest of fifty 
years' duration, under a monarch of mature 
experience, of tried personal courage, who 
possessed a knowledge of men, and a capa- 
city as well as an inclination for business; 
whose constancy, intrepidity, and sternness 
were likely to establish tlieir political prin- 
ciples ; and from whose prudence, as well as 
gratitude and good faith, they were willing 
to hope that he would not disturb the secu- 
rity of their religion. The turbulence of the 
preceding times had more than usually dis- 
posed men of pacific temper to support an 
established government. The multitude, 
pleased with a new reign, generally disposed 
to admire vigour and to look with compla- 
cency on success, showed many symptoms 
of that propensity which is natural to them, 
or rather to mankind, — to carry their ap- 
plau.ses to the side of fortune, and to imbibe 
the warmest passions of a victorious party. 
The strength of the Tories in a Parliament 
assembled in such a temper of the nation, 
was aided by a numerous reinforcement of 
members of low condition and .subservient 
character, v/hom the forfeiture of the char- 
t(-'rs of towns enabled the Court to pour into 
the Hou.se of Commons.* In Scotland the 
prevalent party harl ruled with such barba- 
rity that the absolute power of the King 
seemed to be their only shield against the 
resentment of their countrymen. The Irish 
nation, devotedly attached to a sovereign of 
their own oppressed religion, offered inex- 
haustible means of forming a brave and en- 
thusiastic army, ready to quell revolts in 
every part of his dominions. His revenue 
v/as ampler than that of any fomner King of 
England : a disciplined army of about twenty 
thousand men was, for the first time, esta- 

* " Clerks and gentlemen's servants. " Evelyn, 
Memoirs, vol. i. p. 558. The Earl of Bath carried 
fifteen of the new charters wiih him into Corn- 
wall, from which he was called the " Prince Elec- 
tor." "There are not 135 in this House who sat 
in the last," p. 5G2. By the lists in the Farlia 
mentary History they appear to be only 128. 



272 



]srACKiiN'i\>sirs miscellaneous essays. 



blishtnl ihwiii^ poaoo in this islaml ; ;\iul ii 
forniitl;>Mi> ilfi't was a moro than onlinaiily 
jM)\vt'rtnl wfaiKm in thi> hamls ol u piinot" 
whoso skill ami valonr in niaiitinn* war hail 
tMuhnuvii him to the st>anu>n, anil n'Oi>ni- 
moiuli'il hini to tho iuhh^Io. 

Tlu> I'lmililionol loitMiinadairs \vasi>i|nally 
favomablt* to tho Kinii'. Louis XIV. hail, at 
that nionviMiI, roaohoil tho zonithot his moat- 
noss ; his anuy was laiiior ami bottor than 
any wl\ioh had bot-n known in Enrono sinoo 
tho vii;ovo\)s ai;t» o( tho Konian onipno ; his 
marino onabUnl him soon af'ti-r to luipt^ with 
tlu> oombinoil toroos of tlio «nily two mari- 
timo jiowovs: ho had oiilavi^i'il hisilominious, 
stitMii:ihom>il his rioutiors. and ilaily modila- 
tod m"w oo>iqn«>sts: nionol" i;oninsappland<'d 
hisnuniilioono»\and ovon somomon ol virtiu^ 
contribntod to tho i;Ioiy of his roipi. This 
\v)tont monaivli was bomid to jamos by olosor 
ties than tlioso of troaty, — bv kimlvod. by 
n"liii'ioii. by similar piinoiplosot i:x)vovnnuMit, 
by tho im|H)rtanot> of oaoli to tho snoooss o\' 
tho dosii^ns of tlio othor; and h»> was roady 
to supply tho poonniary aivl voipiiroil by tho 
Euiilisn monaioh, i>n oi>ndition that .lamos 
phoidd not snbjoot lumsolf to tho oontrol of 
his I'arlunnoiit, bnt shonld aoipiiosoo in tho 
pohomos of Kranoo aij-ainst hor niMi;hbonis. 
On tho othor hand, tho fooblo (unornnuMit 
of S|>;iin was no loniror ablo to dofond l»ov 
«i\wioKly ompiro ; whilo tho tJorman branoh 
of tho Anstrian family had, by thoir intol(>- 
nun*o, diivoi\ Hnnii^uy into rovolt, ami thns 
opontvl tho way lor tho (.tttomaii arn\ios tw iot> 
to bosio;i«* ^"itM^na. Vonii'o, tho last of tlio 
Italian slatos whioh rotainod a national oha- 
raottM', tiH)k uo lonp'or anv [k\\{ in tho oontosts 
of Enropo, oontont witiv tho fivblo Inslvo 
whioli oommosts from Tnvkoy sliod ovor tlio 
evonin^- of nor jiioatnoss. Tht> kini>don\s o( 
tho North woro oonlinod within thoir own 
snbordinato systiMn : Knssia was not n\nn- 
btM'od amonii oivili/.t<d nations: and tho(Jor- 
manio slat(>s wort* still dividod botwoon th»>ir 
foars iVom tht> ambition of Kranoo. and tlioir 
attaohmont to hor lor havinLi' prosorV(\l thorn 
fn>m llio yokt> of Anstria. Thon^h a pow<'r- 
fnl party ii\ Hollantl was still altaohod to 
Fianoo, thort> roinainod. on tho Coiitinont, no 
soourity aii^ainst th<» ambition of Lonis, — no 
hope for tho libtMtios of mankind bnt tho 
\>owor of that ^roat ropnblio, animatod by 
iho vmoomintMablo soul of th«» I'rinot* of 
Onui'jtv All thoso nations, of Inith roliiiions, 
who trtnnblod at tho ]>n>irross o( Kranoo, 
tnrnod tluMr oyos tow arils Jamos, and oonrtod 
i\is allianoo. in hopos that lu> miiilit still bo 
dotaohod Irom his oonmnMion with Lonis, 
Mid that Knulaml niipht rosnmo hor anoiont 
imd noblo station, as tho jiuardian of tho 
indopondonoo o( nations. ConUl ho havo 
variod his polioy, that briiiht oaroor w;is still 
opon to him : ht\ or rathor ii man of ironins 
ami mtiiMianimity in his situation, miirht have 
livallod tho ronown of Kli/aboth, and anti- 
lijwtoil tho iilorios of MarUHmmiih. Ho was 
oourtoil or droavlod by all Enropo. Who 
oould, thou, havo presvnuod to foretell tluit 



this <iroat monarch, in tho short .^naoo of four 
yoars, woidd bo oompollod to rohmpli^^h his 
throno, and tii lly iVom his oonnlry, wiihont 
slrni:i;lo and ahnost without distmbano'o, by 
tho moro result o( his own system of mea- 
.sure.s. whioh, unwise and innii;hteous as it 
was, soomoil in every instaiieo to boerownod 
w ilh snoooss till tho very momont of itsover- 
throw . 

The ability of his ministers mii;ht havo 
been oonsiiloroil as anu>iii; tho happy parts 
of his fortune. It was a hlllo before this 
time that tlu> n\e«<tini;s of sneh minislors bo- 
pm to bo lionerally known by tlu> modern 
nam(> of tho " l^abinet Conneil."* Tin' 
I'livy CouiumI liad be.en orii^inally a .soloetion 
of a similar nature; but when seats in that 
body b»>i;«n to bo yivon or left to those who 
ilid not enjoy tiio King's eonliileneo, and it 
boeame too numerous for seorooy or des- 
paleh, a eomn)itl«'o of its number, wliieh is 
now eallod tho "Cabinet Couneil," wns iti- 
tinsled with tho direetion of eonlidential 
allairs ; leaving;- to tht> body at laiije bnsi'ie.-s 
of a jmtioial or formal nature, — to the i;it':<t»'r 
part oi its members an hononrabit* distnie- 
tion instead of an ollieo of trust. The mi "u- 
bers o( the Cabiiu't Conueil wore then, us 
tlioy still are, ehosou from tho I'rivy Conn *il 
by tho King, without any legal nomiiiati* -i, 
and gouonilly oonsistoil of tho ministers :\t 
tho head of tho prineipal dopartnu'iits o'' 
publie allairs. A short aoeount o\' tlu* cha- 
raolor ot tho nuMubors of tho Cabint>t will 
illnstrato llio ev«>iilsof the reign of .lames II, 

Kobert Speneer, Karl of Sunderland, who 
soon aotiuired tho ohief asoendanoy in ihis 
ailministration, entered on publie Ide with 
all the external advantages of birth and for- 
tune. His father had fallen ni tho royal 
army at tho battle of Newbury, with those 
n\elaneholy forebodings of ilangor from the 
victory «>f his own party whioh lill(>d the 
breasts of tho moro generous royalists, and 
whioh, on tho sauu> ooi-asion, saddened tho 
living moments of Lord Kalkiaml. His mo- 
ihtM- was Lady Dorothy Sidney, eolebratod 
by Waller \nidor tho name ol S;u"harissa. He 
was early tMupIoyod in diplomalie missions, 
where ho aoqnirod tho political knowledge, 
insinuating address, and jiolishod manners, 
which are learnt in that school, together 
w ilh tho snbtilty, dissinndation, tloxibility of 
principle, imlitlerence on questions of con- 
stitutional policy, and imixitionco of tho re- 
straints o( popular government, which have 
been sonu'tinu's contracted by English am- 
bass;iilors in tho course of a long intorcouise 
with tho ministers of absolute princes. A 
faint and suporticial preloronco of tho gono- 
ral principles of oivil liberty was blended in 
a nnnnior not alto:iothor unusn.11 with his 
diplomatic vices. Ho seems to have secured 
tho snpjHut of the Puchess of rortsmouth to 
tho administration formed by the advice -jf 
Sir William Temple, ami lo have then ».'%) 

* North, Life of Lord Keeper Guildford, *. 
218. 



RKVIKW OF TilK CAUSES OF THK REVOLUTION OF 1088. 



273 



gairicrl Irji l)im«clf tho conlUUiuca of that iti- 
cornparulili! jjimwui, wl;o poKscHscd ail lh(! 
honest aitH of a iio^^otialor.*' Ho f,MV(j an 
early cariiuKt of iIk; iiiroristaiicy of an ovcr- 
relinod ctiaiar;l(!r hy flncMualinij l>(;Uv(.'(?ii \)i(: 
excIuHiou of iJh; iJukf! o( Vork ami tiu! liriii- 
lations of Ih'; royal jir«!ni/^:i,livr'. lie uaw 
removed from his adrriiiiistralioii for Imh voir; 
on th(! Exclusion IJili ; l»nl lli-; lovr; of office 
soon j)rev;t.iled over hi.n feehli! Hpiiil of inde- 
pendence, and Ik! made hi.s pf-.ir.i: with llie 
Court lfu-oii(,'h the Duke of York, who had 
lonf? been vvrdl diHj)Osed to him,t and of lfi<! 
Duchess of I'ortwrnouth, who Ibnnd no diffi- 
culty in reconeilinf? to a jmlirtlusd aH well u» 
pliant courtier, an fa<"x;om[)liHhed nej^oliator, 
and a rniniHter rnorr; versed in foraiiin affairH 
than any of his cojleaj^nesj Ni'.'^W'fiy.iic.n and 
|)rofusion l)onnd him to f»ffie,(! hy Ktron;^(!r 
t}ion<rh coarser ti<;s than thost; of arrd;ition : 
lif! Iiv<;d in an aj^e whirn a delicalf; l)writy in 
pecuniary matters fuid not l)(;;/un to have a 
g(;neral niflucnce on slAtefmijn, and when a 
sense of personal honour, i?rowij);:jout of Inwfr 
habits of cf>-oj»(!ration and friendship, had not 
yet contributed to secure; llujrri ajrainsl politi- 
cal inconstancy. He was one of thr; most dis- 
tinguished of a specicis of mcMi who j)erform 
a [)art mor*; important than noble in f^reat 
events; who, by [wwcnful talents, ca[)liva- 
tinj? matHif-TH, aiul accommodatiri;^ opinions, 
■ — by a fjiii(;k disc(;rnment of criti<'.al mo- 
ments in the rise and fall of [larties, — by not 
deserting a caus«; till tin; instant before it is 
universally diKcov(!r(;d to b(! (les[)erate, and 
by a command of expedients and connec- 
tions which render them valuable to every 
new possessor of power, find means to cling 
to oflice or to recovcsr it, and who, though 
they are the natural offspring of rpiiet and 
refinement, ofl(;n creep through stormy revo- 
lutions without being crushed. Lilce the 
best and rr\ost prudent of his class, he ap- 

f tears not to have betrayed the secrets of tin; 
riends whom he abandoned, and nciver to 
have complied with more evil than was 
necessary to keep his pf)wer. His temper 
was without rancour ; and he must be acfpiil- 
led of prompting, or ev(!n jMeferring the 
cruel acts which were perpetrated under his 
adminifiiration. Deep designs and premedi- 
tated treachery were irreconcilabU; iwtli with 
hifl indolence and his impetuosity ; and timre 
is Bome reason to believe, thai in the midst 
of total indifTercnce about religious opinions, 
ho retained to the end some degree of that 
.preference for civil liberty winch hi; might 
have deriv(!d from the example of his ances- 
tors, and the sentiments of some of his early 
conucctions. 



• Tnmplp. Momoirn.&,c. pnrt iii. 

+ " Lord Hiituh'rianfl know« I liav<» nlwny« tK>on 
very kind i'> liim." — Duke of" York lo Mr. Lf-ggc, 
23d July, lf.79. Lckro M.S.S. 

t Home of liord SundcrUind'8 compeiitors in 
thii province worn not formidal)!c. His fliicc«i>8or, 
Lord Conway, wlicn a foreign minister spoke to 
him of tho Circles of iho Empire, said, " he won- 
dered what circles should have to do with poUtica-" 
85 



Lawrence Uydp., Karl of Kochester, th« 

founger son ol*^ the Karl of Clari;ndon, wa«i 
^onl Sunderland's most formidable competi- 
tor for ihi! chief direeiion of j)nblic allairs 
H<; owed this importance rallx-r to his posi 
tion and connections than to hi.s abdities, 
which, however, were by no means con- 
temptible. He was the undisputed leader 
of the Tory ])arly. to whose highest prin<;i- 
jiles in Church and Stat*; he showed a con- 
stant, and probably a conscientious altacrli- 
rnent. He had adhcMed to Jarnes in every 
variety of fortune, and was the uncle of iho 
Trincesses Mary and Anne, who seemed like- 
ly in succf's.sion to inh(;rit Ine crown. He \va« 
a fluent speaker, and appears to Iwve pos- 
sessed some jjart of his fath(;r'H talents as a 
writer. He wasdeemcvl sinc(;re and upright j 
and his private life was not staiiKjd by any 
vice, ex(;e[)t violent [laro.vysms of anger, 
and an excessive indulgence in wine, then 
wjarcely deemed a fault. '• His infirmities," 
sjiys one of the most zf-alous adherents of 
hi.^ paily, " ursre p.'uision, in whi(;h he would 
swear like a cutter, and the indulging him- 
s(df in wine. Biit his party was that of the 
Church of Kngland, of whom he had the 
honour, for many yr;ars, to be accounted the 
head."* The impetuosity of his t(;rnper 
concurred with his ojjinioris on govcrrnmeiit 
in j)rom[iting him to rigorous mtjasurcs. He 
disdained the. forms and details of bnsinefls; 
and it was his maxim to prefer only 'J'ories, 
without r(;gard to their fjualificalions for 
office;. " Do you not think," said he to Lord 
Keeper Guildford, " that I could understand 
any business in England in a month?" 
" Yes, my lord," answered the Lord Keeper, 
"but I believe you would understand it bet- 
ter in two months." Even his personal de- 
fects and unreasonable maxims were calcu- 
lated to attach adherents to him as a chief; 
and he was w(dl qualifii.-d to be the leader 
of a party ready to sup[)ort all the prelensiona 
of any king who spareti the Protestant esta- 
blishment. 

Sir George Saville, created Marquis of 
Halifax by Charles H., claims the attention 
of the historian rather byliis brilliant genius, 
by lh(i singularity of Ins character, and by 
the grr^at part which he acted in the events 
which preced«!d and followed, than by his 
political importance during the short period 
m which he held office under Janx^s. In his 
youth he appears to have combined the 
opinions of a republicant with llie most re- 
fined talents of a polished courtier. The 
fragm<;iitsof his writings which remain show 
such poignant and easy wit, such lively 
sense, m miich insight into character, and 
80 delicate an observation of manners, as 
could hardly have been surpissed by any of 
his contemporaries at Versailles. His jK)liti- 
cal speculations being soon found incapable 

• North, p. 230. 

t "I have long looked upon Lord Halifax and 
Lord Eflfiiix as men who did not love monarctvjr 
such as it is in England."— Duke cf York to IVfr. 
Lcgge, supra. 



174 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



of bein<i reduced to practice, melted away 
in the royal favour: llie disappoiuttneut of 
visionary liopes 1(^1 him to des]iair of great 
improvemeiils, to despise the moderate ser- 
vices which an individual may render to the 
community, and to turn with ilisgust from 
public piineiples to tlie iudnlg'ence of his 
own vanity and ambition. The liread of his 
powers of ritlicule contributed to force him 
into office,* and the attractions of his lively 
and somewhat libertine conversation were 
amoiiii the means by whieh he ruaintained 
his uronnd with Chailes 11.: of whom it was 
saicl by Dryden, that '• whatever his favour- 
ites of slate might be, yet those of his af- 
fection were men of wit."t Though we 
have no remains of his speeches, we cannot 
doubt the eloquence of him who, on the Ex- 
clusion Bill, fought the battle of the Court 
ag~ainst so great an orator as Shaftesbury.j: 
Of these various means of advancement, he 
availed himself for a time wilh little scruple 
and with some success. But he never ob- 
tained an importance which bore any pro- 
portion to his great abilities ;—ra failure 
which, in (he time of Charles U., may be in 

Eart ascribed to the remains of his opinions, 
ut which, from its snbseipuMit recurrence, 
must be still more imputed to the defects of 
his character. He hail a stronger passion for 
praise than for power, and loved Ine display 
of talent more than the po.ssessiou of autho- 
rity. Tlie unbridled exercise of wit exposed 
him to lasting animosities, and threw a shade 
of levity over his character. He was too 
acute in discovering didicidlics, — too inge- 
nious in devising objeclions. He had too 
keen a perception of human weakness and 
folly not to (intl many pretexts and tempta- 
tions for changing his measures, and desert- 
ing his coimections. The subtilty of his 
genius temptetl him to projects too refined 
to be understood or supjiorted b)- numerous 
bodies of men. His appetite for praise, 
•when sated by the admiration of his friends, 
was too apt to seek a new and more stimu- 
lating gratification in the applauses of his 
opponents. His weaknesses and even his 
talents contributed to betray him into incou- 
Bisteucy ; which, if not the worst quality of a 
Btatesman, is the most fatal to his perma- 
nent importance. For one short period, in- 
deed, the circumstances of his situation suit- 
ed the peculiarities of his genius. In the last 
years of Charles his refined policy had found 
full scope in the arts of balancing fiictions, 
of occasionally leaning to the vanquished, 
and always tempering the triumph of the 
victorious party, by which that monarch then 

• Teniple, Memoirs, part iii. 
t Dedication to King Arthur. 
J Jotham, of piercing wit and pregnant thought, 
Endued by nature and bv learning taught 
To move assemblies ; who but only trTcd 
The worse awhile, then chose the better side ; 
Nor chose alone, but turned the balance too. 
Absalom and Achitopkel. 
Lord Halifa.\ says, " Mr. Dryden told me that 
lie was offered mone.v to write against me" — 
Fox MSS. 



consulted the repose of his declining years. 
Perhaps he satistieil himsdf with the reflec- 
tion, that his compliance with all the evil 
which was then done was necessary to enable 
him to save his country fro)ii the aibitiaryand 
bigoted faction which was eager to rule it. 
We know froin the evidence of the excel- 
lent Tillotson,* that Lord Halifax '-showed a 
coni}ias.sionate concern for Lord Russell, and 
all the readiness to save him that could be 
wished;" and that Lord Bussell desired Til- 
lotson "to give thanks to Lord Halifax for 
his humanity and kindness:" and there i.s 
some reason to think that his intercession 
might have been successful, if the delicate 
honour of Lord llussell had not refused to 
second their exertions, by softening his 
language, on the lawfulness of resistance, a 
shaile more than scrupulous sincerity would 
warrant. t He seems unintentionally to have 
contributed to the death of Sidney, t by 
having procured a sort of confession from 
Rlonmouth, in order to reconcile him to hia 
father, and to balance the inlluence of the 
Duke of York, by Charles' partiality for his 
son. The compliances am! refinements of 
that period pursued him with, perhaps, too 
just a retribution during the remainder of 
his life. James was impatient to be rid of 
him who had checkeil his inlluence during 
the last years of his brother; and the friends 
of liberty could never place any lasting trust 
in the man who remained a member of the 
Government which put to death Russell and 
Sidne)'. 

The jiart performed by Lord Godolphin at 
this time was not so considerable as to re- 
quire a full account of his character. He 
was a gentleman of ancient family in Corn- 
wall, distinguished by the accomplishments 
of some of its members, and by their suffer- 
ings in the royal cause during the civil war. 
He held offices at Court before he was em- 
ployed in the service of the State, and he 
always retained the wary and conciliating 
manners, as well as the profuse dissipation 
of his original school. Though a royalist 
and a courtier he voted for the E.xclusion 
Bill. At the accession of James, he was not 
considered as favourable to absolute depen- 
dence on France, nor to the system of govern- 
ing without Parliaments. But though a 
member of the Cabinet, he was, during the 
whole of this reign, rather a public officer, 
who confined himself to his own department, 
than a minister who took a part in the direc- 
tion of the State. § The habit of continuing 



* Lords' Journals, 20th Dec. 16S9. The Duch- 
ess of Portsmouth said to Lord Montague, " that 
if others had been as earnest as my Lord Halifax 
with the King, Lord Russell might have been 
saved." — Fo.x MSS. Otlier allusions in these 
MSS., which I ascribe to Lord Halifa.x, show that 
liis whole fault was a continuance in ofiice after 
the failure ol his efforts to save Lord Russell. 

t Life of Lord Russell, by Lord John Russell, 
p. 21.'i. 

t Evidence of Mr. Hampden and Sir James 
Forbes. — Lords' Journals, 20th Dec. 1689. 

^ "Milord Godolphin, quoiqu'il est du secret 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 16S8. 



275 



some officers in place under successive ad- 
miiiislrations, for the convenience of busi- 
ne.ss, then extended to higher persons than 
it has usually comprehended in more recent 
times. 

James had, soon after his accession, intro- 
duced into the Cabinet Sir George Jefi'reys, 
Lord Chief Justice of England,* a person 
whose office did not usually lead to that sta- 
tion, and whose elevation to unusual honour 
and trust is characteristic of the Government 
which he served. His origin was obscure, 
his education scanty, his acquirements no 
more than what his vigorous understanding 
gatherwl in the course of business, his pro- 
fessional practice low, and chiefly obtained 
from the companions of his vulgar excesses, 
whom he captivated by that gross buffoonery 
which accompanied him to the most exalted 
stations. But his powers of mind were ex- 
traordinary; his elocution was flowing and 
spirited; and. after his highest preferment, 
in the few instances where he preserved 
temper and decency, the native vigour of his 
intellect shone forth in his judgment.?, and 
threw a tran.sient dignity over the coarse- 
ness of his deportment. He first attracted 
notice by turbulence in the petty contests 
of the Corporation of London ; and having 
found a way to Court through .some of 
those who mini.stered to the plea.sures of 
the King, as well as to the more ignomi- 
nious of his political intrigues, he made his 
value knowrr by coutribuiing to destroy the 
charter of the capital of which he had been 
the chief law olHcer. His services as a 
counsel in the trial of Ru.ssell, and as a judge 
in that of Sidney, proved still more accepta- 
ble to his master.s- On the former occasion, 
he caused a person who had collected evi- 
dence for the defence to be turned out of 
court, for making private suggestions. — pro- 
bably important to the ends of justice, — to 
Lady Russell, while she was engaged in her 
affecting duly.t Tiic same brutal insolence 
shown in the trial of Sidney, was, perhaps, 
thought the more worthy of reward, because 
it was foiled by the calm heroism of that 
great man. The union of a powerful under- 
standing with boisterous violence and the 
basest subserviency singularly fitted him to 
be the tool of a tyrant. He wanted, indeed, 
the aid of hypocrisy, but he was free from 
its restraints. He had that reputation for 
boldness which many men preserve, as long 
as they are personally safe, by violence in 
their counsels and in their language. If he 
at last feared danger, he never feared shame, 
which muck more frequently restrains the 



n'a pas grand credit, et songe seulement a se con- 
server par anc conduite sage et moder«e. Je ne 
pense pas que s'il en etoit cru, on prit d«s liaisons 
avec V. M. qui pussent tiler u se passer eniiure- 
meni de parlement, et a rompr« nettetnent avec 
[e Prince d' Orange." — Barillon lo the King, 16ih 
April, 1685. Fox, History of James II., app. ix. 

* North, p. 234. (After the Nortl>em Circuit, 
1684, — in our compniaiion. 1685.) 

t Examination of John Tisanl. — Lords' Jour- 
nals, 20th Dec. 1690. 



powerful. Perhaps the unbridled fury ol 
his temper enabled him to threaten and in- 
timidate with more effect than a man of 
equal wickedness, with a cooler character. 
His religion, which seems to have consisted 
in hatred to Nonconformists, did not hinder 
him from profanencss. His native fierceness 
was daily inflamed by debauchery; his ex- 
cesses were too gross and outrageous for the 
decency of historical relation ;* and his court 
wasa continual scene of scurrilous invective, 
from which none were exempted but his su- 
periors. A contemporary, of amiable dispo- 
sition and Tory principles, who knew him 
well, sums up liis character in few words, — 
"he was by nature cruel, and a slave of the 
Court."t 

It was after the defeat of Monmouth that 
James gave full scope to his policy, and be- 
gan that system of measures which charac- 
terises his reign. Though Feversham was, 
in the common intercourse of life, a good- 
natured man, his victory at Sedgemoor was 
immediately followed by some of these acts 
of military license which usually disgrace 
the suppression of a revolt, when there is no 
longer any dread of retaliation, — when the 
conqueror sees a rebel in every inhabitant, 
and considers destruction by the sword as 
only anticipating legal execution, and when 
he is generally well assured, if not positively 
instructed, that he can do nothing more ac- 
ceptable to his superiors than to spread a 
deep impression of terror through a disaf- 
fected province. A thousand were slain in 
a pursuit of a small body of insurgents for a 
few miles. Feversham marched into Bridge- 
water on the morning after the battle (July 
7th), with a considerable number tied to- 
gether like slaves; of whom twenty-two 
were hanged by his orders on a sign-post 
by the road-side, and on gibbets which he 
caused to be erected for the occasion. One 
of them was a wounded officer, named Ad- 
lam, who was already in the agonies of 
death. Four were hanged in chains, with a 
deliberate imitation of the barbarities of re- 
gxilar law. One miserable wretch, to whom 
life had been promised on condition of his 
keeping pace for half a mile with a horse at 
full speed (to which he was fastened by a 
rope which went round his neck), was exe- 
cuted in spite of his performance of the feat. 
Feversham was proceeding thus towaids dis- 
armed enemies, to whom he had granted 
quarter, when Ken, the bishop of the diocese, 
a zealous royalist, had the courage to rush 
into the midst of this military execution, 
calling out, "My Lord, this is murder in law. 

* See the account of his bcliaviour at a hall in 
the city, soon after Sidney's condemnation ; Ev«. 
lyn, vol. i. p. 531 ; and at the dinner at Oun- 
comhe'e, a rich citizen, where the Lord Ciiancei 
lor (Jeffreys) and the Lord Treasurer (Rochester) 
were with difficulty prevented from appearing na- 
ked in a balcony, to drink loynl toasts, Korcsby, 
Memoirs, p. 231, and of his "flaming " drunken- 
ness at the Privy Council, when ijic King wm 
present. — North, p> 250. 

t Evelyn, vol. i. p. 579. 



276 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



These poor wretches, now the battle ia oyer, 
must be tried before they can be put to 
death.'"* The interposition of this excellent 
prelate,, however, only suspended the cruel- 
ties of the conquerors. Feversham was 
called to court to receive the thanks and 
honours due to his services. 

Kirke, whom he was directed to leave with 
detachments at Bridgewater and Taunton,f 
imitated, if he did not surpass, the lawless 
violence of his commander. When he en- 
tered the latter town, on the third day after 
the battle, he put to death at least nine of 
his prisoners, with so little sense of impro- 
priety or dread of disapprobation, that they 
were entered by name as executed for high 
treason in the parish register of their inter- 
ment. t Of the other excesses of Kirke we 
have no satisfactory account. The experi- 
ence of like cases, however, renders the tra- 
dition not improbable, that these acts of law- 
less violence were accompanied by the in- 
sults and mockeries of military debauchery. 
The nature of the service in which the de- 
tachment was principally engaged, required 
more than common virtue in a commander 
to contain the passions of the soldiery. It 
was his principal duty to search for rebels. 
He was urged to the performance of this 
odious task by malicious or mercenary in- 
formers. The friendship, or compassion, or 
political zeal of the inhabitants, was active 
in favouring escapes, so that a constant and 
cruel struggle subsisted between the sol- 
diers and the people abetting the fugitives. § 
Kirke's regiment, when in garrison at Tan- 
gier, had had the figTire of a Iamb painted 
on their colours as a badge of their warfare 
against the enemies of the Christian name. 
The people of Somersetshire, when they 
saw those who thus bore the symbols of 
meekness and benevolence engaged in the 
performance of such a task^ vented the bit- 
terness of their hearts aganist the soldiers, 
by giving them the ironical name of Kirke's 
"lambs." The unspeakable atrocity impu- 
puted to him, of putting to death a person 
whose life he had promised to a young wo- 
man, as the price of compliance with his 
desires, it is due to the honour of human na- 



• For the principal part of the enormities of Fe- 
versham, we have the singular advantage of the 
testimony of two eye-witnesses, — an officer in the 
royal army, Kennet, History of England, vol. iii. 
p. 432, and Oldmixon, History of England, vol. 
i. p. 704. See also Locke's Western Rebellion. 

t Lord Sunderland's letter to Lord Feversham, 
8th July. — State Paper Office. 

X Toulmin's Taunton, by Savage, p. 522, where, 
after a period of near one hundred and forty years, 
the authentic evidence of this fact is for the first 
time published, together with other important par- 
ticulars of Monmouth's revolt, and of the military 
and judicial cruelties which followed it. These nine 
are by some writers swelled to nineteen, probably 
from confounding ihem with that number e.xeculed 
at Taunton by virtue of Jeffreys' judgments. The 
number of ninety mentioned on this occasion by 
others seems to be altogether an e.vawcxeration. 

^ Kirke to Lord Sunderland. Taunton, i2th 
Aug. — Stale Paper Office. 



ture to disbelieve, until more satisfactory 
evidence be produced than that on which it 
has hitherto rested.* He followed the ex- 
ample of ministers and magistrates in sell- 
ing pardons to the prisoners in his district; 
which, though as illegal as his executions, 
enabled many to escape from the barbarities 
which were to come. Base as this traffic 
was, it would naturally lead him to threaten 
more evil than he indicted. It deserves to be 
remarked, that, five years after his command 
at Taunton, theinhabitantsof that place gave 
an entertainment, at the public expense, to 
celebrate his success. This fact seems to 
countenance a suspicion that we ought to 
attribute more to the nature of the service 
in which he was engaged than to any pre- 
eminence in criminality, the peculiar odium 
which has fallen on his name, to the ex- 
clusion of other officers, whose excesses ap- 
pear to have been greater, and are certainly 
more satisfactorily attested. But whatever 
opinion may be formed of the degree of 
Kirke's guilt, it is certain that he was rather 
countenanced than discouraged by the Gov- 
ernment. His illegal executions were early 
notorious in London.t The good Bishop 
Ken, who then corresponded witli the King 
himself, on the sufferings of his diocese.t 
could not fail to remonstrate against those 
excesses, which he had so generously inter- 
posed to prevent; and if the accounts of 
the remonstrances of Lord Keeper Guildford, 
against the excesses of the West, have any 
foundation, § they must have related exclu- 
sively to the enormities of the soldiery, for 
the Lord Keeper died at the very opening 
of Jeffreys' circuit. Yet, with this know- 
ledge, Lord Sunderland instructed Kirke "to 
secure such of his prisoners as had not been 



* This story is told neither by Oldmixon nor Bur- 
net, nor by the humble writers of the Bloody Assi- 
zesor the Quadriennium Jacobi. Echard and Ken- 
net, who wrote long after, mentioned it only as a 
report. It first appeared in print in 1699, in Port- 
fret's poem of Cruelty and Lust. The next men- 
tion is in the anonymous Life of William III., 
published in 1702. A story very similar is told 
by St. Augustine of a Roman officer, and in the 
Spectator, No. 491, of a governor of Zealand, 
probably from a Dutch chronicle or legend. The 
scene is laid by some at Taunton, by others at 
Exeter. The person executed is said by some to 
be the father, by others to be the husband, and 
by others again to be the brother of the unhappy 
young woman, whose name it has been found im- 
possible to ascertain, or even plausibly to conjec- 
ture. The tradition, which is still said to prevail 
at Taunton, may well have originated in a publi- 
cation of one hundred and twenty years old. 

t Narcissus Luttrell, MS. Diary, 15ih July, 
six days after their occurrence. 

t Ken's examination before the Privy Council, 
in 1696. — Biographia Britannica, Article Ken. 

$ North, p. 260. This inaccurate writer refers 
the complaint to Jeffreys' proceedings, which is 
impossible, since Lord Guildford died in Oxford- 
shire, on the 5th September, after a long illness. 
Lady Lisle was executed on the 3d ; and her exe- 
cution, the only one which preceded the death of 
the Lord Keeper, could scarcely have reached him 
in his dying moments. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



in 



executed, in order to trial,"* at a time when 
there had been no legal proceedings, antl 
when all the executions to which he adverts, 
without disapprobation, must have been con- 
trary to law. Seven days after, Sunderland 
Jnfor!iie<l Kirke that his letter had been 
communicated to the King, '• who was very 
well satisfied with the proeeedings."t In 
subsequent despatches,]: he censures Kirke 
for setting some rebels at liberty (alluding, 
doubtless, to those who had purchased their 
lives) J but he does not censure that officer 
for having put others to death. Were it not 
for these proofs that the King knew the acts 
of Kirke, and that his Government officially 
sanctioned them, no credit would be due to 
the declarations afterwards made by such a 
man, that his severities fell short of the 
orders which he had received. § Nor is this 
the only circumstance which connects the 
Government with these enormities. On the 
10th of August, Kirke was ordered to come 
to court to give information on the state of 
the West, His regiment was soon after- 
wards removed; and he does not appear to 
have been employed there during the re- 
mainder of that season. II 

Colonel Trelawney succeeded; but so little 
was Kirke's conduct thought to be blama- 
ble, that on iho 1st of September three per- 
sons were executed illegally at Taunton for 
rebellion, the nature and reason of their 
death openly avowed in the register of their 
intermenl.l" In military executions, how- 
ever atrocious, some allowance must be 
made for the passions of an exasperated 
soldiery, and for the habits of officers accus- 
tomed to summary and irregular acts, who 
have not been taught by experience that the 
ends of justice cannot be attained otherwise 
than by the observance of the rules of law.** 
The lawless violence of an army forms no 
precedent for the ordinary administration of 
public affairs; and the historian is bound to 
relate with diffidence events which are gen- 
erally attended with confusion and obscurhy, 
which are e.vaggerated by the just resent- 
ment of an oppressed party, and where we 
can seldom be guided oy the authentic evi- 
dence of records. Neither the conduct of a 
Government which approves these excesses, 

* 14ih July. — State Paper Office. 

+ 21st July.— Ibid. 

t 25ih and 28ih July, and 3d August.— State 
Paper Office. 

§ Oldinixon, vol. i. p. 705. 

II Papers in the War Office. MS. 

If Savage, p. .525. 

** 'I'wo years after the suppression of the West- 
ern revolt, we find Kirke treated with favour by 
the King. — " Colonel Kirke is made housekeeper 
of Whitehall, in the room of his khismart., de- 
ceased." — Narcissus LuiircH, Sept. 1687. lie was 
neatly related to, or perhaps the son of George 
Kirke, groom of the l)edchamber to Charles I., 
one of whose beautiful daughifrs. Mary, a maid 
of honour, wa.s the VVarmesire of Count Hamil- 
ton, (Notes to Memoires de Grammoni), and the 
other, Diana, was the wife of the last Earl of Ox- 
ford, of the house of De Vere. — Dugdale'a Ba- 
ronage, tit- Oxford. 



however, nor that of judges who imitate or 
surpass them, allows of such extenuations or 
requires such caution in relating and cha- 
racterising facts. The judicial proceedings 
which immediately followed these military 
atrocities may be related with more confi- 
dence, and must be treated with the utmost 
rigour of historical justice. 

The commencement of proceedings on the 
Western Circuit, which comprehends the 
whole scene of Monmouth's operations, was 
postponed till the other assizes were con- 
cluded, in order that four judges, who were 
joined with Jeffreys in the commission, might 
be at liberty to attend him.* An order was 
also issued to all officers in the We-st, -'to 
furnish such parties of horse and foot, as 
might be required by the Lord Chief Justice 
on his circuit, for securing prisoners, and to 
perform that service in such manner as, he 
should direct."t After these unusual and 
alarming preparations, Jeffreys began his 
circuit at Winchester, on the 27th of August, 
by the trial of Mrs. Alicia Li.sle, who was 
charged with having sheltered in her house, 
for one night, two fugitives from Monmouth's 
routed army, — an office of humanity which 
then was and still is treated as high treason 
by the law of England. This lady, though 
unaided by counsel, so deaf that she could 
very imperfectly hear the evidence, and oc- 
casionally overpowerrd by those lethargic 
slumbers which are in&ident to advanced 
age, defended herself with a coolness which 
formed a striking contrast to the deportment 
of her judge. t The principal witness, a man 
who had been sent to her to implore shelter 
for one Hickes, and who guided him and 
Nelthrope to her house, betrayed a natural 
repugnance to disclose facts likely to affect 
a life which he had innocently contributed 
to endanger. Jeffre3's, at the suggestion of 
the counsel for the crown, took upon himself 
the examination of this unwilling witnee.s, and 
conducted it with a union of artifice, men- 
ace, and invective, which no well-regulated 
tribunal would suffer in the advocate of a 
prisoner, when examining the witness pro- 
duced by the accuser. With solemn ap- 
peals to Heaven for his own pure intentions, 
he began in the language of candour and 
gentleness to adjure the witness to discover 
all that he knew. His nature, however, 
often threw off this disguise, and broke out 
into the ribaldry and scurrility of his accus- 
tomed style. The Judge and three counsel 
poured in questions upon the poor rustic in 
rapid succession. Jeffreys said that he trea- 
sured up vengeance for such men, and added, 
" It is infinite mercy that for those falsehoods 



* Lord Chief Baron Montague, Levison, Wat- 
kins, and Wright, of whom Ine three former sat 
on the subsequent trials of Mr. Cornish and Mrs. 
Gaunt. 

t Thiij order was dated on the 2'lth August, 
1685. — Papers in the War Office. From this cir- 
cumstance originated the story, that Jeffi-eys had 
a commission as Commrtnaer-in- Chief. 

t State Trials, vol. xi^. 298. 



27S 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



of thine, Go<\ does >iot iminodiafolv strike 
thoo into hell." 'Wearied, oveniweil, ami 
nverwlielmeil by sneh an examination, the 
witness at leni^th admitted some faetswhieh 
atlurded reason to snspeot, ratht>r than to 
K'lieve. that the unfortunate lady knew the 
men \vhon\ she sueeoured to be fnuitives 
from Jlonmonth's army- She s;ud in her 
defenee, that she knew ]Mr. Hiekes to be a 
Presbyterian minister, and thought he ab- 
sconded because there were warrants ont 
ag-iinst him on that accom\t. All the pre- 
cautions for conceahuent which were urued 
as proofs of lier intentional breach of law 
were reconcilable with this defence. Onhns 
h:id Iven issncvt at the bepuninsr of the 
revolt to seize all '-dis;! fleeted and suspi- 
cious persons, especially all Nonconfovn\ist 
ministei-s;"* and JetlVeys himself unwit- 
tingly strengthened her ease by declaring 
his conviction, that all Presbyierians had 
a hand in the rebellion. He did not go 
through the formality of repeating so pro- 
bable a defence to the jury. They how- 
ever hesitated : they asked the Chief justice, 
whether it were as much treason to receive 
Hickes befoiv as after conviction ? He told 
them that if was, which was literally true; 
but he wilfully concealed from them that by 
the law, such as it was, the receiver of a 
traitor could not be brought to trial till the 
principal traitor had been convicted or out- 
lawed ;— a provision, indeetl, so manifestly 
necessary to justice, that without the obser- 
vance of it Hickes might be acquitted of 
treason after Mrs. Lisle had been execu- 
ted for harbouring him as a traitor. t Four 
judges lookeil silently on this suppression of 
truth, which pnxluced the same effect with 
po.sitive falsehood, and alloweil the limits of 
a barbarous law to be overpassed, in order 
to destroy an aged woman for an act of 
charity. The jury retired, and remained so 
h)ng in deliberation, as to provoke the wrath 
of the Chief Justice. When they ri>turned 
into court, they expressed their doubt, 
whether the prisoner knew that Hickes had 
been in IMoinnouth's armv : the Chief Jus- 
tice assured iheni that the proof was com- 
plete. Three times they repeated their 
doubt: the Chief Justice as often reiterated 
his declaration with growing imixitience and 
rage. At this critical monuMit of the last 
appeal of ll»e jury to the Court, the defeuce- 
h>ss female at the bar made an eflort to 
epeak. JeflVeys, taking advantage of for- 
malitie.'', instantly silenced her, and the jury 
were at length overawed into a verdict of 
'guilty.'' He then broke out into a need- 
less insvdt to the strongest affections of 
nature, s;\ying to the jurvj^ ''Gentlemen, had 
I been among yon, ami if she had been 
niv own mother, I should have found her 
guilty." Oil the next morning, when he 

* Dosp.ilch from Lord Sunderland to Lord- 
Lieuciiantsi ot Coiiniies. COsh June, 1685. 

t Hale, Pleas of the Crown, part i. c. 22. 
Foster, Discourse on Acco«iplices, chap. 1. 



had to pronounce sentence of death, he couUI 
not even then abstain from invectives against 
Presbyterians, of wlioni he sui^pesed I\lrs. 
Lisle to be one ; yet mixing artifice with his 
fury, he tried to lure her into discoreries. by 
ambiguous phrases, which might excite her 
hopes of life without pledging him to obtain 
pardon. He diircted that she should bo 
burnt -alive in the afternoon of the samo 
day; but the clergy of the cathedral of 
Winchester successfully interceded for nn 
interval of three ilays. This interval gavp 
time for an application to the King : and that 
application was made by persons, and \\ ilh 
circumstances, which must have strongly 
called his attention to the case. ^Irs. Lisle 
was the widow of ]Mr. Lisle, who was one 
of the jutlges of Charles the First; and this 
circumstance, which excited a prejudice 
against her, served in its consequences to 
show that she had powerful claims on the 
lenity of the King. Lady St. John and Lady 
Abergavenny wrote a letter to Lord Claren- 
don, then Privy Seal, which he read to the 
King, bearing testimony, " that she had been 
a favourer of the King's friends in their 
greatest extremities during the late civil 
war,'' and among others, of these ladies 
themselves; and on these grounds, as well 
as for her general loyalty, earnestly recem- 
memlinsr her to panlon. Her son had served 
in the King's army ai;xiinst Rhunuouth; slio 
often had dedareil that she ?hed more tears 
than any woman in England on the day of 
the death of Charles the Fiist; and after 
the attainder of INIr. Li.^Ie. his estate was 
granted to her at the intercession of Lord 
Chancellor Clarendon, for her excellent con- 
ihict during the prevalence of her husband's 
party. Lord Feversham, also, who had been 
promisei.1 a thons;md pounds for her partlon, 
used his inlhience to obtain it. But the King 
declared that he wonld not reprieve her for 
one day. It is said, that he endeavoured to 
justify himself, by alleging a promise to 
JeflVevs that Mrs. Lisle should not bo 
spareil ; — a fact which, if true, shows th^ 
conduct of James to liavo been as delibeia'.e 
as it seems to be, and iliat the severities of 
the circuit arose from a previous concert be- 
tween him and Jeffreys. On the followir.g 
day the case was ag^in brought befoie him 
by a petition from Mrs. Lisle, praying that 
her piuiishment might be changed into be- 
heading, in consideration of her ancient and 
honourable descent. After a careful search 
for precedents, the mini! of James was once 
more called to the fate of the prisoner by 
the signature of a warrant to authorise the 
infliction of the mitigated punishment. This 
venerable matron accordingly sntFered death 
wi the 2d of September, supported by that 
piety which had been the guide of her lile. 
Her understaiuling was so undisturbed, that 
she clearly instanced the points in which she 
had been wronged. No resentment troubled 
the comixisnre of her dying moments; and 
she carried her religious principles of alle- 
giance and forgiveness so far, as to pray oa 



REVIEW OF niE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



279 



the scaflbld for tho prosperity of a prince 
from whom sho had (jxpcrieiicod nuilhcr 
mercy, f,'ialitu(l<!, nor justico. Tho Irial of 
Mrs. LihIo itt a sii(fici(;nt Bpccimon of tho 
proc(!t!<liiif^8 of ihirt circuit. When such 
was tho conduct of th« judj^os in a HJiif^Io 
trial of a lady of distinctiou for such an 
ofr(5nc(^, with a jury not nsgardlosB of justice;, 
whcTC! thi-r(! was lull IciBurc for tin; coiiHi- 
(leration of ev(!ry (|ur!stion of fact and law, and 
vvhi)i(! every c.iK^urrislanco was ;nado known 
to the Covcrninent ajid th(! publie;, it in easy 
to ima<i;ni(! what the demeanour of t\n: Kanie 
tribunal must hav(! betju in tlie trials of H(;ve- 
ral hundrcjil insuif^enls of liumbio condition, 
crowded into so short a time that th(! wisest 
and most upri<rhl jud^cjs could liardly have 
di«tinsi;uished thi; innocent from the guilty.* 
Ah the moveuKuitH of ]\']onuioulh's army 
had been confined to Dorset and Sumersel, 
the acts of hi;^h treason were alrno.st entircrjy 
committed there, and the prison(;rs appre- 
liended eis(;where wc^ro theridore removed 
for trial to these counties. t 'J'hat unfortu- 
nate district was already filled with dismay 
and horror by th(! barbarities of the troops; 
the roads h'adin^ to its principal towns 
were cover(!d with prisoners under military 

i guards; and the display and menace; of war- 
ike pow(;r were most conspicuous in the 
retinue of insoh;nt soldiers and tremblinj^ 
culprits who followed the march of tin; 
jud;!;(;s, forrnin<( a melancholy contrast to the 
parental con(id(!iice which was wont to j)er- 
vade the administration of the unarmed 
laws of a free p(!ople. Three hundred and 
twenty prisoners were arrai|;^ned at \)ui- 
chester, of whom thirty-live plea<Ied "not 
guilty;" and on their trial five were acquit- 
ted and thirty were convicted. The Chief 
Justice cjuised some intimation to be con- 
veyed to the prisoners that confession was 
the oidy road to mercy; and to streiif^then 
the effect of this hint, he sent tw(;nty-nine 
of tho persons convicted to immediate exe- 
cution, — thouf^h one of them at least was so 

* I{y ilie fiivour of ilio clerk of assizR, I have 
before ino Hirniy of die original records of diis 
cireuit. 'I'Ik; iiecouiit ol it l)y I/ord I,oiis(l;iI(' wa.s 
written ill lf)H8. 'I'lu; Hloody Asj'i/cH. iwiil ilio 
Lite of .fenVcya, were piiliiislied in K»H9. 'I'liey 
were written iiy one Sliirlcy, n coni[)der, and by 
Piltfl, a fiiirneon in Moiimoiilli's iirtny. Si.v ilioii- 
saiid copies of the iaiier were sold. — Life of .John 
Dunioii, vol. i. p. 1H4. Ro/^(,'r Ookc, a eoiiti^in- 
porary, and Dldnii.xon, almost an eyc-wiiness, 
vouch for iheirgenoTal fairiicas; and I fiave found 
ati une.xpeeted degree of coincidence l)el\vecn 
them and ilie circuit records. Kurnet came to 
reside at Salialmry in 1(J8'J, and lie and l{einici 
began to relato tlie facts alioiit seveiileen year.s 
aiter they occurred. Failicr Orleans, ana the 
writer of Janies' l^ife, admit the cruelties, wliile 
they vainly Rlrivc to exculpate the King from any 
etiarc in ihem. From a comparison o( those 
original audioriiics, and from the correspondence, 
hitherto unknown, in the Slate Paper OflTice, the 
narrative of the text has hac.n fornKMl. 

t There were removed to Dorchester ninety, 
fourfrom Somerset, eighty-nine from Devon, flfiy- 
five from Wilts, and iwenty-threc from London. — 
Circuit Uccords. 



innocent that had there been time to examine 
his cas(;, he mi(i^ht even then liave be(,'n par- 
doin;d.* The intimation illustrated by such 
a commentary produced the intended cflect : 
tv\o hundriuj and ciyht at once confessed.! 
Eighty persons were, accordiiif,' to contem- 
poiary accounts, execut(;d at Dorchester j 
and thou<;h the records stale only tin; execu- 
tion of iifty, yet as they contain no (;ntiy of 
judgmetit in two hunclred and fifty cases, 
their silence affords no presumption against 
tin; common accounts. 

'J'he corr(!riponriej)ce of JefTreys with the 
Kingand the minislt;r appears to have begun 
at I)oich(;sler. From that place he wrote 
on the 8th of Septemb(;r, in terms of enthu- 
siastic gialiludr; to Sunderland, lo return 
thanks for the Croat Hcal.t Two days after- 
wards he informed Sunderland, tliat though 
"tortuied by tlie stone," he had that day 
"des[)atche(i ninety-eioht rebels. "§ Sunder- 
land assured him in answer, that tlie King 
ajipioved all liis piocee-dings, of which very 
minute accounts appear lo liave been con- 
stantly transmitted by Jeffreys directly lothe 
King himself.lj In the county of Somerset 
more than a thousand prisoners were ar- 
raigned for treason at Taunton andWell.s, of 
whom only six ventured to put ihem.scdvea 
on their trial by pleading "not guilty." A 
lhousan<I and foity confessed themsidves to 
be guilty; — a proportion of confessions 80 
litth; corresponding lo tlie common chances 
of [)reci[)itale arrests, of malicious or mis- 
taken chaiges. and of escapes on tiial, — all 
which W(;r(; multi[)lied in such violent and 
hurried proceedings, — as clearly to show that 
tin; measures of the circuit had already ex- 
tinguished all expectation that the judges^ 
would observe the rules of justice. Submis- 
sion afforded some chance of escape : from 
trial the most innocent could no longer have 
any hojie. Only six days were allowed in 
this county to find indictments against a lliou- 
sand prisoners, lo arraign them, to try the few 
who still ventur(;d to aj)peal to law, to record 
the conf(;ssions of tin; rest, and lo examine 
the circumstances whicli ought, in each case, 
to aggravate or ext(!nuate the punishment. 
The names of two hundied anci thirty-nine 
persfjiis executed there are preserved :ir but 
as no judgments are entered,** we do not 
know how many more may have suffered, 
In order to diffu.sc terror more widely, these 
executions were directed to take i)lace in 
thirty-six towns and villages. T'hr<'e were 
executed in the village; of Wriiigton, the birth- 
place of Mr. Locke, whose writings were one 



* Bragg, an attorney. Bloody Assizes. Western 
Rebellion. 

t Calendar for Dorsetshire summer assizes, 
108.5. _ 

t The rireat Real had only been vacant three 
diiyH, as Lord Keeper CJuildlord died at his seat 
at Wroxloii, on the ."iili. 

^ Hill and 10:h Sept. — Slate Paper Office. 

II Windsor, Mih S.pi.— Ibid. 

If Life and Death of George Lord Jcflrey*. 
(London, 1689.) 
. *• Circuit Records. 



280 



MACKINTOSH S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



day to lesson tlio niisoi y sufTorod by man- 
kind tioni rrui'l laws and unjust judii«\s. 
Till* pMu-ral I'onstornation spivad l>y tht'st> 
proooodiii<:s has j^ncvtMitod a particular ac- 
count ot many oi the cases Irom reaching 
us. In some ot those nioiv conspicuous in- 
stances which have been jneserved, we see 
what so ijreat a body oi obnoxious culprits 
nuist have sutlered in narrow and noisome 
prisons, where they were otten destitute of 
the common necess;iries of life, before a 
judiie whose native rage and insolence were 
stimulated by ilaily intoxication, and in- 
llamed by the agonies of an excruciating dis- 
temper, iVoni the brutality oH soldiers, ami 
the cruelty of slavish or bigoted inagistnites ; 
while one jiart of tluMr neighbours were hard- 
ened ag-ainst them by faction, and the other 
deterred from relieving them by tear. The 
ordinary executioners, unequal to so exten- 
sive a slaughter, wereaideil by novices, whose 
unskilfnlness aggravated the horrors of that 
death of torture which was then the legal 
punishment of high treason. Their lifeless 
remains were treated with those indignities 
and outrages which still* continue to disgrace 
the laws of a civilized age. They were be- 
headed and quartered, and the "lieads and 
limbs of the dead were directed to be placed 
on court-houses, and in all conspicuous ele- 
vations in streets, high roads, and churches. 
The country was tilled with the dreadful 
preparations lUH'cssary to lit these inanimate 
inen\bers for fuch an exhibition ; and the 
roads were oovmed by vehicles conveying 
them to great ilistances in cvtMy direction. t 
There was not a hamlet in which the )ioor 
inhabitants were not iloomed hourly to look 
«n the mangled remains of a neighbour or a 
relation. "All the high roads of the country 
were no longer to bo travelled, while the 
horrors of so many quarters of men and the 
oti'ensive stench of them lasted."]: 

AVhile one of the most fertile and cheerful 
piovinees of England was thus turiunl into a 
ecene of horror by the mangled rejnains of 
the tlea^l, the towns resonndinl with the cries, 
and the streets streamcil with the blood of 
men, and even women and children, who 
were cruellv whipjunl for real or pn'tended 
sedition. The case of John Tulchin, after- 
wards a noleil political writer, is a specimen 
of these minor cruelties. He was tried at 
rK>rchester, under the assumed name of 
Thomas Pitts, for having siiid that Hamp- 
shire was up in arms for the Duke of Mon- 

* 18-::.— En. 

t •' Nuiliiiifj coxM he iikcr hell ihan theso 
pnrts ; ciuiKIrons hissing, cnrcassos boilinjj, piioli 
and tnr sparklinsj nnd glowing, bloody limbs boil- 
uisr, and lonring, and nianKling." — Bloody Assizes. 
'• England is now an .\oeldnnia. 'Vhf coiiiilry 
for !ii.\iy miles, from Hristol lo Exeicr. had a new 
terrible sort of si-jn-posis. cibbots, heads and 
qinriers of its slaughiered uihabitants." — Old- 
mi \oii, vol. i. p. 707. 

t Lord Lonsdale, (Memoirs of the Reign of 
James H., p. 13.) confirms the testimony of tlio 
two former more ardent partisans, both of whom, 
however, were eye-witnesses. 



mouth, and, on his conviction, was sentenced 
to be whijiped through eveiy market town 
in the county fiu' seven years. The fcmalca 
in court burst into tears; and even one of 
the oliicers of the couit ventured to observe 
to the Chief Justice, that the culprit was very 
young, and that the sentence would u'aen 
to once a fortitight for seven years. These 
symi'tonis of pity exposed the j^isoner to 
tiew brutality iVom his jndgtv 'J'uti'hin is 
said to have ]itMitioiu'd the King for the more 
lenient puiiislnnetit of the gallows. He was 
seized with the sniall-pox in jnison; ami, 
whether from unwonted compassion, or fiom 
the misnomer in the indictment. ht> appears 
to have escaped the greater pari of the bar- 
bartnis punishment to which ht> wasdoonied.* 

These ilreadful scenes are r» lieved by 
some examples of generous virtue in indi- 
viduals of the victorious party. Harte, a 
clergyman of Taunton, tollowing the excel- 
lent example of llie Hishop, interceded for 
some of the jirisoners with Jeilreys in the 
tnll career of his cruelty. The inttMcession 
was not successful; but it coinjiellcd him to 
honour the humanity to which he diil not 
vieKI, for he soon after preferrtnl Ilarlt; lo 
be a prebtMidary of l>ristol. Both Ken and 
Harte, who were probably at the moment 
cliarged with ilisatlection, sacrilicett at a sub- 
sequent perioil their preterments, rallicrthan 
violat(> the allegiance which they thought 
still to be due to the King; while ]\lew. 
Kishop of Winchester, w ho was on llie tiekt 
of battle at Sedgemoor, and whooidered lliat 
liis coach horses should drag forwaid the 
artillery of the royal army, preserved his rich 
bishojiric by compliance with the goverii- 
nient of King William. The army of Mon- 
mouth also aironhnl instructive proofs, that 
the most turious zealots are not always the 
most consistent adherents. Ferguson anil 
Hooke, two Presbyterian clergymen in that 
army, passed most of their subsequent lives 
in .lacobite intrigues, either from incorrigible 
habits of conspiracy, or from resentment nt 
the supposed ingiatitude of their own l^arty^ 
or ftom the inconstancy inUuial to men ot 
inibridled passions anil ilistempered miinls. 
Daniel De Foe, one of the most original 
writers of the English nation, serveil in the 
army of Rlonmonth; but we do not know 
the particulars of his escape. A great satirist 
had afterwards the baseness to rejiroach 
both Tutchin and De Foe with sutlerings, 
wliich were dishonourable only to those who 
intlictetl them.t 

In the mean time, peculiar circumstances 
rendered the correspondence of .TeflVeys in 
Somersetshire with the King and his minister 
more specilic and confidential than it had 
been in the preceding parts of the circuit. 
Lord Sutiderland had ajiprised Jetl reys of the 
King's pleasure to bestow a thousand con- 



• Savaae, p. 509. Western Rebellion. Dor- 
chester Calendar, summer assizes, l(iJ^."i. 

t " Earless on high stood unabashed De Foe. 
And Tutchin flagrant from the scourge 
below.'' Duuciad, book ii. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



281 



vicls on several courtiers, and one hundred 
on a favouiile of the Queen,* on these per- 
sons Cuului'^ security that tlie prisoners should 
be enslaved for ten years in some West India 
island ; — a limitation intended, p(!rhaps, ordy 
to d<;()rive the convicts of the syrnpatliy of 
the Puritan colonists of New England, but 
which, in eflTect, doomed thetn to a miserable 
and lin^^erin;^ dealh in a climate wh(.'re field- 
labour is fatal to Europi-ans. Jeffreys, in 
his answer to the K'ni^, remonstrates ayainst 
this disposal of the prisoners, who, he says, 
would bo worth ten or fifteen pounds a- 
piece ;t and, at the same time, returns thanks 
for his Majesty's (gracious acceptance of his 
services. In a subsequent letter from Bristol, t 
he yields to the distribution of the convicts; 
boasts of his victory over that most factious 
city, where he h'-ul committed the mayor and 
an alderman, under pnUence of their havinj^ 
sold to the plantations m<;n whom they had 
unjustly convicted with a vitnv to such a 
sale; and [)Ied;:^es hirnsidf "that Taunton, 
and Bristol, and the county of Sfjmerset, 
should ktiow iheir duty both to God arul 
their Kinj^ before he leaves them." He 
entreats the King not to be surprised info 
pardons. 

Jame.s, being thus regularly apprised of 
the most miimte particulars of Jeffreys' pro- 
ceedings, was accustomed to speak of them 
to the foreign ministers under the name of 
"Jeffreys' campaign."^ He amused himself 
with horse-races at Winchester, the scene of 
the recent cvecution of Mrs. Lisle, during 
the hottest part of Jeffreys' operations.il He 
was so fond of the phrase of '-Jeffreys' cam- 
paign," as to use it twice in his correspond- 
ence with tho Prince of Orange; and, on the 
latter occasion, in a tone of exultation ap- 
proaching to defiance.ir The excellent Ken 
had written to him a letter of expostulation 
on the subject. On the 30th of September, 
on JeflTreys' return lo court, his promotion to 
the ofhce of Lord Chancellor was armounced 
in the Gazette, with a panegyric on his ser- 
vicf;s very utmsual in the cold formalities of 
ofiicial appointment. Had James been dis- 
Kilisfied with the conduct of Jeffreys, he had 
the means of repairing sf)me part of its con- 
eequences, for the executions in Somerset- 
shire were not concluded before the latter 
part of November ; and among the persons 
who suffered in October was Mr. Hickes, 
a Non(X)nformist clergyman, for whom his 
brother, the learned Dr. Hickes. afterwards 
a sufferer in the cause of James, sued in 



• Hth and l.-iih .Sept.— Stale Psipor OfTice. 200 
to Sir RoUert While, 200 to Sir William Hooih, 
100 to Sir O. Musgrave, 100 to Sir W. Siapleton, 

100 to J. Kendall, 100 to TriplKii, 100 lo a 

merchant. " Tho Queen has asked 100 more of 
the rebels." 

t Tamiion, 19ih Sept.— Ibid. 

t 22d Sept.— Ibid. 

i Burnet, History of his Own Time, (fol.) vol. i. 
p. CAH. 

II 14ih to 18ih Sept. — London Gazettes. 

IT lOih and 24ih Sept. — Dalrymple, Memoirs of 
Great Driiain, appendix to pan i. book ii. 
36 



vain for pardon.* Some months after, when 
Jeffreys had brought on a fit of dangerous 
illneHs by one of his furious debauches, the 
King expressed great concern, and declared 
that his loss could not be easily repaired.! 

The public acts and personal demeanour 
of tfie King hims/df agreed too well with 
the general cluiiacter of these judicial se- 
verities. An old officer, named Holmes, 
who was taken in Monmouth's army, being 
brought up to London, was admitted to an 
interview with the King, who offeri;d to spare 
his life if he would promise to live quietly. 
He answered, that his principles liad been 
and still weio "republican," believing that 
form of government to be the best ; and that 
he was an old man, whose life was as little 
worth asking as it was worth giving, — an 
answer which so displeased the King, that 
Holmes was removed to Dorchester, where 
he suffered death with fortitude and piety .t 
The proceedings on the circuit seem, indeed, 
to have been so exclusively directed by the 
King and the Chief Justice, that even Lord 
Sunderland, powerful as he was, could not 
obtain the pardon of one delinquent. Yet 
the case was favourable, and deserves to be 
shortly related, as characteristic of the times. 
[>ord Sunderland interceded repeatedly^ with 
Jeffreys for a youtfi named William Jenkins, 
who was executridll in spite of such powerful 
solicitations. He was the son of an eminent 
Nonconformist clergyman, who had recently 
died in Newgate after a long imprisonment, 
inflicted on him for the performance of his 
clr-rical duties. Young Jenkins Iiad di.stri- 
bntfid mourning rings, on which was inscribed 
" William Jenkins, murdered in Newgate.'' 
He was in conseciuence imprisoned in the 
jail of Ilchester, and, bsing released by 
Monmouth's army, he joined his deliverers 
against his oppressors. 



* The Pcre d' Orleans, who wrote under the 
eye of James, in 1C0.5, mentions the displeasure 
oi the Kii(i at the sale of pardons, anri seems to 
reff;r lo Lord Sund'-rland's letter to Kirke, who, 
we know from f)ldmixon, was guilty of that prac- 
lic-e ; and, in other respects, rather alt<;mpi8 to 
account for, than to deny, the acquiescence of the 
King in ihe cruellies. — Revolutions d'Analeierre, 
liv. xi. The testimony of Roser North, if it has 
any fotmdalion, cannot be applied to tliis part of 
the subject. The part of the Life of James II, 
which relates to it is the work only of the anony- 
mous t)ioi;rapher, Mr. Dicconson of Ijancasliire, 
and abounds with the tjrosscsl misinkcs. 'i'he 
assertion of Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham in 
the Account of the Revolution, that JefTreya dia- 
obr^yed James' orders, is disproved by the corres- 
pondence already quoted. There is, on the whole, 
no colour for the assertion of Macpherson, (His- 
tory of fireat Britain, vol. i. p. 453), or for the 
doubts of Dalrymple. 

t Barillon, 4ih Felj. Ifi86.— Fox MSS. 

t Lord Lonsdale, p. 12. Calendar for Dorset- 
sliire. Bloody Assizes. The account of Colonel 
Holmes by the anonymous bioirrapher (Lilb of 
James 1 1, vol. ii. p. 43,) is contradicted by all these 
authorities. It is utterly improbable, and is not 
more honoiiral)Ie to James than ihnt here adopted. 

^ Lord Sunderland to Lord Jeffreys, 12ihSept. 
— State Paper OfTice. 

II At Taunton, 30th Sept.— Western Rebellion, 
T 2 



«82 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Vain attempts have been made to excul- 
pate James, by tlirowiui!; part of the blame 
of these atrocities upon Pollexfen, an eminent 
Whig lawyer, who was leading counsel in 
the prosecutions;* — a wretched employment, 
which he probably owed, as a matter of 
course, to his rank as senior King's counsel 
on the circuit. His silent acquiescence in 
the illegal proceedings against Mrs. Lisle 
must, indeed, brand his memory with in- 
delible infamy; but, from the King's perfect 
Knowledge of the circumstances of that case, 
it seems to be evident that Pollexfen's inter- 
position would have been unavailing : and 
.he subsequent proceedings were carried on 
with such utter disregard of the forms, as 
well as the substance of justice, that counsel 
had probably no duty to perform, and no op- 
portunity to interfere. To these facts may 
be added, what, without such preliminary 
evidence, would have been of little weight, 
the dying declaration of Jeffreys himself, 
who, a few moments before he expired, said 
to Dr. Scott, an eminent divine who attended 
him in the Tower, "Whatever I did then I 
did by express orders ; and I have this farther 
to say for myself, that I was not half bloody 
enough for him who sent me thither. "t 

Other trials occurred under the eye of 
James in London, where, according to an 
ancient and humane usage, no sentence of 
death is executed till the case is laid before 
the King in person, that he may determine 
whether there be any room for mercy. Mr. 
Cornish, an eminent merchant, charged with 
a share in the Rye House Plot, Avas appre- 
hended, tried, and executed within the space 
of ten days, the court having refused him 
the time which he alleged to be necessary 
to bring up a material witness.? Colonel 
Rumsey, the principal witness for the Crown, 
owned that on the trial of Lord Russell he 
nad given evidence which directly contra- 
dicted his testimony against Cornish. This 
avowal of perjury did not hinder his convic- 
tion and execution ; but the scandal was so 
great, that James was obliged, in a few days, 
to make a tardy reparation for the precipi- 
tate injustice of his jutlges. The mutilated 
limbs of Cornish were restored to his rela- 
tions, and Rumsey was confined for life to 
St. Nicholas' Island, at Plymouth,^ a place 
of illegal imprisonment, still kept up in defi- 
ance of the Habeas Corpus Act. This vir- 
tual acknowledgment by the King of the 
falsehood of Rumsey's testimony assumes an 
importance in history, when it is considered 
as a proof of the perjury of one of the two 



* liife of Jatnps TI., vol. ii. p. 44. 

t Rnrtiet (Oxford. 1823), vol. iii. p. fit. Speaker 
Qnslow's Note. Onslow received this informa- 
tion from Sir J. Jekyll, who heard it from Lord 
Somers, to whom it was communicated I'y Dr. 
Scott. The account of Tutchin, who staled that 
Jeffreys had made the same declaration to him in 
ihe Tower, is thus confirmed by indisputable evi- 
dence. 

t State Trials, vol. xi. p. 383. 

i Narcissus Luttrell, 19th April 1686, 



witnesses against Lord Russell, — the man of 
most unspotted virtue who ever suilered on 
an English scaHoId. Ring, Fendey, and 
Elizabeth Gaunt, persons of humble condi- 
tion in life, were tried on the same day with 
Cornish, for harbouring some fugitives from 
Monmouth's army. One of the persons to 
whom Ring aflbrded shelter was his near 
kinsman. Fernley was convicted on the sole 
evidence of Burton, whom he had concealed 
from the search of the public oflicers. When 
a witness was about to be examined for 
Fernley, the Court allowed one of their own 
officers to cry out that the witness was a 
Whig; while one of the judges, still more 
conversant with the shades of party, sneered 
at another of his witnesses as a Trimmer. 
When Burton was charged with being an 
accomplice in the Rye House Plot, INlrs. 
Gaunt received him, supplied him with 
money, and procured him a passage to Hol- 
land. After the defeat of ]\ionniouth, with 
whom he returned, he took refuge in the 
house of Fernley, where Mrs. Gaunt visited 
him, agTiin supplied him with money, and 
undertook a second time to save his life, by 
procuring the means of his ag-ain escaping 
into Holland. When Burton was appre- 
hended, the prosecutors had their choice, if 
a victim was necessaiy, either of proceed- 
ing .agiilnst him, whom they charged with 
open rebellion and intended assassination, or 
ag-ainst Mrs. Gaunt, whom they could ac- 
cuse only of acts of humanity atid charity 
forbidden by their laws. They chose to 
spare the wretched Burton, in order that he 
might swear away the lives of others for 
having preserved his own. Eight judges, 
of whotn Jeffreys was no longer one, sat on 
these deplorable trials. Roger North, known 
as a contributor to our history, was an active 
counsel against the benevolent anil courage- 
ous Mrs. Gaunt. William Penn was present 
when she was burnt alive,* and having 
familiar access to James, is likely to have 
related to him the particulars of that and of 
the other executions at the same time. At 
the stake, she disposed the straw around her, 
so as to shorten her agony by a strong and 
quick fire, with a composure which melted 
the spectators into tears. She thanked God 
that he had enabled her to succour the deso- 
late ; that " the blessing of those who were 
ready to perish" came upon her; and that, 
in the act for which she was doomed by men 
to destruction, she had obeyetl the .«acred 
precepts which commanded her " to hide the 
outcast, ami not to betray him that wander- 
eth." Thus was this poor and uninstrucled 
woman supported under a death of cruel 
torture, by the lofty consciousness of suffer- 
ing for righteousness, and by that steadfast 
faith in the final triumph of justice which 
can never visit the last moments of the op- 
pressor. The dying speeches of the prisoners 
executed in London were suppressed, and 
the outrages offered to the remains of the 



* Clarkson, Life of Penn, vol. i. p. 448. 



EEVIEVV OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



^^3 



dead were carried to an unusual degree.* 
The body of Richard Rumbold, who haci 
been convicted and executed at Edinburgh, 
under a Scotch law. was brought up to Lon- 
don. The sheriffs of London were com- 
manded, by a royal warrant, to set up one of 
the quarters on one of Xhe gates of the city, 
and to deliver the remaining three to the 
sheriff of Hertford, who was directed by 
another warrant to place them at or near 
Rumbold's late residence at the Rye House ;t 
— impotent but studied outrages, which often 
manifest more barbarity of nature than do 
acts of violence to the living. 

The chief restraint on the severity of Jef- 
freys seems to have arisen from his rapacity. 
Contemporaries of all parties agree that there 
were few gratuitous pardons, and that wealthy 
convicts seldom sued to him in vain. Kiffin, 
a Nonconformist merchant, had agreed to 
give 3000L to a courtier for the pardon of 
two youths of the name of Luson, his grand- 
sons, who had been in Monmouth's army. 
But Jeffreys guarded his privilege of selling 
pardons, by unrelenting rigour towards those 
prisoners from whom mercy had thus been 
sought through another channel. t He was 
attended on his circuit by a buffoon, to whom, 
as a reward „for his merriment in one of his 
hoars of revelry, he tossed the pardon of a 
rich culprit, expressing his hope that it might 
turn to good account. But this traffic in 
mercy was not confined to the Chief Justice : 
the King pardoned Lord Grey to increase the 
value of the grant of his life-estate, which 
had been made to Lord Rochester. The 
young women of Taunton, who had pre- 
sented colours and a Bible to Monmouth, 
were excepted by name from the general 
pardon, in order that they might purchase 
separate ones. To aggravate this indecency, 
the money to be thus extorted from them 
was granted to persons of their own se.v, — 
the Queen's maids of honour; and it must 
be added with regret, that William Penn, 
sacrificing other objects to the hope of ob- 
taining the toleration of his religion from the 
King's favour, was appointed an agent for the 
maids of honour, and submitted to receive 
instructions "to make the most advantage- 
ous composition he could in their behalf."^ 
The Duke of Somerset in vain attempted to 
persuade Sir Francis Warre, a neighbouring 
gentleman, to obtain 7000L from the young 
women, without which, he said, the maids 
of honour were determined to prosecute 
them to outlawry. Roger Hoare. an eminent 
trader of Bridgewater^ saved his life by the 
payment to them of lOOOZ. ; but he was kept 
in suspense respecting his pardon till he came 



* Narcissus Lntirell, 16ih Nov., 1685. 

t Warrants, 27th and 28ih Octolier, 1685. — State 
Paper Office. One quarter was to he put up at 
Aldgate ; the remaining three at Hoddesdon, the 
Rye, and Bishop's Storil'ord. 

t Kiffin's Memoirs, p. 54. See answer of Kiffin 
to .Tames, ihid. p. 159. 

^ Lord Sunderland to William Penn, 13th Feb. 
1686.— State Paper Office. 



to the foot of the gallows, for no other con- 
cfeivable purpose than that of extorting the 
largest possible sum. This delay caused the 
insertion of his execution in the first narra- 
tives of these events : but he lived to take 
the most just revenge on tyrants, by con- 
tributing, as representative in several Par- 
liaments for his native town, to support that 
free government* which prevented the re- 
storation of tyranny. 

The same disposition was shown by the 
King and his ministers in the case of Mr. 
Hampden, the grandson of him who, forty 
years before, had fallen in battle for the lib- 
erties of- his countr}'. Though this gentle- 
man had been engaged in the consultations 
of Lord Russell and Mr. Sidney, yet there 
being only one witness against him, he was 
not tried for treason, but was convicted of a 
misdemeanor, and on the evidence of Lord 
Howard condemned to pay a fine of 40,000L 
His father being in possession of the family 
estate, he remained in prison till after Mon- 
mouth's defeat, when he was again brought 
to trial for the same act as high treason, 
under pretence that a second witness had 
been discovered.* It had been secretly ar- 
ranged, that if he pleaded guilty he should 
be pardoned on paying a large sum of money 
to two of the King's favourites. At the ar- 
raignment, both the judges and Mr. Hamp- 
den performed the respective paits which 
the secret agreement required; he humbly 
entreating their intercession to obtain the 
pardon which he had already secured by 
more effectual means, and they extolling the 
royal mercy, and declaring that the prisoner, 
by his humble confession, had taken the best 
means of qualifying himself to receive it. 
The result of this profanation of the forms 
of justice and mercy was, that Mr. Hampden 
was in a few months allowed to reverse his 
attainder, on payment of a bribe of 6000i. 
to be divided between Jeffreys and Father 
Petre, the two guides of the King in the per- 
formance of his duty to God and his people.! 

Another proceeding, of a nature still more 
culpable, showed the same union of merce- 
nary with sanguinary purposes in the King 
and his ministers. Prideaux, a gentleman 
of fortune in the West of England, was ap- 
prehended on the landing of Monmouth, for 
no other reason than that his father had been 
attorney-general under the'Commonwealth 
and the Protectorate. Jeffreys, actuated 
here by personal motives, employed agents 
through the prisons to discover evidence 
against Prideaux. The lowest prisoners 
were offered their lives, and a sum of 5001. 
if they would give evidence against him. 
Such, however, was the inflexible morality 
of the Nonconformists, who formed the bulk 
of Monmouth's adherents, that they remained 
unshaken by these offers, amidst the military 

* State Trials, vol. xi. p. 479. 

t Lords' Journals, 20ih Dec. 16S9. T^is docu- 
ment has been overlooked by all historians, who, 
in consequence, have misrepresented the conduct 
of Mr. Hampden. 



}84 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



violrnco which pnriouiidi\l llirin, aiul in spite 
of iho jiulioial ri^i)iirs which wciv to loliow. 
IViiloaux was ciilaii;Vil. Joliroys hiuisoll, 
however, was able to obtain sonio inlornui- 
tion, ihouiih not upon oath, lii>ni two convicts 
under the intluenco of llio tenihk^ proceeil- 
ingsal Dorchester ;* ami Priileaux wasaj;uin 
apprehended. The convicts wore brought 
to London; and one of them was conducted 
to a private interview with the Lord Chan- 
cellor, by Sir Roger L'Kstrange, the most 
noted writer in the \x\\ of the Court. Pri- 
deaux, alarmed at these attempts to tam[v.>r 
with witnesses, employed the inlluence of 
his friends to obtain hisixjrdon. The motive 
for Jetlreys' unusual activity was then ilis- 
covered. Triileaux's frieutls were told that 
itolhing could be done for liim. as '• tho King 
h.id given him"' (the familiar j^hrase for a 
grant of an estate either lorfeited or about to 
be forfeited) to the Chancellor, as a reward 
for iiis services. On ajijilication to one Jen- 
nings, tho avowed agent of the Chancellor 
lor the s;ile of jvirdons, it was found that 
JctiVeys, unable to procure evivlence on 
whicli he could obtain the whole of Pri- 
deaux's large estates bv a conviction, had 
now resolved to content himself with a bribe 
of 10,000/. for tlie ileliverance of a man so 
innocent, that by the formalities of law, per- 
verted as they thiMi were, the Lord Chancel- 
lor could not etVect his destruction. Payment 
of so large a suni was at lirst resisted ; but 
to subdue this contumacy. Prideaux's friends 
were forbidden to have access to him in pri- 
son, ;uid his ransom was raised to K^.OOO/. 
The monev was then publicly )viid bv a 
banker to the Lord Chancellor of KnglanJ by 
name. Even in the admniistration of the 
iniquitous laws of conli.-^cation, there are 
prolvibly few instances where, with so much 
premeditation and etlrontery, the spoils of 
an accused man were promised lirst to the 
judge, w ho might have tried him, and after- 
wards to tiie Chancellor who was to advise 
the King in the exercise of mercy. t 

Notwithstamling the perjury of Kumsey in 
iho case of Cornisli, a second experiment 
was made on the elfect of his testmiony by 
pmducing him, togelhiM- with [.ord Crevand 
one isixton, as a witness ag'ainst Lord Hran- 
don on a charge of treason.} The accused 
was convicted, anil Kumsey was still allowed 
to corresiK)ud oonlidentially with the Prime 
Minister.s^ to whom he even applied for 
money. But when the infamy of Kumsey 
became notoriou.s, and when S;i.xton had jH-r- 
jurcvl himself on the subsequent trial of Lord 
Deiamere, it was thought proper to jxudon 
Lord Hrandon, ag^iinst whom no testimony 
remained but that of Lord (.Jrey, who, when 

• Suiulorland to JoBVeys, 14ih Sept. 1685.— 
Sinte raivr OlFu-e. 

t Coiiunons' Jourimls. 1st ^lay, Itv^O. 

t Nanissus Lintroll, '.J.'i;!! Nov.,l(;85; which, 
^lionsrlt vorv short, is more lull than any published 
aooount of Lord l^randoii's trial. 

^ Ruinsoy to Lord Sunderland, Oct. 1085, and 
Jail. 168t).-^iaie Paper OUice. 



ho made his confession, is said lo havoslipn- 
lated that no man should be put to death oil 
his evidence. lUit Hiandon was not eidaiged 
on bail till fourteen monllis, nor was his par- 
don completed till two years after his trial.* 

The only consideiable trial which remained 
was that of Lord Dehnneie, before the Lord 
Steward (JellVeys) and thirty peers. Though 
this nobleman was obnoxious and formidable 
lo the Court, tlu> proof of the falsehood ai;d 
inlamy of Sa.vlon, the priiicij^al witness 
agiiinst him, was so complete, that he wa.s 
unanimously acquitted ; — a remarkable and 
almost solitary exception to tlie jnevalent 
proceedings of couits of law at that time, 
arising partly from a proof of the falsehood 
of the charge more clear than can olten bo 
expecteil, aiul partly perhaps from the fel- 
low-feeling of tiie judges with the prisoner, 
and iiom the greater reproach to which an 
unjust judgment exposes its authors, when 
in a conspicuous station. 

The administration of justice in state pro- 
secutions is one of the surest tests of "ood 
government. The judicial proceedings wliich 
have been thus carefully and circumslanlially 
related atlord a specimen of those evils from 
which EiiLiIand was delivered by the Eevo- 
lutioii. As these acts were done with the 
aid of juries, and without the censure of Par- 
liament, they also allord a fatal proof that 
judicial forms and constitutional establisli- 
meiits may be rendered unavailing by the 
subserviency or the prejudices of tliose w ho 
are appointed lo carry them into eliecl. The 
wisest institutions may become a (.lead letter, 
and may cvtMi, lor a time, be converted into 
a shelter and an instrument of tyranny, w hen 
the sen.se of juslice and the love of liberty 
are w eakened in the minds of a people. 



CHAPTER II. 

Dhmissal of Halifax. — 3{eetmg of ParliO' 
nutit. — Debates on the Athhess. — Pioros,a- 
tiou of Parliammt. — Habeas Corpus Aet. — 
State of the Cat hot ie Partti. — Charaeter of 
the Queen. — Of Catherine Sedleti. — Attempt 
to Stipport the Dispensiuii: Pou-er bii a Judg- 
ment of a Court oj Lw. — Gexhien V. Hales. 
— Consideration of the Arpiments. — Attaek 
on the Chiireh. — Establishment of the Court 
of Commissioners for Keclesiastieal Causes. — 
Advaneement of Catholies to Ojffices. — Inlcr^ 
course irith Home. 

The general appearance of submission 
which followed the suppression of the revolt, 
and ihe punishment ot the revolters. encour- 
aged the King to remove from otlic<5 the 
Marquis of Halifax, with whose liberal opi- 
nions he had recently as well as early been 
diss;itislied, and whom he sullered to remain 
in place at his accession, only as an example 
that old op^x)neiits might atone for their of- 

* Nnrcissus Luttrell, Jan. and Oi t. 16S7. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



285 



fencoH by oompliaiicf*.* A (lifTfMcnl policy 
was adoplf'd in a isitualioii of more; KtnMij^lli. 
As Itn; Kiiif^ louiid that Halifax would not 
comply with his projects, he dr'ttMrnincd 
to (iiHrriiss him bt^fonj th<5 meeliiif^ o( Par- 
liamtMit; — an act of vi/ijour which it was 
lliouyht would put an end to division in his 
councils, and prevent discontented ministers 
Irorn countenancing a resistance to his mea- 
sures. When he announced this resolution 
to liarillon, Ik; addrrd, that '-his desi^'u was 
to obtain a re[)eal of the Test and Habeas 
Corj)UH Ae!;i, of which the; lormr-r was dc;- 
Blructive of the Catholic rtdi^^'ion, and the 
other of the royal authority; that Halifax 
had not the (irmni^ss to snp])ort the f^ood 
cause, and that he would liavt; less ])ow<!r 
of doin;^ harm if he werediH;rracf;d."f jiimes 
had been advisfid to delay the dismissal till 
after the session, that the opposition of Hali- 
fax might b(! modeiated. if not silenced, by 
the restraints of high otTict; ; but he thought 
that his autfiority would be more strength- 
ened, by an example of a d(!termination to 
keep no terms with ;iny one who did not 
.show an utdimited cornj)liance with his 
wishes. "I do not supjKisi;," said the King 
lo BariJlon with a smile, '-ihaf the King your 
master will b(; sorry lor tli(; removal of }hili- 
fax. I know that it will mortify the minis- 
ters of the allies." Nor was he; deceived in 
either of these respects. The; news was 
received with satisfaction by Louis, and with 
dismay by the ministers of tlu; Empire, of 
Spain, and of Holland, wlio lost their oidy 
advocate in the councils of England.! It 
excited wonder and alarm among those Eng- 
lishmen who were zealously attached lo their 
religion and liberty.^ Though Lord Halifax 
had no share in the direction of public affairs 
since thtr King's accession, his removal was 
an important event in the eye of the public, 
and gave him a popularity which he pre- 
served by independent and pte.idy conduct 
during the sequel of James' reign. 

It is remarkable that, on the meeting of 
Parliament (Hth November) little notice was 
taken of the military and judicial excesses 
in the West. Sir Edward Seymour a])plaud- 
ed the punishment of the rebels ; an<l Wal- 
ler alone, a celebrated wit, an ingenious 
poet ; the father of pari iamentary oratory, and 
one of the refiners of the English language, 
though now in his eightieth year, arraigned 
the violence of the soKliers with a spirit still 
tinextingnished. Ho probably intended to 
excite a discussion which might gradually 
have reached the more deliberate and inex- 
cusable faults of the judges. But the opi- 
nions and policy of his audience defeate<l his 
generous purpose. The prevalent party look- 
ed with little (lisa[)probation on severities 
which fell on Nonconformists and supposed 

• Barillon.Stli March, IGS.'i.— Fox.app. p. xlvii. 
[In iheac dates the new stylo only is observed. — 
Ed.] 

t Barillon, 20lh October. — Ibid. p. cxxvii. 

t Barillon, 5ih November. — Ibid. p. cxxx. 

i Barillon Ist March. — Ibid. p. xxxviii. 



Rejniblicans. Many might h(t biise enough 
to feel hltle compassion for sufferers in the 
huml)l(!r classf'S of socii;ty ; sorrn! w«Me pro- 
hahly silenced by a pusillanimous drcail of 
being said to b(^ th6abbetlors of lebclsj and 
all must have been, in some measure, influ- 
enci;(l by an untlue and exc(!P8ive degree of 
tliat wholesome respect for judicial proceed- 
ings, which is one of the characteristic vir- 
tues of a fref; country. This disgraceful 
silence is, perhaps, somewliat extenuated by 
th(! slow circulation of int(dligenc(j at that 
period; by the censorship which imposed 
sihiuce on (he press, or enabli'd the ruling 
[)arty to circulate falsehood through its 
means; aixl by the eag(!rness of all parties 
for a (liscussion of the alarming tone and 
principles of the speech from tht; throrte. 

TIk! King began his speech by ob.serving 
that the late events must convince every 
one that the militia was not sufficient, and 
that nothing but a good force of well-disci- 
plined troo])S, in constant pay, could secure 
the government against enemies abroad and 
at home; and that for this purpose; he had 
increas(;d th(;ir number, and now asked a 
supply for th(! great charge of maintaining 
them. " L<!t no man take exception," ho 
continued, "that there are some officers in 
the army not qualin(!d, according to the late 
tests, for their employments- the gentlemen 
are, I must tell you, most of them well known 
to me; they have approved the loyalty of 
their principles by their practice : and I will 
(leal plainly with you, that after having had 
the b(;nefit of their services in such a time 
of need and danger, I will neither expose 
them to disgrace, nor myself to the want of 
them, if there should be another rebe-llion to 
make them necessary to me." Nothing but 
the firmest reliance on the submissive dis- 
position of the Parliament could have induced 
James to announce to them his determina- 
tion to bid defiance to the laws. He probably 
imagined that the boldness with which he 
asserted the power of the crown would be 
applauded by many, and endure<l by most 
of the members of such a Parliament. But 
never was there a more remarkable example 
of the use of a popular as,sembly, however 
ill composed, in extracting from the disunion, 
jealousy, and ambitition of the victorious 
enemies of liberty, a new opposition to the 
dangerous projects of the Crown. The vices 
of polilicijins were converted into an imper- 
fect substitute for virtue; and though the 
friends of the constitution were few and fee- 
ble, the inevitable divisions of their oppo- 
nents in some degree supplied their place. 

The disgrace of Lord Halifax disheartened 
and even offended some supporters of Go- 
vernment. Sir Thomas Clarges, a determin- 
ed Tory, was displeased at the merited re- 
moval of his nephew, the Duke of Albemarle, 
from the command of the army against Mon- 
mouth. Nottingham, a man of talent and 
ambition, more a Tory than a courtier, was 
dissatisfied with his own exclusion from 
oflicej and jealous of Rochester's ascendency 



286 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



over the Church party. His relation Finch, 
thouirh solicitor-general, took a part against 
the Court. The projects of the Crown were 
thwarted by the friends of Lord Danby, who 
had forfeited all hopes of the King's favour 
by communicating the Popish Plot to the 
House of Commons, and by his share in the 
marriage ofvlhe Princess Mary with the 
Prince of Orknge. Had the King's first, at- 
tack been made on civil liberty, the Oppo- 
sition might have been too weak to embolden 
all these secret and dispersed discontents to 
display themselves, and to combine together. 
But the attack on the exclusive privileges of 
the Church of England, while it alienated 
the main force of the Crown, touched a point 
on which all the subdivisions of discontented 
Tories professed to agree, and afforded them 
a specious pretext for opposing the King, 
without seeming to deviate from their an- 
cient principles. They were gratlually dis- 
posed to seek or accept the assistance of the 
defeated Whigs, and the names of Sir Rich- 
ard Teinple, Sir John Lowther, Sergeant 
Maynard, and Mr. Hampden, appear at last 
more and more often in the proceedings. 
Thus admirably does a free constitution not 
only command the constant support of the 
wise and virtuous, but often compel the low 
jealousies and mean intrigues of disappointed 
ambition to contend for its preservation. The 
consideration of the King's speech was post- 
poned for three days, in spite of a motion for 
its immediate consideration by Lord Preston, 
a secretary of state. 

In the committee of the whole House on 
the speech, which occurred on the 12th, two 
resolutions were adopted, of which the first 
was friendly, and the second was adverse, 
to the Government. It was resolved '' that 
a supply be granted to his IVIajesty," and 
" that a bill be brought in to render the 
militia more useful." The first of these 
propositions has seldom been opposed since 
the government has become altogether de- 
pendent on the annual grants of Parliament ; 
it was more open to debate on a proposal for 
extraordinary aid, and it gave rise to some 
important observations. Clarges declared he 
had voted against the Exclusion, because he 
did not believe its supporters when they fore- 
told that a Popish king would have a Popish 
army. '-'I am afflicted greatly at this breach 
of our liberties ; what is struck at here is our 
all." Sir Edward Seymour observed, with 
truth, that to dispense with the Test was to re- 
lease the King from all law. Encouraged by 
the bold language of these Tories, old Serjeant 
Maynard said, that the supply was asked for 
the maintenance of an army which was to be 
officered ag-ainstalaw made, not for the pun- 
ishment of Papists, but for the defence of Pro- 
testants. The accounts of these important 
debates are so scanty, that we may, without 
much presumption, suppose the venerable 
lawyer to have at least alluded to the recent 
origin of the Test (to which the King had dis- 
paragingly adverted in his speech), as the 
strongest reason for its strict observance. Had 



it been an ancient law, founded on genenal 
considerations of policy, it might have been 
excusable to relax its rigour from a regard to 
the circumstances and feelings of the King. 
But having been recently provided as a 
security against the -specilic dangers appre- 
hended from his accession to the throne, it 
was to the last degree unreasonable to re- 
move or suspend it at the moment when 
those very dangers had reached their highest 
pitch. Sir Richard Temple spoke warmly 
against standing armies, and of the necessity 
of keeping the Crown dependent on parlia- 
mentary grants. He proposed the resolution 
for the improvement of the militia, with 
which the courtiers concurred. Clarges 
moved as an amendment on the vote of sup- 
ply, the words, for the additional forces," — 
to throw odium on the ministerial vote ; but 
this adverse amendment was negatived by a 
majority of seventy in a house of three hun- 
dred and eighty-one. On the 13th, the minis- 
ters proposed to instruct the committee of the 
whole House on the King's speech, to con- 
sider, first, the paragraph of the speech which 
contained the demand of supply. They 
were defeated by a majority of a hundred 
and eighty-three to a hundred and eight)'- 
two ; and the committee resolved to take 
into consideration, first, the succeeding para- 
graph, which related to the officers illegally 
employed.* On the 16th, an address was 
brought up from the committee, setting foith 
the legal incapacity of the Catholic oflicers, 
which could only be removed by an Act of 
Parliament, offering to indemnify them from 
the penalties they had incurred, but, as their 
continuance would be taken to be a dis- 
pensing with the law, praying that the King 
would be pleased not to conthiue them in 
their employments. The House, having 
substituted the milder words, "that he would 
give such directions therein as that no ap- 
prehensions or jealousies might remain in 
the hearts of his subjects," unaiiimou.'^ly 
adopted the address. A supply of seven 
hundred thousand pounds was voted : — a 
medium between twelve hundred tlioufai:d 
required by ministers, and two bundled 
thousand proposed by the most rigid of their 
opponents. The danger of standing aimies 
to liberty, and the wisdom of such limited 
grants as should compel the Crown to recur 
soon and often to the House of Commons, 
were the general arguments used for the 
smaller sum. The courtiers urged the ex- 



* " The E.arl of Middleton, then a secretary of 
state, seeing many go out upon (he division against 
the Court who were in the service of Government, 
went down to the bar and reproached them to 
their faces for voting as they did. He said to a 
Captain Kendal, ' Sir, have you not a troop of 
horse in iiis Majesty's service ?' ' Yes, sir,' said 
the other : ' but my brother died last night, and 
has left me seven hundred pounds a year.' This 
I had froin my uncle, the first Lord Onslow, who 
was then a member of the House, and present. 
This incident upon one vote very Hkely saved the 
nation.— Burnet (Oxford, 1823), vol. iii. p. 86. 
Note by Speaker Onslow. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



287 



ample of the late revolt, the superiority of 
disciplined troops over an inexperienced 
militia, the necessity arising from the like 
practice of all other states, and the revolution 
in the art of war. which had rendered pro- 
ficiency in it unattainable, except by those 
who studied and practised it as the profes- 
sion of their lives. The most practical ob- 
Bervation was that of Sir William Trumbull, 
•who suggested that the grant should be 
annual, to make the existence of the army 
annually dependent on the pleasure of Par- 
liament. The ministers, taking advantage 
of the secrecy of foreign negotiations, ven- 
tured to assert that a formidable army in the 
hands of the King was the only check on the 
ambition of France ; though they knew that 
their master was devoted (o Louis XIV., to 
whom he had been recently suing for a 
secret subsidy in the most abject language 
of supplication.* When the address was pre- 
sented, the King answered, with a warmth 
and anger very unusual on such occasions,t 
that ''he did not expect such an address; 
that he hoped his reputation would have 
inspired such a confidence in him ; but that, 
whatever they might do, he should adhere 
« to all his promises." The reading of this 
answer in the House the next day produced 
a profound silence for some minutes. A 
motion was made by Mr. Wharton to take it 
into consideration, on which Mr. John Cooke 
said, " We are Englishmen, and ought not to 
be frightened from our duty by a few hard 
words. "t Both these gentlemen were Whigs, 
who were encouraged to speak freely by the 
symptoms of vigour which the House had 
shown ; but they soon discovered that they 
had mistaken the temper of their colleagues; 
for the majority, still faithful to the highest 

Eretensions of the Crown whenever the Esta- 
lished Church was not averse to them, com- 
mitted Mr. Cooke to the Tower, though he 
disavowed all disrespectful intention, and 
begged pardon of the King and the House. 
Notwithstanding the King's answer, they 
proceeded to provide means of raising the 
supply, and they resumed the consideration 
of a bill for the naturalisation of French Pro- 
testants, — a tolerant measure, the introduc- 
tion of which the zealous partisans of the 
Church had, at first, resisted, as they after- 
wards destroyed the greater part of its bene- 
fit by confining it to those who should con- 
form to the Establishment. § The motion 
for considering the King's speech was not 
pursued, which, together whh the proceed- 
ing on supply, seemed to imply a submission 

* Barillon, 16th July, 1685. — Fo.t, app. p. ci.x. 
'^' Le Roi me dit que si V. M. avoit quelque chose 
a desirer de lui, il iroft au devant de tout ce qui 
peat plaire a V. M. ; qu'il avoit ete elcve en 
France, ef mange le pain de V. M. ; que son cmur 
etoit Frangois." Only si.x weeks before (30th 
May), James had told his parliament that " he 
had a true Englinh heart." 

t Reresby, p- 218. Sir John Reresby, being a 
member of the House, was probably present. 

t Commons' Journals, 18th Nov. 

% Ibid., 16th June, 1st Julv. 



to the menacing answer of James; arising 
principally from the subservient character 
of the majority, but, probably, in some, from 
a knowledge of the vigorous measures about 
to be proposed in the House of Lords. 

At the opening of the Session, that House 
had contented themselves with?general thanks 
to the King for his speech, without any allu- 
sion to its contents. JefTreyi^ in delivering 
the King's answer, afTecled to treat this par- 
liamentary courtesy as an approval of the 
substance of the speech. Either on that or 
on the preceding occasion, it was said by 
Lord Halifax or Lord Devonshire (for it is 
ascribed to both), " that they had now more 
reason than ever to give thanks to his Majesty 
for having dealt so plainly with them." The 
House, not called upon to proceed hs the 
other House was by the demand of supply, 
continued inactive for a few days, till they 
were roused by the imperious answer of the 
King to the Commons. On the 19lh, the 
day of that answer, Lord Devonshire moved 
to take into consideration the dangerous con- 
sequences of an army kept up against law. 
He was supported by Halifax, by Notting- 
ham, and by Anglesea, who. in a very ad- 
vanced age, still retained that horror of the 
yoke of Rome, which he had found means 
to reconcile with frequent acquiescence ia 
the civd policy of Charles and James. Lord 
Mordaunt, more known as Earl of Peter- 
borough, signalised himself by the youthful 
spirit of his speech. '-Let us not." he said, 
" like the House of Commons, speak of jea- 
lousy and distrust : ambiguous measures in- 
spire these feelings. What we now see is 
not ambiguous. A standing army is on foot, 
filled with officers, wdio cannot be allowed 
to serve without overthrowing the laws. To 
keep up a standing army when there is 
neither civil nor foreign war, is to establish 
that arbitrary government which Englishmen 
hold in such just abhorrence.'' Compton, 
Bishop of London, a prelate of noble birth 
and military spirit, who had been originally 
an officer in the Guards, spoke for the mo- 
tion in the name of all his brethren on the 
episcopal bench, who considered the security 
of the Church as involved in the issue of the 
question. He was influenced not only by the 
feelings of his order, but by his having been 
the preceptor of the Princesses Mary and 
Anne, who were deeply interested in the 
maintenance of the Protestant Church, as 
well as conscientiously attached to it. Jef- 
freys was the principal speaker on the side 
of the Court. He urged the thanks already 
voted as an approval of the speech. His scur- 
rilous invectives, and the tones and gestures 
of menace with which he was accustomed 
to overawe juries, roused the indignation, in- 
stead of commanding the acquiescence, of 
the Lords. As this is a deportment which 
cuts off all honourable retreat, the contempo- 
rary accounts are very probable which repre- 
sent him as sinking at once from insolence 
to me# ness. His defeat must have been 
signal ; for, in an unusually full House of 



288 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAY'S. 



Lords,* after so violent an opposition by the 
Chancellor of England, the motion for taking 
the address into consideration was, on the 
23d, carried withont a division. t 

On the next day the King prorogued the 
Parliament ; which never ;ig-am was assem- 
bled but for the formalities of successive 
prorog-atioas, by which its legal existence 
w-as prolonged for two years. By this act 
he lost the subsidy of seven hundred thou- 
sand pounds : but his situation had become 
diriicult. Though money was employed to 
corrupt some of the opponents of nis mea- 
sures, the Opiwsitiou was daily gaining 
strength. t By rigorons economy, by divert- 
ing jiarliamentary aids from the purposes for 
which they wore granted, the King had the 
means of maintaining the army, though his 
ministers had solemnly atHrmed that he had 
not. '5 He was full of niaxims for the neces- 
sity of tirmness and the dangers of conces- 
sion, which were mistaken by others, and 
perhaps by Irimself, for proofs of a vigorous 
character. He had advanced too far to re- 
cede with tolerable dignity. The energy 
manifested by the House of Lords woulil 
have compelled even the submissive Com- 
mons to co-operate with them, which might 
have given rise to a more permanent coalition 
of the High Church party with the friends of 
liberty. A suggestion had been thrown out in 
the Lords to lii^sire the opinion of the judges 
on the right of the King to commission the Ca- 
tholic othcers)!! and it was feared that the 
terrors of impeachment might, during the sit- 
ting of Parliament, draw an opinion from these 
magistrates ag~ainst the prerogative, which 
might afterwards prove irrevocable. To re- 
concile Parliament to the officers became 



* The atlcndance was pardy caused by a call of 
the House, onlored for the iri;ils of Lords Stam- 
ford and Dolaincre. There were present on ilie 
19th November, seveniy-(ive lemporal and twenty 
spiritual birds. On the call, two days before, it 
appeared (hat forty were either minors, abroad, or 
contined by sickness ; six had sent proxies; two 
were prisoners for treason ; and thirty absent with- 
out any special reason, of wiioni liie great majority 
were disabled as Catholics : so that very few peers, 
legally and physically capable of attendance, were 
absent. 

t Barillon, 3d Dec.— Fox MSS. Tliis is the 
only distinct narrative of the proceedings of this 
important and decisive day. Burnet was then on 
the Continent, but I have endeavoured to com- 
bine his account with liiat of Barillon. 

t Barillon, Cfith Nov. — Fox, app. p. cxxxi.x. 

^ Barillon, 13ih Dec— Fox MSS. The expen- 
ses of the army of Charles had been '280,000/.; 
that of James was 6lX),000/. The ditlerence of 
320,0(XV was. according to Barillon, thus provided 
for: lOO.OOOZ., the income of James as Duke of 
York, which be still preserved ; 8liO,000/. granted 
to pay the debts of Charles, which, as the Kin<T 
was: lo pni/ the (h'hix cf hr thnusht fit. would vield 
'for some "years 100, OtW.; SOO.OOO/. granted for the 
navy and the arsenals, on which the King titipht 
procefd .</(>ti7y. <>'" even do nothing; 400, 0(^)0/. tor 
the suppression ot" the rebellion. As those last 
funds were not to come into the Exchequer for 
Bome years, they were estimated as producing an- 
nually more than sufficient to cover the deficiency. 

A Barillon, lOih Dec— Fox MSS. 



daily more hopeless; to sacrifice those who 
had ailhered to the King in a time of need 
appearcil to be an example dangerous to all 
his projects, whether ot enlarging his pre- 
rog-ative, or of securing, and, perhaps, finally 
establishing, his religion. 

Thus ended the active proceedings of a 
Parliament which, in all that did not concern 
the Church, juslilied the nuKst s;uiguino hopea 
that James could have formed of their sub- 
mission to the Court, as well as their attach- 
ment to the monarchy. A body of nuMi so 
subservient as that Hou,se of Connnons could 
hardly be brought together by any mode of 
election or appointment ; and James was 
aware that, by this angry prorogation, he 
had rendered it dithcult for himself for a long 
time to meet another Parliament. The Ses- 
sion had lasted only eleven days; during 
which the eyes of Europe had been anxious- 
ly turned towards their proceedings. Louis 
XIV., not entiiely relying on the sincerity or 
steadiness of James, was fearful that he might 
yield to the Allies or to his people, and in- 
structed Barillon in that case to open a negoti- 
ation with leadingmem.bers of the Connnons, 
that they might embarrass the policy of the 
King, if it became adverse to France.* Spain 
and Holland, on the other hand, hoped, that 
any compromise between the King ami Par- 
liament wonlil loosen the ties that bound the 
former to France.. It was even hojieil that 
he might form a triple alliance with Spain 
and Swedeti, and large sums of money were 
secretly ofTered to him to obtain his acces- 
sion to .«iuch an alliance. t Three days before 
the meeting of Parliament, had arrived in 
London IVIonsignor D'Adda, a Lombard pre- 
late of distinction, as the known, though then 
unavowed, minister of the See of Rome,t 
which was divideil between the interest of 
the Catholic Church of England and the ani- 
mosity of Innocent XI. against Louis XIV. 
All these solicitudes, and precautions, and 
expectations, were suddenly dispelled by 
the miexpected ruptuie between James aiiu 
his Parliament. 

From the temper and opinions of that Par- 
liament it is reasonable to conclude, that the 
King would have been more successful if he 
had chosen to make his first attack on the 
Habeas Corpus Act, instead of directing it 
ag-ainst the Test. Both these laws were then 
only of a few yeais' standing; and he, as 
well as his biother, held them both in ab- 
horrence. The Test gave exclusive privi- 
leges to the Estahlislted Chnrch, and was, 
therefore, tiear lolhe a^lherents of that pow- 
erful body. The Habeas Corpus Act was 
not then the object of tliat attachment and 
veneration which experience of its unspeaka- 
ble benefits for a hundred and fifty years has 
since inspired. The most ancient of our 
fundamental laws had declared the princi- 



* Louis to Barillon, 19ih Nov. — Fox, app. p, 
cxxxvi. 

t Barillon, 26th Nov. — Fox, opp. p. cxxxix. 
t D'Adda lo the Pope 19ih Nov.— D'Adda 

MSS. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



289 



pie that no froornaii could be imprisoned 
without h;g;il authority.* Thu immemorial 
antiquity of th'; writ of Habeas Corpus, — an 
order of r court of justice to a jailer to hung 
the body of a prisoner before them, that 
there might be an opportunity of examining 
whether his apprehension and detention 
were legal, — seems to prove that this princi- 
pal was coeval with the law of England. In 
irregular times, however, it had been often 
violated; and the judges under Charles I. 
pronounced a ju(igrnont,t which, if it had 
not been condemned by the Petition of 
Right,! would have vested in the Crown a 
legal power of arbitrary imprisonment. By 
the statute which abolished the Star Cham- 
ber, the Parliament of lG41v made some im- 
portant provisions to facilitate deliverance 
from illegal imprisonment. For eleven years 
Lord Shaftesbury struggled to obtain a law 
which should com|)lete the seeuritie-s of per- 
sonal liberty; and at length that great though 
not blameless man obtained the object of his 
labours, and b"slo wed on his country the most 
perfect security against arbitrary imprison- 
ment V. iiich has ever been enjoyed by any 
society of men. II It has banished that most 
daiii^erous of all modes of oppression fru.-n 
Englanrl. It has effected that great object 
asrpiietlyas irresistibly; it has never in a 
single instance been resisted or evaded ; and 
it must be the model of all nations who aim 
at securing that personal liberty without 
which no other liberty can subsist. But in 
the year 168.5, it appeared to the predominant 
party an odious isovelty, an experimnnt un- 
tried in any other nation, — carried throuL'h, 
in a period of popular frenzy, during the short 
triumph of a faction hostile to Church and 
State, and by him who was the most ob- 
no.vious' of ail the demagogues of the age. 
There were t^ien, doubtless, many, — perhaps 
the majority. — of the partisans of authority 
who believed, with Charles and James, that 
to deprive a government of all power to im- 

{)rison the suspected and the dangerous, un- 
ess there was legal ground of charge against 
them, was incompatible with the peace of 
society; and this opinion was the more dan- 
gerous because it was probably conscien- 
tious.lT 111 this state of things it may seem 
singular that James did not first propose the 
repeal of the Habeas Corpus Act, b)' which 

* Magna Ghana, c. 29. 

t The famous cnse of commitments " by ihe 
special command of the King," which last word.s 
the Court of Kind's Bench determined to be a puf- 
ficient cause for driaining a prisoner in cusiodv, 
without any specification of an offence. — Slate 
'J'rials, vol. iii. p. 1. 

t 3 Car. I. c. 1. ^ 16 Car. I. c. 10. 

II31C. II. c. 2. 

IT James retained this opinion till his death. — 
"It was a great misfortune to the people, as well 
as to the Crown, the passing of the Hahea-s Cor- 
pus Act, since it obliges the Crown to keep a 
greater force on foot to preserve the government, 
and encourages disaffected, turbulent, and unquiet 
spirits to carry on their wicked designs : it was 
contrived and carried on by the Earl of Shaftes- 
bury to that intent." — Life, vol. ii. p. 621. 
37 



he would have gained the means of silencing 
opposition to all his other projects. What the 
fortunate circumstances were which pointed 
his attack against the Test, we are not en- 
abled by contemporary evidence to ascertain. 
He contemplated that measure with peculiar 
resentment, as a personal insult to himself, 
and as chiefly, if not solely, intended as a 
safeguard against the dangers apprehended 
fiom h s succession. He considered it as the 
most urgent object of his policy to obtain a 
repeal of it ; which would enable him to put 
the administration, and especially the army, 
into the hands of those who were devoted 
by the strongest of all ties to his service, and 
whose power, honour, and even safety, were 
involved in his success. An army composed 
of Catholics must have seemed the most 
efTecfual of all the instruments of power in 
his hands; and it is no wonder that he should 
hasten to obtain it. Had he been a lukr-warm 
or only a professed Catholic, an armed force, 
whose interests were Ihe same with his own, 
might reasonably have been considered as 
that v.'hich it was in the first place necesfary 
to socure. Charles H., with a loose belief in 
Popery, and no zeal for it, was desirous of 
strengthening its interests, in order to enlarge 
his own power. As James was a conscien- 
tious and zealous Catholic, it is probable that 
he was influenced in eVerymeasute of hia 
government by religion, as well as ambition. 
Both these motives coincided in their object : 
his absolute power was the only security for 
his religion, and a Catholic army was Ihe most 
effectual instrument for the eslablislirnenl of 
absolute power. In such a case of combined 
motive.^, it might have been difficult for him- 
self to determine which predominated on any 
single occasion. Sunderland, whos'^ si'gacity 
and religious indifference are alike unques- 
tionable, observed to Barillon, that on mere 
principles of policy James could have no 
object more at heart than to strengthen the 
Catholic religion ;* — an observation which, 
as long as the King himself continui d to be 
a Catholic, seems, in the hostile temper v.hich 
then prevailed among all sects, to have had 
great weiglit. 

The best reasons for human actions are 
often not their true motives : but, in spite of 
the event, it does not seem difficult to de- 
fend the determination of the King en those 
grounds, merely political, which, dotabtless, 
had a considerable share in producing it. It 
is not easy to ascertain how far his plans in 
favour of his religion at that time extended. 
A great division of opinion prevailed among 
the Catholics themselves on this subject. 
The most considerable and opulent laymen 
of that communion, willing to secure mode 
rate advantages, and desirous to employ their 
superiority with such forbearance as might 
provoke no new severities under a Protestant 
successor, would have been content with a 
repeal of the pejial laws, without insisting 
on an abrogation of the Test. The frienda 



• Barillon, 16th July.— Fox, app. p. ciii. 
Z 



290 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



of Spain and Austria, with all the enemies 
of the French connection, inclined strongly 
to a policy whic h, by preventing a rupture 
between the King and Parliament, might 
enable, and, perliaps, dispose him to espouse 
the cause of" European independence. The 
Sovereign Pontiff himself was of tliis party; 
and the wary politicians of the court of Rome 
advised their Enghsh friends to calm and 
slow proceedings : though the Papal minister, 
with a circumspection and reserve required 
by the combination of a theological with a 
diplomatic character, abstained from taking 
any open part in the division, where it would 
have been hard for him to escape the impu- 
tation of being eitlier a lukewarm Catholic 
or an imprudent counsellor. The Catholic 
lords who were ambitious of office, the 
Jesuits, and especially the King's confessor, 
together with all the partisans of France, 
Bupported extreme counsels better suited to 
the temper of James, whose choice of poli- 
tical means was guided by a single maxim, 
• — that violence (which he confounded with 
rigour) was the only safe policy for an Eng- 
lish mo.iarch. Their most specious argument 
was the necessity of taking snch decisive 
measures to strengthen the Catholics during 
the King's life as would effectually secure 
them against the hostility of his successor.* 
The victory gained by this party over the 
moderate Catholics, as well as the Protestant 
Tories, was rendered more speedy and deci- 
sive by some intrigues of the Court, which 
have not hitherto been fully known to histo- 
rians. Mary of Este, the consort of James, 
was married at the age of fifteen, and had 
been educated In such gross ignorance, that 
she never had heard of the name of England 
until it was made known to her on that occa- 
sion. She had been trained to a rigorous ob- 
servance of all the practices of her religion, 
which sunk more deeply into her heart, and 
more constantly influenced her conduct, than 
was usual among the Italian princesses. On 
her arrival in England, she betrayed a child- 
ish aversion to James, which was quickly 
converted into passionate fondness. But nei- 
ther her attachment nor her beauty could fix 
the heart of that inconstant prince, who re- 
conciled a warm zeal for his religion with an 
habitual inJulgence in those pleasures which 
it rnost forbids. Her life was embittered by 
the triumph of mistresses, and by the fre- 
quency of her own perilous and unfruitful 
pregnancies. Her most formidable rival, at the 
period of the accession, was Catherine Scdley, 
a woman of few personal attractions,t who 
inherited the wit and vivacity of her father. 



* Br.rillon, 12ih Nov. — Fox. npp. p. cx.x'xiv. — 
Bariilon, 31st Dpc— Fox MSS. Burnet, vol. i. p. 
661. The coincidence of Burnet with the more 
ample account of Bariilon- is an additional confir- 
mation of the substantial accuracy of the honest 
prelate. 

t " Elle a beaucoup d'esprit et de la vivacite, 
mais elle n'a plus aucune beaute, et est d'une ex- 
IrSme maisrenr." Bariilon, 7th Feb. 1686. — Fox 
MSS. The insinuation of decline is somewhat 
■ingular, as her father was then only forty-six. 



Sir Charles Sedlej', which she unsparingly 
exercised on the priests and opinions of her 
royal lover. Her cliaracter was frank, her 
depoi tment bold, and her pleasantries more 
amusing than refined.* Soon alter his ac- 
cession, James was persuaded to relinquish 
his intercourse with lier; and, though she 
retained her lodgings in the palace, he did noi 
see her for several months. The connection 
was then secretly renewed, and, in the firsl 
fervour of a revived passion, the King offered 
to give her the title of Countess ^^f Dorches- 
ter. She declined this invidious distinction, 
assuring him that, by provoking the anger 
of the Queen and of the Catholics, it would 
prove her ruin. He, however, insisted ] and 
she yielded, upon condition that, if he was 
ever again prevailed upon to dissolve their 
connection, he should come to her to an- 
nounce his determination in person. t The 
title produced the eflecls she had foreseen. 
Mary, proud of her beauty, still enamoured 
of her husband, and full of religious horror 
at the vices of Mrs. Sedley, gave way to the 
most clamorous excesses of sorrow and anger 
at the promotion of her competitor. She 
spoke to the King with a violence for which 
she long afterwards reproached herself as a 
grievous fault. At one time she said to him, 
" Is it possible that you are ready tC) sacrifice 
a crown for your faith, and can not discard a 
mistress for it ? WjU you for such a passion 
lose the merit of your sacrifices'?" On an- 
other occasion she exclaimed, "Give me my 
dowry, make her Quefn of England, and let 
me never see her more."i Her transports 
of grief sometimes betrayed her to foreign 
ministers; and she neither ate nor spoke 
with the King at the public dinners of the 
Court. ^ The zeal of the Queen for the Ca- 
tholic religion, and the profane jests of Lady 
Dorchester against its doctrinas and minis- 
ters, had rendered them the leaders of the 
Popish and Protestant parties at Court. The 
Queen was supported by the Catholic clergy, 
who, with whatever indulgence their order 
had sometimes treated regal frailty, could 
not remain neuter in a contest between an 
orthodox Queen and an heretical raistrefes. 
These intrigires early mingled with the de- 
signs of the two ministers, who still appeared 



* These defects are probably magnified in the 
N-erses of Lord Dorset : 

" Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes 
United, cast ton fierce a lisjiit, 
Which blazes high, but quickly dies, 
Pains not the heart, but hurts the sight. 

" Love is a calmer, gentler joy ; 

Sinooth are his looks, and soft his pace: 
Her Cupid is a blackguard boy, 

That runs his link full in your face." 

+ D'Adda to Cardinal Cybo, 1st Feb.— D'Adda 
MSS. 

t Memoires Historiques de la Reine d'Angle- 
terre, a MS. formerly in possession of the nuna 
of Chaillot, since in the Archives Generales de 
France. 

^ Bonrepaux, 7th Feb. 1686, MSS. Evelyn, 
vol. i. p. 584. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES O? THE REVOLUTION Of 1688. 



291 



to have equal influence in the royal counsels. 
Lord Rochester, who had fell the decline 
of the King's confidence from the day of 
Monmouth's defeat, formed the project of 
supplanting Lord Sunderland, and of reco- 
vering his ascendant in public afikirs through 
the favour of the mistress. Having lived in 
a court of mistresses, and maintained him- 
self in office by compliance with them,* he 
thought it unlikely that wherever a favourite 
mistress existed she could fail to triumph 
over a queen. As the brother of the first 
Duchess of York, Mary did not regard him 
•with cordiality : as the leader of the Church 
party, he was still more obnoxious to her. 
He and his lady were the principal counsel- 
lors of the mistress. They had secretly ad- 
vised the King to confer on her the title of 
honour, — probably to excite the Queen to 
such violence as might widen the rupture 
between her and the King; and they de- 
clared so openly for her as to abstain for 
several days, during the heat of the contest, 
from paying their respects to the Queen ; — 
a circumstance much remarked at a time 
when the custom w'as still observed, which 
had been introduced by the companionable 
humour of Charles, for the principal nobility 
to appear almost daily at Court. Sunder- 
land, already connected with the Catholic 
favourites, was now more than ever com- 
pelled to make common cause with the 
Queen. His great strength lay in the priests; 
but he also called in the aid of Madame 
Mazarin, a beautiful woman, of weak under- 
standing, but practised in intrigue, who had 
been sought in marriage by Charles II. dur- 
ing his exile, refused by him after his Resto- 
ration, and who, on her arrival in England, 
ten years after, failed in the more humble 
attempt to become his mistress. 

The exhortations of the clergy, seconded 
by the beauty, the afl^ection, and the tears 
of the Queen, prevailed, after a severe strug- 
gle, over the ascendant of Lady Dorchester. 
James sent Lord Middleton, one of his secre- 
taries of state, to desire that she would leave 
Whitehall, and go to Holland, to which coun- 
try a yacht was in readiness to convey her. 
In a letter written by his own hand, he ac- 
knowledged that he violated his promise; 
but excused himself by saying, that he was 
conscious of not possessing firmness enough 
to stand the test of an interview. She im- 
nnediately retired to her house in St. James' 
Square, and offered to go to Scotland or Ire- 
land, or to her fathers estate in Kent ; but 
protested against going to the Continent, 
where means might be found of immuring 
her in a convent for life. When threatened 
with being forcibly carried abroad, she ap- 
pealed to the Great Charter against such an 
invasion of the liberty of the subject. The 
contest continued for some time; and the 
King's advisers consented that she shpuld 

* Carte, Life of Ormonde, vol. ii. p. 553. The 
old duke, high-minded as he was, commended 
the prudent accommodation of Rochester. 



go to Ireland, where Rochester's brother was 
Lord Lieutenant. She warned the King of 
his danger, and freely told him, that, if he 
followed the advice of Catholic zealots, he 
would lose his crown. She represented her- 
self as the Protestant martyr; and boasted, 
many years afterwards, thfit she had neither 
changed her religion, like Lord Sunderland, 
nor even agreed to be present at a disputa- 
tion concerning its truth, like Lord Roches- 
ter.* After the complete victory of the 
Queen, Rochester still preserved his place, 
and affected to represent himself as wholly 
unconcerned in the affair. Sunderland kept 
on decent terms with his rival, and dissem- 
bled his resentment at the abortive intrigue 
for his removal. But the effects of it were 
decisive: it secured the power of Sunder- 
land, rendered the ascendency of the Ca- 
tholic counsellors irresistible, gave them a 
stronger impulse towards violent measures, 
and struck a blow at the declining credit oi 
Rochester, from which it never recovered. 
The removal of Halifax was the first step 
towards the new system of administration, 
the defeat of Rochester was the second. In 
the course of these contests, the Bishop of 
London was removed from the Privy Coun- 
cil for his conduct in the House of Peers; 
several members of the House of Commons 
were dismissed from military as well as civil 
offices for their votes in Parliament; and the 
place of Lord President of the Council was 
bestowed on Sunderland, to add a dignity 
which was then thought wanting to his effi- 
cient office of Secretary of State. t 

The Government now attempted to obtain, 
by the judgTnents of courts of law, that power 
of appointing Catholic officers which Parlia- 
ment had refused to sanction. Instances had 
occurred in which the Crown had dispensed 
with the penalties of certain laws ; and the 
recognition of this dispensing power, ill the 
case of the Catholic officers, by the judges, 
appeared to be an easy mode of establishing 
the legality of their appointments. The King 
was to grant to every Catholic officer a dis- 
pensation from the penalties of the statutes 
which, when adjudged to be agreeable to 
law by a competent tribunal, might supply 
the place of a repeal of the Test Act. To 
obtain the judgment, it was agreed that an 
action for the penalties should be collusively 
brought against one of these officers, which 
would afford an opportunity to the judges to 
determine that the dispensation was legal. 
The plan had been conceived at an earlier 
period, since (as has been mentioned) one 
of the reasons of the prorogation was an 



* Halifax MSS. 

t These intrigues are very fully related by Bon- 
repaux, a French minister of talent, at that time 
sent on a secret mission to London, and by Baril- 
lon in his ordinary communications to the King. 
The despatches of the French ministers afford a 
new proof of the good information of Burnet ; but 
neither he nor Reresby was aware of the connec- 
tion of the intrigue wnh the triumph of Sunder 
land over Roehester. 



.w^ 



MAa<;iNTOSH'S MISCELLANEOtJS ESSAYS. 



apprehension lest the terrors of Parliament 
might obtain from the judges an irrevocable 
opinion against the prerogative. No doubt 
seems to have been entertained of the com- 
pliance of magistrates, who owed their sta- 
tion to the King, Avho had recently incurred 
60 much odium in his service, and who were 
removable at his pleasure.* He thought it 
necessary, however, to ascertain their senti- 
ments. His expectations of their unanimity 
were disappointed. Sir .John Jones, who had 
presided at the trial of Mrs. Gaunt, Mon- 
tague, Avho had accompanied Jeffreys in his 
circuit. Sir Job Charlton, a veteran royalist 
of approved zeal for the prerogative, together 
with Neville, a baron of the Exchequer, de- 
clared their inability to comply with the de- 
sires of the King. Jones answered him with 
dignity worthy of more spotless conduct: — 
" I am not sorry to be removed. It is a re- 
lief to a man old and worn out as I am. But 
I am sorry that your Majesty should have 
expected a judgment from me which none 
but indigent, ignorant, or ambitious men 
could give." James, displeased at this 
freedom, answered, that he would find 
twelve judges of his opinion. "Twelve 
judges. Sir," replied Jones, " you may find ; 
but hardly twelve lawyers." However 
justly these judges are to be condemned 
for their former disregard to justice and hu- 
manity, they deserve great commendation 
for having, on this critical occasion, retained 
their respect for law. James possessed that 
power of dismissing his judges which Louis 
XIV. did not enjoy; and he immediately 
exercised it by removing the uncomplying 
magistrates, together with two others who 
held the same obnoxious principles. On the 
21st of April, the day before the courts were 
to assemble in Westminster for their ordi- 
nary term, the new jutlges were appointed ; 
among whom, by a singular hazard, was 
a brother of the immortal John Milton, 
named Christopher, then in the seventieth 
year of his age, who is not known to have 
had any other pretension except that of 
having fiecretly conformed to the Church of 
Rorae.t 

Sir Edward Hales, a Kentish gentleman 
who had been secretly converted to Popery 
at Oxford by his tutor, Obadiah Walker, of 
University College (himself a celebrated 
convert), was selected to be the principal 
actor in the legal pageant for which the 
Bench had been thus prepared. He M-as 
publicly reconciled to the Church of Rome 

_ * " Leg juges declareront qu'il est la preroga- 
tive du Roi de dispenser des peines portees par la 
loi."^ Barillon, 3d Dee.— Fox MSS. 

t The conversion of Sir Christopher is, indeed, 
denied by Dodd, the very accurate historian of the 
English Catholics.— Church History, vol. iii. p. 
416. To the former concnrrence of all eonfempo- 
raries we may now add that of Evelyn (vol. i. p. 
590,) and Narcissus Luttrell. " All the judges," 
Bays the latter, "except Mr. Baron MiUon,"took 
the oaths in the Court of Chancery. But he, it 
Baid, owns himself a Roman Catholic." — MSS, 
Diary, 8th June, 



on the 11th of November, 1685;* he waK 
appointed to the command of a regiment on 
the 28th of the same month; and a dispen- 
sation passed the Great Seal on the 9th of 
January following, to enable him to hold his 
commission without either complying with 
the conditions or incurring the penalties of 
the statute. On the 16th of June, the case 
was tried in the Court of King's Bench in 
the form of an action brought against him 
by Godden, his coachrrian, to recover the 
penalty granted by the statute to a common 
informer, for holding a military commission 
without having taken the oaths or the sacra- 
ment. The facts were admitted ; the de- 
fence rested on the dispensation, and the 
case turned on its validity, Northey, the 
counsel for Godden, argued tiie case so faintly 
and coldly, that he scarcely dissembled his 
desire and expectation of a judgment against 
his pretended client. Sir Edward Herbert, 
the Chief Justice, a man of virtue, but with- 
out legal experience or knowledge, who had 
adopted the highest monarchical principles, 
had been one of the secret advisers of the 
exercise of the dispensing power : in his 
court he accordingly treated the validity of 
the dispensation as a point of no difTicult)', 
hut of such importance that it was proper 
for him to consult all the other judges re- 
specting it. On the 21st of June, after only 
live days of seeming deliberation had been 
allowed to a question on the decision of 
which the liberties of the kingdom at that 
moment depended, he delivered the opinion 
of all the judges except Street, — who finally 
dissented from his brethren, — in favour of 
the dispensation. At a subsequent period, 
indeed, two other judges, Powell and Atkyns, 
affirmed that they had dissented, and another, 
named Lutwych, declared that he had only 
assented with limitations. t But as these 
magistrates did not protest at the time against 
Herbert's statement, — as they delayed their 
public dissent until it had become dishonour- 
able, and perhaps unsafe, to have agreed with 
the majority, no respect is due to their con- 
duct, even if their assertion should be believed. 
Street, who gained great popularity by his 
strenuous re8istance,t remained a judge du- 
ring the whole reign of James; he was not 
admitted to the presence of King William. § 
nor re-appointed after the Revolution : — cir- 
cumstances which, combined with some 
intimations unfavourable to his general cha- 
racter, suggest a painful su.spicion, that the 
only judge who appeared faithful to his trust 
was, in truth, the basest of all, and that his dis- 
sent was prompted or tolerated by the Court, 

* Dodd, vol. iii. p. 451. 

+ Commons' Journals, 18th June, 1689. 

t " Mr. Justice Street has lately married a 
wife, with a good fortune, since his opinion on 
the dispensing power." — Narcissus Luttrell, Oct 
1686. 

^ " The Prince of Orange refused to see Mr 
Justice Street. Lord Coote said he was a verjr 
ill man." — Clarendon, Diary, 27th December, 
1688. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



293 



in order to give a false appearance of inde- 
pendence to the acts of the degraded judges. 
In shortly stating the arguments which 
were employed on both sides of this ques- 
tion, it is not within the province of the his- 
torian to imitate the laborious minuteness 
of a lawyer : nor is it consistent with the 
faith of history to ascribe reasons to the 
parties more refined and philosophical than 
could probably have occurred to them, or 
influenced the judgment of those whom 
they addressed. The only specious argu- 
ment of the advocates of prerogative arose 
from certain cases in which the dispensing 
power had been exercised by the Crown 
and apparently sanctioned by courts of jus- 
tice. The case chiefly relied on was a dis- 
pensation from the ancient laws respecting 
the annual nomination of sheriffs; the last 
of which, passed in the reign of Henry VI.,* 
subjected sheriffs, who continued in office 
longer than a year, to certain penalties, and 
declared all patents of a contrary tenor, even 
though they should contain an express dis- 
pensation, to be void. Henry VII., in defi- 
ance of this statute, had granted a patent to 
the Earl of Northumberland to be sheriff of 
that county for life; and the judges in the 
second year of his reign declared that the 
Earl's appointment was valid. It has been 
doubted whether there was any such deter- 
mination in that case ; and it has been urged, 
with great appearance of reason, that, if 
made, it proceeded on some exceptions in 
the statute, and not on the unreasonable 
doctrine, that an Act of Parliament, to which 
the King was a party, could not restrain his 
prerogative. These are, however, conside- 
rations which are rather important to the 
character of those ancient judges than to the 
authority of the precedent. If ihey did 
determine that the King had a right to dis- 
pense with a statute, which had by express 
words deprived him of such a right, so egre- 
gionsiy absurd a judgment, probably pro- 
ceeding from base subserviency, was more 
fit to be considered as a warning, than as a 
precedent by the judges of succeeding times. 
Two or three subsequent cases were cited in 
aid of this early precedent. But they either 
related to the remission of penalties in of- 
fences against the revenue, which stood on 
a peculiar ground, or they were founded on 
the supposed authority of the first case, and 
must fall with that unreasonable determina- 
tion. Neither the unguarded expressions of 
Sir Edward Coke, nor the admissions inci- 
dentally made by Serjeant Glanville, in 
the debates on the Petition of Right, on 
a point not material to his argument, could 
deserve to be seriously discussed as authori- 
ties on so momentous a question. Had the 
precedents been more numerous, and less 
unreasonable. — had the opinions been more 
deliberate, and more uniform, they never 
could be allowed to decide such a case. 
Though the constitution of England had been 

* 23 Hen, VI. c. 7. 



from the earliest times founded on the prin- 
ciples of civil and political liberty, the prac- 
tice of the government, and even tne admi- 
nistration of the law had often departed very 
widely from these sacred principles. In the 
best times, and under the most regular go- 
vernments, we find practices to prevail which 
cannot be reconciled with the principles of a 
free constitution. During the dark and tu- 
multuous periods of English history, kings 
had been allowed to do many acts, which, 
if they were drawn into precedents, would 
be subversive of public liberty. It is by an 
appeal to such precedents, that the claim to 
dangerous prerogatives has been usually jus- 
tified. The partisans of Charles I. could not 
deny that the Great Charter had forbidden 
aibitrary imprisoimient, and levy of money 
without the consent of Parliament. But in 
the famous cases of imprisoimaent by the 
personal comrnand of the King, and of levy- 
ing a revenue by writs of Ship-money, they 
thought. that they had discovered a means, 
without denying either of these principles, 
of universally superseding their application. 
Neither in these great cases, nor in the 
equally memorable instance of the dispensing 
power, were the precedents such as justified 
the conclusion. If law could ever be allowed 
to destroy liberty, it would at least be neces- 
sary that it should be sanctioned by clear, 
frequent, and weighty determinations, by 
general coiicurrence of opinion after free and 
full discussion, and by the long usage of 
good times. But, as in all doubtful cases 
relating to the construction of the most un- 
important statute, we consider its spirit and 
object; so, when the like questions arise on 
the most important part of law, called the 
constitution, we must try obscure and con- 
tradictory usage by constitutional principles, 
instead of sacrificing these principles to .such 
usage. The advocates of prerogative, in- 
deed, betrayed a consciousness, that they 
were bound to reconcile their precedents 
with reason ; for they, too, appealed to prin- 
ciples which ihey called "constitutional." 
A dispensing power, they said, must exist 
somewhere, to obviate the inconvenience 
and oppression which might arise from the 
infallible operation of law ; and where can 
it exist but in the Crown, which exercises 
the analogous power of pardon ? It was 
answered, that the difticulty never can exist 
in the English Constitution, where all neces- 
sary or convenient powers may be either ex- 
ercised or conferred by the supreme authority 
of Parliament. The judgment in favour of 
the dispensing power was finally rested by 
the judges on still more general propositions, 
which, if they had any meaning, were far 
more alarming than the judgment itself. 
They declared, that "the Kings of England 
are sovereign princes; that the laws of Eng- 
land are the King's laws; that, therefore, it 
is an inseparable prerogative in the Kmg of 
England to dispense with penal laws in par- 
ticular cases, and on particular necessary 
reasons, of which reasons and necessities ha 
z 2 



294 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAY'S. 



is the solo jiulirP ; flut this is not a trust 
vostoil in the Km<r, but the atu-itMit roiuains 
of tlif t;ovt>i\Mirii jxtwer ot" the Kiiii^s of Kwj;- 
latid. wliieh never yet was taken from them, 
nor ean be."* These propositions had tMlhiT 
110 ineaninir [lertinent to the ease, or they leil 
to ih;' estabhshnieni of absolnie nioiuirehy. 
The laws were, iiuleed, s.»iil to be the King's, 
inasinneh as he was the ohit^f and represen- 
tative of the oommouweallh — ;is they were 
ooutradistiniiuished from those of any other 
Stale. — anil as he had a principal jxirt in 
their enactment, and the whole trust of their 
e.\eciilion. These expressions were justi- 
fiable and innocent, as lonj; as they were 
employed to denote that decorum and cour- 
tesy which are due to the rej^-al inai:istr.icy : 
but if they are considered in any other lii:ht, 
they proved much more llian the judges 
dared to avow. If the King might dispense 
with the laws, because they were his laws, 
he might for tlie s:nne reason suspend, re- 
peal, or enact them. The application of 
these dangerous principles to tne Test Act 
was attended with the peculiar absurdity of 
attributing to the King a power to dispense 
with provisions of a law, which had been 
framed tor the avowed and sole purpose of 
limiting lo's authority. The law had not 
hitherto dis;ibled a Catholic from tilling the 
throne. As soon, iherel'ore, as the next per- 
son in succession to the Crown was discovered 
to be a Catholic, it was deemed essential to 
the siifety of the Established religion to take 
away from the Crowji the means of being 
served by Catholic ministers. The Test Act 
A\"as passed to prevent a Catholic successor 
from availing himself of the aid of a party, 
whose outward bavlge was adherence to the 
Roman Catholic religion, and who were se- 
conded by powerful allies in other parts of 
Europe, in overthrowing the Constitution, the 
Protestant Church, and at last even the li- 
berty of Protestants to perform their worship 
and pi-ofess their faith. To ascribe to that 
very Calhoiii' successor the right of dispen- 
sing with all the securities provideil agninst 
such dampers arising from himselt", was to 
impute the most extravagant absurdity to 
the laws. It might be perfectly consistent 
with the principle of the Test Act, which 
was intendcvl to provide against temporary 
dangers, to projx>se its repeal under a Pro- 
testant prince: but it isaltogetht^r iiupossible 
that its framers could have oonsiilered a 

Iwwer of dispensing with its conditions as 
)eing vested in the Catholic successor whom 
it was meant to bind. Had these objt>ctions 
been weaker, the means employcil by the 
King to obtain a judgment in his favour 
rendered the whole of this juilicial proceed- 
ing a gross tVaud, in which judires professing 
impartiality had been named by one" of the 

Cirties to a question before them, after he 
. id previously ascertained their partiality to 
him, and etrectually securcil it by the ex- 
ample of the removal of more iuJependeut 

• State Trials, vol. xi. p. 1199. 



ones. The character of Sir Edward Herhorl 
makes it [xiiiiful to disbelieve his assertion, 
that he was unacqnamted with these undue 
practices; but the notoriety of the facts seem 
to render it quite increiid^ie. In the same 
ileftMice of his ct>udnct which contains this 
asseition, there is another unfortunate de- 
partnrt> from fairness. He rests his defence 
entirely on precedents, and stuiliensly keeps 
out of view the dangerous jirinciples w hich 
he hail laid down from the bench as the 
foundation of his juilgment. Public and 
selenin declarations, which ought to be the 
most sincere, are, uidiappily. among the most 
disingenuous of human professions. This cir- 
cum.<tance, which so much weakens the 
bonds of faith between mcu, is not so n\uch 
to be imputed to any peculiar ilepravity in 
those who conduct public atlairs. as to the 
circumstances in which oliicial declarations 
are usually maile. They are generally re- 
sortcil to in times of dilliculty, if not of 
linger, and are often sure of being counte- 
nanced for the time by a numerous body of 
adherents. Public advantage covers false- 
hood with a more decent disguise than mere 
piivate interest can supply; and tht> vague- 
ness of oliicial language always allords the 
utmost facilities for reserve and cipiivocalion. 
But these consideration.s, though they uiay, 
in some small degree, extenuate the disiu- 
genuonsness of politicians, must, in the same 
projiortk">n, lessen the credit which is due to 
their atiirmations.* 

After this determination, the judges on 
their circuit were not received with the ac- 
customed honours.! Agreeably to the me- 
morable observations of Lonl Clarendon in 
the case of Ship-money, they brought dis- 
grace upon themselves, and weakness upon 
the whole government, by that base com- 
pliance which was intended to arm the 
monarch with undue and irresistible strength. 
The people of England, peculiarly distin- 
guishi>d by that reverence for the law, and 
its upright ministers, which is inspired by 
the love of liberty, have always fell the most 
cruel disappointment, and manifested the 
warmest indignation, at seeing the judges 
converted into instruments of oppre.s.-<;on or 
usurpation. These juoceedings were viewed 
in a very diirerent light by the ministers of 
absolute princes. D'Adda only informcil the 
Papal Court that the King had removeil from 
otiice souie contumacious judges, who had 
refused to conform to justice and reason on 
the subject of the King's dispensing power ;t 
and so compli>telv was the spirit of France 
then subdued, that HariUon, the son of the 
President of the Parliament of Paris, — the 



* Tho nr>:unieiiis on this q>ies(iiin are coiitnincJ 
in the tracts of Sir Rilward Herbert, Sir Robert 
Aikyns. nntl Mr. Ailwood, inibli-^hed nfier iho 
Revoluiion — State Trials, vol. xi. p. I'JlX). That 
of .A It wood is the most disiinsruislieil lor aciitt;- 
noss and roseareh. Sir Edward Herbert's is 
tVelily reasoned, ilioimh eleetnijily writtei). 

t Narcissus l.uitrell, 16tU August. It>S6. 

t DAdda, U May.— MS. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



295 



native of a country where the independence 
of the groat tribunals had survived every 
other renniaut of ancinit libeity, — describes 
the removal of judges for their legal opinions 
as coolly as if he were speaking of the dis- 
missal of an exciseman.* 

The King, having, by the decision of the 
judges, obtained the power of placing the 
military and civil authority in the hands of 
his own devoted adherent.s, now resolved to 
exercise ihrU power, by nominating Caiholics 
to stations of high trust, and to reduce the 
Church of England to implicit obedience by 
virtue of his ucclesiaslical supremacy. Both 
these measures were agreed to at Hampton 
Court on the 4th of July; at which result he 
showed the utmost complacency. t It is 
nece.ssary to give some explanation of the 
nature of the second, which formed one of 
the most effectual and formidable measures 
of his reign. 

When Henry VIII. vas declared at the 
Reforrnalion to be tfie supreme head of the 
Church of Kngiand, no attempt was made to 
define, with any tolerable precision, the au- 
thority to be cxerci.sed by fiim in that cha- 
racter. The object of the lawgiver was to 
shake off I lie authority of the See of Rome, 
and to make effectual provision that all ec- 
clesiastical power and juri.sdiction should be 
administered, like every other part of the 
public justice of the kingdom, in the name 
and by the authority of the King. That ob- 
ject scarcely required more than a declaration 
that the realm was as independent of foreign 
power in matters relating to the Church as 
in any other branch of its legislation. t That 
simple principle is distinctly intimated in 
several of the statutes passed on that occa- 
sion, though not consistently pursued in any 
of them. The true principles of ecclesiasti- 
cal polity were then nowhere acknowledged. 
The Court of Rome was far from admitting 
the self-evident truth, that all coercive and 
penal juri.'-diction exercised by the clergy 
was, in its nature, a branch of the civil 
power delegated to them by the State, and 
that the CLurch as such could exerci.se only 
that influence (metaphorically called '•au- 
thority") over the understanding and con- 
science which depended on the spontaneous 
submission of its members: the Protestant 
sects were not willing to submit their pre- 
tensions to tbe control of the magistrate : 
and even the Reformed Church of England, 
though the creature of statute, showed, at 
various times, a disposition to claim some 
rights under a higher title. All niligious 
communitie-s were at that time alike intole- 
rant, and there was, perhaps, no man in 
Europe who dared to think that the State 
neither possessed, nor could delegate, nor 
could recognise as inherent in another body 
any authority over religious opinions. Nei- 

• Barillon. ?,9ih April.— Fox MSS. 

t D'AHda, 20ih July.— M.S. 

t 24 Hen. VII I. c. 12. 25 Hen. VIII. c. 21. 
See cspeciallv the preambles to these two eta- 
tHtee. 



thcr was any distinction made in the laws 
to which we have adverted, between the ec- 
clesiastical authority which the Kiiig might 
separately exercise and that which lequired 
the concurrence of Parliament. Frern igno- 
rance, inattention, and timidity, in regard to 
these impoitant pafts of the 6ubj< ct, arose 
the greater part of the obscurity v\hich still 
fiangs over the limits of the King's ecclesi- 
astical prerogative and the means of carrying 
it into execution. The statute of the first of 
El.zabeth. which established the Pw^testant 
Church of England, enacted that the Crown 
should have power, by virtue of that act, to 
exercise its supremacy by Commis.sioner8 
for Ecclesiastical Causes, nominated by the 
sovereign, and vested with uncertain and 
questionable, but very dangerous powers, for 
the execution of a prerogative of which nei- 
ther lav/ nor experience had defined the 
limits. Under the reigns of James and 
Charles this court had become the auxiliary 
and rival of the Star Chamber; and its abo- 
lition was one of ifie wisest of those mea- 
sures of reformation by which the Parliament 
of 1641 had signalised the first and liappiest 
period of their proceedings.* At the Resto- 
ration, when the Church of England was re- 
establislied, a part of the Act for the Aboli- 
tion of the Court of High Commission, taking 
away coercive power from all eccksiasticsd 
judges and persons, was repealed ; but the 
clauses for the abolition of the obnoxious 
court, and for prohibiting the erection of any 
similar court, were expressly re-a(firmed.t 
Such was the state of the law on this sub- 
ject when James conceived the design of em- 
ploying his authority as head of the Church 
of EnglantI, as a means of subjecting that 
Church to his pleasure, if not of finally de- 
stroying it. It is hard to conceive how he 
could reconcile to his religion the exercise 
of supremacy in a heretical sect, and thus 
sanction by his example the usurpations of 
the Tudors on the rights of the Catholic 
Church. It is equally difficult to conceive 
how he reconciled to his morality the em- 
ployment, for the destruction of a commu- 
nity, of a power with which he was intrusted 
by that community for its preservation. But 
the fatal error of believing it to be lawful to 
use had means for good ends was rot pecu- 
liar to James, nor to the zealots of his com- 
munion. He, indeed, considered the eccle- 
siastical supremacy as placed in his hands 
by Providence to enable him to b»;lray the 
Protestant establishment. "God," said be 
to Barillon, "has permitted that all the laws 
made to establish Protestantism now serve 
as a foundation for my measures to re-esta- 
blish true religion, and give me a right to 
exercise a more extensive power than other 
Catholic princes possess in the ecclesiasticAl 
affairs of their dominions."^ He found legal 
advisers ready with paltry expedients for 
evading the two statutes ol 1641 and 1660, 

• 17 Car. I. c. 11. 1 13 Car. H. c. 12, 

\ Barillon, 22d July, 1686.— Fox MSS. 



296 



MACKINTOSFI'S SlISCELLANEOrS ESSAYS. 



unilor the fiitile pretext that they forKid only 
a court vesttxl with such }X>\veis of corporal 
punij^luneiit as hail been exercised by the 
old Court of High Commission : and in con- 
forniitv to their pernicious counsel, he issueil, 
in Ju!v. a commission to certain ministers, 
prelates, and judges, to act as a Court of 
Commissioners in Ecclesiastical Causes. The 
first pnrptise of this court was to enforce di- 
rections to preachers, issued by the King, 
enjoining them to abstain fa^m preaching on 
controverted questions. It must be owjied 
that an enemy of the Protestant religion, 
placed at the head of the Church, could not 
adopt a more perfidious measure. He well 
knew that the Protestant cjf^rgy alone could 
consider his oalers as of any authority : those 
of his own persuasion, totally exempt from 
his supremacy, would pursue their course, 
secure of protection from him aguinst the 
dangers of penal law. The Pixiteslant clergy 
•\rere forbidden by their enemy to maintain 
their religion by argument, when they justly 
reganlod it as being in the greatest danger: 
they disregarvled the injunction, and carried 
on the controversy agamst Popery with equal 
ability a..d success. 

Among many others. Sharpe, Dean of 
Norwich, had distii^iished himself; and he 
^vas selected for punishment, on pretence 
that he had a<rg^a^•ated his disobedience by 
intemperate language, and by having sjx)ken 
contemptuously of the understanding of all 
vrho conld be seduced by the arguments 
for Popery, including of necessity the King 
himself, — as if it were possible for a man 
of sincerity to speak on subjects of the deep- 
est imix^rtance without a correspondent zeal 
and warmth. The mode of proceeding to 
punislnnent was altogether summary and ar- 
bitrary. Lord Sunderland communicated to 
the Bishop of London the King's commands, 
to suspend Sharpe fi-om preaching. The 
Bishop answered that he could proceed only 
in a judicial manner. — that he must hear 
Sharpe ni his defence before such a suspen- 
sion, bat that Sharpe was ready to give 
every proof of deference to the King. The 
Court. i:.censed at the parliamentary conduct 
of the r>ishop. &\w, with great delight, that 
he had given them an opportunity to humble 
and mortify him. Sunderland Kx\sted to the 
Papa! m mister, that the case of that Bishop 
would be a great example.* He was sum- 
moned I -ron? the Ecclesiastical Commission, 
and reu'iired to answer why he had not 
obeyed his Majesty's commands to suspend 
Sharpe for seditious preaching.t The Bishop 
conducted himself with considerable address. 
After s-'veral adjournments he tendered a 
plea to the jurisdiction, founded on the ille- 



* "II Re, sotnmamente intento a levare glios- 
tacoli. che possono impedire r."»vanzamenro della 
reli^'oiie Catiolica. ^ trovato 11 mezzo piii atto a 
moniticare il malialento di Vescovo di Londra. 
Sara un gran buoao e un gran esempio, come mi 
fca detto" Milord Sunderland." D'Adda, ICth 
July.— MSS. 

t State Trials, vol. xi. p. 115S. 



gality of their coinmission ; and he ".ras 
heard by his counsel in vindication of his 
refusal to suspend an accused clergyman 
until he had been heard in his own defence. 
The King took a warm interest in the pro- 
ceedings, and openly showed his joy at be- 
ing in a condition to strike bold strokes of 
authoritv. He received coiigiatulations on 
that subject with visible pleasure, and assured 
the French minister that the same vigorous 
system should be inflexibly pursued.* He 
did not conceal his resolution to remove any 
of the commissioners who should not do •• his 
duty."'t The princes.*? of Orange interceded in 
vain with the King for her preceptrr, Comp- 
ton. The inlhience of the Church party was 
also .strenuously exerted for that prelate. 
They were not, indeed, aided by the Piimate 
Siincroft, who, instead of either attending as 
a commissioner to support the Bishop of 
London, or openly protesting against the 
illegality of the court, petitioned for and 
obtained from the King leave to be excused 
from attendance on the ground of age and 
infirmities. t By this irresolute and equivocal 
conduct the Archhishop deserted the Church 
in a moment of danger, and yet incurred the 
displeasure of the iKing. Lord Eochester re- 
sisted the suspension, and was supported by 
Spratt. Bishop of Rochester, and Sir Edward 
Herbert. Even JelTreys, for the first time, 
inclined towards the milder opinion : for nei- 
ther his dissolute life, nor his judicial cruelty, 
however much at variance with the princi- 
ples of religion, were, it seems, incompatible 
with that fidelity to the Chu'ch, which on 
this and some subsequent occasions prevailed 
over his zeal for prerog-ative, A :najority of 
the commissioners were for some time fa- 
vourable to Compton : Sunderland, and Crew, 
Bishop of Durham, were the only members 
of the commission who seconded the projects 
of the King.* The presence or protest of the 
Primate might have produced the most de- 
cisive efiVcts. Sunderland represented the 
authority of Government as interested in the 
judgment, which, if it were not rigorous, 
would secure a triumph to a disobedient 
prelate, who had openly espoused the cause 
of faction. Rochester at length yielded, in 
the presence of the King, to w hatever his iMa- 
jijsty might determine, givuig it to be under- 
stood that he acted agtiinsl his own convic- 

* Barillon, C?ih July.— Fox 31 ?S.^ 

t Barillon, 1st August. — Fo.\ MSS. 

X This petition (in the appcrdi.x to Clarendon's 
Diary) is without a date ; but it is a formal one, 
which seems to imply a regular sarnuons. No 
such summons could have issued bcU're the 14th 
July, on which day Evelyn, as one of the Com- 
missioners of the Frivy Seal, affi.xed it to the 
Ecclesiastical Commission. Sancroft's ambigious 
petition was therefore subsequent to his knowledge 
of Compton's danger, so that the excuse of Dr. 
D'Oyley (Life of Sancroft, vol. i. p. 2-5.) cannot 
be allowed. 

^ •• L'Archevesque de Canterbury s'etoit ex- 
cuse de se trouver a la Commission Ecclesiasiiqne 
sur sa mauvaise same et son grand age. On a 
pris aussi ce pre:e.\te pour Texclure de la scanc* 
de conseil»" Bariilou, 21st Oct.— Fox MSS. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



291 



tion.* His followers made no longor any stand, 
after sccinj? the l(!ader of iheir piirty, and the 
Lord High Treasurer of England, s(;t the ex- 
ample of sacrilicing his opinion as a judge, in 
favour of lenity, to the pleasure of the King; 
and the court finally pronounced sentence of 
suspension on the Bishop against the declared 
opinion of three fourths of its members. 

The attempts of Jam(!S to bestow tolera- 
tion on his Catholic subjects would, doul)t- 
less, in themselves, deserve high commenda- 
tion, if we could consider tliem apart from 
the intentions which tliey manifested, and 
from the laws of which they were a contin- 
ued breach. But zealous Protestants, in the 
peculiar circumstances of the time, were, 
with reason, disposed to regard thom as 
measures of hostility against their religion ; 
and some of them must always be consid- 
ered as daring or ostentatious manifestations 
of adet(!rmined purpose to exalt prerogative 
above law. A few days after the resolution 
of the Council for the admission of Catholics 
to high civil trust, the first step was made to 
itse.vecution by the appointment of the Lords 
Powys, Arundel, BeJlasis, and Dover to be 
Privy Councillors. In a short time aftfjrwards 
the same honour wasconferred on Talbot, who 
was created Earl of Tyrconnel, and destined 
to bo ihi! Catholic Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. 
ShefReld; Earl of Mulgrave, a man who pro- 
fes.sed indifH^rence in religion, but who ac- 
quiesced in all the worst measures of this 
reign, was appointed a member of the Ec- 
clesiastical Commission. t Cartwright, Dean 
of Ripon, whose talents were disgraced by 
peculiarly infamous vices, was raised to the 
vacant bishopric of ChoBtcr, in spite of the 
recommendation of Sancroft, who, when con- 
sulted by James, proposeil Jeffreys, the Chan- 
cellor's brother, for that See.t But the merit 
of Cartwright, which prevailed even over that 
connection, consisted in having preached a 
sermon, in which he inculcated the courtly 
doctrine, that the promises of kings were 
declarations of a favourable intention, not to 
be considered as morally binding. A reso- 
lution was taken to employ Catholic minis- 
ters at the two important stations of Paris 
and the Flague ; — "it being." said James to 
Barillon, "almost impossible to find an Eng- 
lish Protestant -who had not too great a con- 
sideration for the Prince of Orange."^ White, 
an Irish Catholic of considerable ability, who 
had received the foreign title of Marquis 
D' Abbeville, was sent to the Hague, partly, 
perhaps, with a view to mortify the Prince 
of Orange. It was foreseen that the known 
character of this adventurer would induce 
the Prince to make attempts to gain him; 



* Barillon, 16ih Sept. and 23d Sept.— Fox MSS.; 
a full and apparently accurate account of these 
divisions among the commissioner!). 

+ D'Adda, in his letter, 1st Nov. represents 
Mulgrave as favouralile tp the Catholics. — MS. 

t D'Oyley, Life of Sancroft, vol. i. p. 235, 
where the ArchbisbQp's letter to the Kjng (dated 
ayth July, 1685.) is printed. 

.5 Barillon, 22d July.— Fox MSS. 
39 



but Barillon advised his master to make 
liberal presents to the new minister, who 
would prefer the bribes of Louis, because 
the views of that monarch agreed with those 
of his own sovereign and the interests of the 
Catholic religion.* James even proposed to 
the Prince of Orange to appoint a Catholic 
nobleman of Ireland, Lord Carlingford, to 
the command of the British regiments; — 
a proposition, which, if accepted, would em- 
broil that Prince with all his friends in Eng- 
land, and if n^jected, as it must have been 
known that it woulcl be, gave the King a 
new pretext for displeasure, to be avowed at 
a conveni(;nt season. 

But no part of the foreign policy of the 
Kin^ is so much coimected with our present 
subject as the renewal of that open inter- 
course with the See of Rome which was pro- 
hibited by the unrepealed laws pas.sed in the 
reignsof H(!nry VIII. and Elizabeth. D'Adda 
had arrived in P2ngland before the meeting 
of Parliament, as the minister of the Pope, 
but appeared at court, at first, only as a pri- 
vate gentleman. In a short time, .lames in- 
formed him that he might assume the public 
character of his Holiness' minister, with the 
privilege of a chapel in his house, and the 
otker honours and immunities of that cha- 
racter, without going through the formalities 
of a public audience. The assumption of 
this character James represented as the more 
proper, because he was about to send a 
solemn embassy to Rome as his Holiness' 
most obedient son.t D'Adda professed great 
admiration for the pious zeal and filial obedi- 
ence of the King, and for his determination, 
as far as po.ssible, to restore religion to her 
ancient splendour;! but he dreaded the pre- 
cipitate measures to which James was 
prompted by his own disposition and by 
the party of zealots who surrounded him. 
He did not as.sume the public character till 
two months afterwards, when he received in- 
structions to that effect from Rome. Hitherto 
the King had coloured his interchange of 
ministers with the Roman Court under the 
plausible pretext of maintaining diplomatic 
intercourse with the government of the Ec- 
clesiastical State as much as with the other 
princes of Europe. But his zeal soon be- 
came impatient of this slight disguise. In a 
few days after D'Adda had announced hia 
intention to assume the public character 
of a minister, Sunderland came to him to 
convey his Majesty's desire that he might 
take the title of Nuncio, which would, in 

* " M. le Prince d' Orange fera re qu'il pourra 
pour la gager ; mais je suis persuade qu'il nimera 
mieux eire dans les intt'rets de voire Majeste, 
sachant bien qu'ils sont conlormes a ccux du Roi 
son mattre, et que c'est I'avaniage de la religion 
Catholique." Four thousand livres, which Ba- 
rillon calculates as then equivalent to three hun- 
dred pounds sterling, were given to D'Abbevillo 
in London. Two thousand more were to be ad- 
vanced to him at the Hague. Barillon, 2d Sept. 
—Fox MSS. 

t D'Adda 14ih Dec. 1685.— MS, 

t Ibid. 3l8t. Dec, 



298 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



a more formal and solemn manner, dis-- 
tinguish him from other ministers as the 
represtMitative of the Apostolic ISee. D'Adila 
was surprised at this rash proposal ;* about 
which the Court of Rome long hesitated, 
from aversion to the foreign policy of James, 
from a wish to moderate rather than encou- 
rage the precipitation of his tloniestic coun- 
sels, anil from apprehension of the insults 
which might be oH'ered to the Holy See, in 
the sacred person of his Nuncio, by the tur- 
bulent and heretical populace of London. 

The King hail sent the Earl of Castlemaine, 
the husband of the Duchess of Cleveland, as 
his ambassador to Kome. " It seemed sin- 
gular," said Barillon, '-'that he should have 
chosen for such a mission a man so little 
known ou his own account, and too well 
known on that of his wife."t Tiie ambas- 
dor, wiio had been a polemical writer in the 
defence of the Catholics,! and who was 
almost the only innocent man accpiitted on 
the prosecutions for the Popish Plot, seems 
to have listened more to zeal and resentment 
than to discretion in the conduct of his deli- 
cate negotiation. He probably expected to 
find nothing but religious zeal prevalent in 
the Papal councils : but Innocent XI. was 
influenced by his character as a temponil 
sovereign. He considered James not sole!}- 
as an obedient sou of the Church, but rather 
as the devoted or subservient ally of Louis 
X[V. As Prince of the Roman state, he re- 
sented the outrages offered to him by that 
monarch, and partook with all other states 
the droad justly iuspired by his ambition and 
his power. Even as head of tlie Church, the 
merits of Louis as the persecutor of the Pro- 
les?tants4 did not, in the eye of Iiniocent, atone 
for his oncouragmg tho Gallican Chnrch in 
their recent resistance to the unlimited au- 
thority of the Rimian Pontiff. These dis- 
cordant feelings aiul embroiled interests, 
which it would have required the utmost ad- 
dress and temper to reconcile, were treated 
by Castlemaine with the rude hand of an 
inexperienced zealot. Hoping, probably, to 
be received with open arms as the forerun- 
ner of the reconciliation of a great kingdom, 
he was displeased at the reserve and cold- 
ness with which the PontitT treated him; 
atid instead of patiently labouring to over- 
come obstacles which he ought to have fore- 
seen, he resented them with a violence more 
than commonly foreign to the decorum of 
the Papal court. He was instructed to so- 
licit a cardinal's hat for Prince Rinaldo of 
Este, the Queen's brother ; — a moderate suit, 

• D'.\dila, '22d Feb. 1686. " To resto alquanto 
BOrprt'so div,quesia amliasciata." 

t Finrillon, e9!h Oct. 1685. — Fo.x, app. p. cxxii. 

t Dodd, vol. iii p. 4,')0 

^ It app-nus l>y the copy of a letter in my pos- 
Bcssion from Don Pedro Ronquillo, the Spanish 
Uiiibassador in London, to Don Francesi-o Ber- 
nndo de Quixos. (dated 5ih ^ prii, ItiStJ.) that In- 
nocent, though lie piiMicly applauded the zeal of 
Louis, did not in truth approve the revocation of 
the Edict of Nantes. 



the consent to which was for a considerable 
time retarded by an apprehension of strengtli 
cuing the French ititerest in the Sacred Col- 
li\ge. The second request was that the Pope 
would confer a titular bishopric* on bldward 
Petre, an English Jesuit of nobli! family, 
who, though not foimally the King's con- 
fessor,t had more iniluence ou his mind 
than any other ecclesiastic. This honour 
was desired in order to qualify this gentle- 
man for performing with more dignity the 
duties of Dean of the Chapel Royal. Inno- 
cent declined, on the ground that the Jesuits 
were prohibited by their institution from ac- 
cepting bi.shopricks, and lliat he would sooner 
make a Jesuit a cardinal than a bishop. Rut 
as the Popes had often dispensed with this 
prohibition, Petre himself rightly conjectured 
that the ascendant of the Austrian party at 
Rome, — who looked on him wilh an evil eye 
as a partisan of France, — was the true cause 
of the refusal.]: The King afterwards so- 
licited for his favourite the higher dignity of 
cardinal : but he was finally retused, though 
wilh profuse civility, s^ from the same mo- 
tive, but under the pretence that there had 
been no Jesuit cardinal .since Reliannine. the 
great controversialist of the Roman Catholic 
Church. II Bi'sides these personal objects, 
Castlemaine laboured to reconcile the Pope to 
Louis XIV., and to procure the interposition 
of Innocent for the preservation of the gen- 
eral peace. But of these objects, specious 
as they were, the attainment of the first 
would strengthen Fiance, and that of the 
second imported a general acquiescence in 
her unjust aggrandizement. Even the tri- 
umph of monarchy and Popery in England, 
together with the projects already enter- 
tained for the suppression of the '' Northern 
heresy," as the Reformation was then called, 
anil for the conquest of Holland, which was 
considered as a nest of heretics, could not 
fail to alarm the most zealous of tliose Ca- 
tholic powers who dreaded the power of 
Louis, and who were averse to strengthen 
his allies. It was impossible that intelli- 
gence of such suggestions at Rome should 
not immediately reach the courts of Vienna 
and Madrid, or should not be communicated 
by them to the Prince of Orange. Castle- 
maine suffered himself to be engaged in 
contests for precedency with the Spanish 
minister, whicli served, and were perhaps 
intendeil, to embroil him more deeply with 
the Pope. James at first resented llie re- 
fusal to promote Pefre,1[ and for a time 
seemed to espouse the quarrel of his am- 
bassiidor. D'Adda was obliged, by his sta- 
tion, and by his intercourse with Lord Sun- 



* In pariibus intidelium," as it is called. Baril- 
lon, aTih June. — Fo.t MSS. 

t This oflice was held by a learned Jesuit, 
named Warner. — Dodd, vol. iii. p. 4!il. 

t Rarillon, 20ih Dec. 1686— Fox MSS. 

$ Dodd, vol. iii. p. 511, where the ofHcial cor- 
respondence in 1687 is publi.**hed. 

II DWdda, 8ih Au£;ust, 1687.— IMS. 

If Barillon, 2d Dec. 1686.~Fox MSS. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



299 



deilarifl, to keep up friendly appearances 
with Pi'tre; but Ijarilloii easily discovered 
that the Papal minister disliked tliat Jesuit 
aid his ord<'r, whom he considered as de- 
voted to France.* The Pope instructed 
his minister to complain of the conduct of 
Castlemaine, as very ill becoming the repre- 
sentalive of so pious and so prudent a k'tti'^: 
and D'Adda made the rtspresentation to 
James at a private audience where the 
Queen and Lord Sunderland were present. 
That zealous princess, with more fervour 
than dif^nity, often interrupted his narrative^ 
by e.xclamations of horror at the liberty with 
which a Catholic minister had spoken to the 
successor of St. P(;ter. Lord Sunderland said 
to him, "The Kin^ will do whatever you 

Eleasa." James professed the most un- 
ounded di;votion to the Holy See, and as- 
sured FJ'Adda that he would write a letter 
to his Holiness, to express his regret for the 
unbecoming conduct of his ambassador.! 
When this submission was made, Innocent 
formally forgave Castlemaine for his indis- 
creet zeal in promoting the wishes of his 
sovereign ;t and James publicly ajinouriced 
tlie adrnis.sion of his ambassador at Rome 
into the Privy Council, both to console the 
unfortunate minister, and to show the more 
hcnv much he set at defiance the laws which 
forbade both the embassy and the prefer- 
ment.^ 



CHAPTER nr. 

State of the Army. — Attempts of the Kinrr to 
Convert if. — 'J'hc Princess Anne. — Dnjden. 
— Lord Middlelon and others. — Revocation 
of the Edict of Nantes. — Attempt to convert 
Rochester. — Conduct of the Queen. — Religi- 
ous Conference. — Failure of the attempt. — 
His Dismissal. 

DuurNQ the summer of 1686, the King had 
assembled a body of 1.5.000 troops, who were 
encamped on Hounslow Heath ; — a spectacle 
new to the people of England, who, though 
full .of martial .spirit, have never regarded 
with favour the separateprofessionofarms.il 

* Bi.rillon, 17ih Jnne, 1686,— lOlh March, 
1687.— Kf)x MS.S. 

t D'Adda, 30th May,— 6tl) June, 1687.— MS. 
■t LetitT of Innocent to Jainos, 16lh Aug. — 
Dodd, vol. iii. p. 511. 

^ London Gazelle, 26th Sept. 

II The army, on the Ist of January, 1685, 
amoumed to 19,979. — AccouniB in the War Of- 
fice. The number of the army in Great Britain 
in 1824 is 22,019 (Army Estimates), the population 
being 14,391,681 (Population Returns); wliich 
gives a proportion of nearly one out of every 654 
persons, or of one soldier out of every 160 men 
of the fiiijhtitig age. The population of Enclaiid 
and Wales, in 1685, not exceeding five millions, 
the proportion of the army to it was one soldier to 
every 250 persons, or of one soldier to every sixty- 
five men of the fighiitig age. Scotland, in 1685, 
had a separate establishment. The army of James, 
at his accession, therefore, was more than twice 



He viewed this encampment willi a compla- 
cency natural to princes, and hi; expressed 
his feelings to the Prince of Oran<.'e in a tone 
of no frif.'iidly boast.* He car< sscd the offi- 
cers, and he openly declared tJiat he should 
keep none but ihoseon whom he could rely.t 
A Catholic chapel was oi)eri(;d in the camp, 
and missionaries were distributed among the 
soldiers. The numbers of the army rendered 
it an object of very serious consideration. 
Supposing them to be only 32,000 in England 
and Scotland alone, they wc^re twice as many 
as were kept up in Great Britain in the year 
1792, when the population of the island had 
certaiidy more than doubled. As this force 
was kept on foot without the consent of Par- 
liamtnit, there was no limit to its numbers, 
but the means of sup])Orling it possessed by 
the King; which might be derived from the 
misapplication of funds granted for other 
purposes, or be supplied by foreign powers 
interested in destroying the liberties of the 
kingdom. The means of governing it were 
at first a source of perplexity to the King, 
but, in the serjuel, a new ol)ject of apprehen- 
sion to the jjeople. The Petition of Right, J 
in affirmance of the ancient laws, had for- 
bidden the exercise of martial law within 
Ihe kingdom ; and the ancient mode of csta- 
bli.shing those summary juri.sdictions and 
punishments which seem to bo necessary 
to secure the obedience of armies was, in a 
great measure, wanting. The servile inge- 
nuity of aspiring lawyers wa.s, therefore, set 
at work to devise some new eA])edient for 
more easily destroying the constitution, ac- 
cording to the forms of law. For this purpose 
they ffivived the provisions of some ancient 
statutes,^ which had made destnlion a capital 
felony; though these were, in the opinion of 
the be.st lawyers, either repealed, or confined 
to soldiers serving in the case of actual or 
immediately impending hostilities. Even 
ihis device did not provide the means of 
punishing the other militaiy offf-nces, which 
are so dangerous to the order of armies, that 
there can be little doubt of their having been 
actually punished by oihei meun.s, however 
confessedly illegal. Several soldiers were 
tried, convicted, and executed for the felony 
of desertion ; and the .scruples of judges on 
the legality of these pr9ceediiigs induced the 
King more than once to recur to hisordijtary 
measure for the purification of tiibunalsby 
the removal of the judgw?. Sir John Holt, 
who was destined, in better times, to be one 
of the most inflexible guardians of (he laws, 
was also then dismissed from tlie recorder- 
ship of London. 

and a halt greater in conipatison with the popula 
tion than tlie present force (1622). The compara- 
tive wealth, if it could be efetimated, would proba- 
bly aflbrd similar results. 

* James to the Prince of Orange, 20th Junc.- 
Dalrymple, app. to books iii. &, iv. 

t Barillon, 8ih July. ibid. 

t 3 Car. I. c. 1. 

<> 7 Hen. VIL c. 1. 3 Hen. VHI. c. 5 ; & 2 & 
3 Edw. VI. c. 2. See Hale, Pleaa of ihe Crowa, 
book i. c. 63. 



300 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



The only person who ventured to express 
the general feeling respecting the army was 
Mr. Samuel Johnson, who had been chaplain 
to Lord Russell; and who was then in prison 
for a work which he had published some 
years before against the succession of James, 
under the title of "Julian the Apostate."* 
He now wrote, and sent to an agent to be 
dispersed (for there was no proof of actual 
dispersion or salet), an address to the army, 
expostulating with them on the danger of 
serving under illegally commissioned officers, 
and for objects inconsistent with the safety 
of their country. He also wrote another 
paper, in which he asserted that " resistance 
maybe used in case our religion or our rights 
should be invaded." For these acts he was 
tried, convicted, and sentenced to pay a 
small fine, to be thrice pilloried, and to be 
whipped by the common hangman from 
Newgate to Tyburn. For both these publica- 
tions, his spirit was, doubtless, deserving of 
the highest applause. The prosecution in the 
first case can hardly be condemned, and the 
conviction still less : but the cruelty of the 
punishment reflects the highest dishonour on 
the judges, more especially on Sir Edward 
Herbert, whose high pretensions to morality 
and humanity deeply aggravate the guilt of 
his concurrence in this atrocious judgment. 
Previous tc its infliction, he was degraded 
from his sacred character by Crew, Sprat, 
and White, three bishops authorised to exer- 
cise ecclesiastical jurisdiction in the diocese 
of London during the suspension of Compton. 
When, as part of the formality, the Bible 
was taken out of his hands, he struggled to 
preserve it, and bursting into tears, cried 
out, "You CTnnot take from me the consola- 
tion contained hi the sacred volume." The 
barbarous judgment was "executed with 
great rigour and cruelt}^"]: In the course 
of a painful and ignominous progress of two 
miles through crowded streets, he received 
three hundred and .seventeen stripes, inflicted 
with a whip of nine cords knotted. It will 
be a consolation to the reader, as soon as he 
has perused the narrative of these enormities, 
to learn, though with some disturbance of 
the order of time, that amends were in some 
measure made to Mr. Johnson, and that 
his persecutors were reduced to the bitter 
mortification of humbling themselves before 
their victim. After the Revolution, the judg- 
ment pronounced on him was voted by the 
House of Commons to be illegal and cruel. § 
Crew, Bishop of Durham, one of the com- 
missioners who deprived him, made him a 
considerable compensation in money ;ll and 

• State Trials, vol. xi. p. 1339. 

t In fact, however, many were dispersed. — 
Kennet, liistoiy, vol. iii. p. 450. 

t Commniis' Journals, 24lh June, 1690. These 
are the words of the Report of a Committee who 
e.vamined evidence on the case, and whose reso- 
lutions were adopted by the House. They suf- 
ficiently show that Echard's extenuating state- 
ments are false. 

^ Ibid. 

n Narcissus Luttrell, February, 1690. 



Withins, the Judge who delivered the sen- 
tence, counterfeited a da.igerous illness, and 
preteirded that his dying hours were disturbed 
by the remembrance of what he had done, 
in order to betray Johnson, through his hu- 
mane and Christian feelings, into such a 
declaration of forgiveness as might contribute 
to shelter the cruel judge from further ani- 
madversion.* 

The desire of the King to propagate his 
religion was a natural consequence of zealou.s 
attachment to it. But it was a very dangerous 
quality in a monarch, especially when the 
principles of religious liberty were not adopt- 
ed by any European government. The ro) al 
apostle is seldom convinced of the good faith 
of the opponent whom he has failetl to con- 
vert: he soon persuades himself that the 
pertinacity of the heretic arises more from 
the depravity of his nature than from the 
errors of his judgment. He first shows dis- 
pleasure to his perverse antagonists; he then 
withdraws advantages from them ; he, in 
many cases, may think it reasonable to bring 
them to reflection by some degree of hard- 
ship ; and the disappointed disputant may at 
last degenerate into the furious persecutor. 
The attempt to convert the army was pecu- 
liarly dangerous to the King's own object. 
He boasted of the number of converts in one 
of his regiments of Guards, without consider- 
ing the consequences of teaching controversy 
to an army. The political canvass carried 
on among the officers, and the controversial 
sermons preached to the soldiers, probably 
contributed to awaken that spirit ol inquiry 
and discussion in his camp which he ought 
to have dreaded as his most formidable 
enemy. He early destined the revenue of 
the Archbishop of York to be a provision for 
converts,! — being probably sincere in his 
professions, that he meant only to make il 
one for those who had sacrificed interest to 
religion. But experience shows how easily 
such a provision swells into a reward, and 
how naturally it at length becomes a pre- 
mium for hypocrisy. It was natural that his 
passion for making proselytes should show 
itself towards his own children. The Pope, 
in his conversations with Lord Castlemaine, 
said, that without the conversion of the Prin- 
cess Anne, no advantage obtained for the 
Catholic religion could be permanently se- 
cured. t The King assented to this opinion, 
and had, indeed, before attempted to dispose 
his daughter favourably to his religion, in- 
fluenced probably by the parental kindness, 
which was one of his best qualities. § He 
must have considered as hopeless the case 
of his eldest daughter, early removed from 
her father, and the submissive as well as 
aff'ectionate wife of a husband of decisive 
character, who was also the leader of the 
Protestant cause. To Anne, therefore, his 
attention was turned : but with her he found 



♦ State Trials, vol. xi. p. 1354. 
t D'Adda, 10th May, 1686.— MS. 
t Barillon, 27th June.— Fox MSS. 
i D'Adda, supra. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



301 



insurmountable difficulties. Both these prin- 
cesses, after their father had become a Ca- 
tholic, were considered as the hope of the 
Protestant religion, and accordingly trained 
in the utmost horror of Popery. Their par- 
tialities and resentments were regulated by 
difference of religion , their political import- 
ance and their splendid prospects were de- 
pendent on the Protestant Church. Anne 
was surrounded by zealous Churchmen; she 
was animated by her preceptor Compton; 
her favourites Lord and Lady Churchill had 
become determined partisans of Protestant- 
ism ; and the King found in the obstinacy of 
his daughter's character, a resistance hardly 
to be apprehended from a young princess of 
slight understanding.* Some of the reasons 
of this zeal for converting her clearly show 
that, whether the succession was actually 
held out to her as a lure or not, at least there 
was an intention, if she became a Catholic, 
to prefer her to the Princess of Orange. Bon- 
repoS; a minisler of ability, had indeed, at a 
somewhat earlier period, tried the effect of 
that temptation on her husband. Prince 
George. t He ventured to ask his friend the 
Danish envoy, " whether the Prince had any 
ambition to raise his consort to the throne at 
the expense of the Princess Mary, which 
seemed to be practicable if he became a 
Catholic." The envoy hinted this bold sug- 
gestion to the Prince, who appeared to receive 
it well, and even showed a willingness to 
be instructed on the controverted questions. 
Bonrepos found means to supply the Princess 
Anne with Catholic books, which, for a mo- 
ment, she showed some willingness to con- 
sider. He represented her to his Court as 
timid and silent, but ambitious and of some 
talent, with a violent hatred for the Queen. 
He reported his attempts to the King, who 
hstened to him with the utmost pleasure ; 
and the subtile diplomatist observes, that, 
though he might fail in the conversion, he 
should certainly gain the good graces of 
James by the effort, which his knowledge 
of that monarch's hatred of the Prince of 
Orange had been his chief inducement to 
hazard. 

The success of the King himself, in his 
attempts to make proselytes, was less than 
might have been e.xpected from his zeal and 
influence. Parker, originally a zealous Non- 
conformist, aftewards a slanderous buffoon, 
and an Episcopalian of persecuting principles, 
earned the bishopric of O.xford by showing 
a strong disposition to favour, if not to be 
reconciled to, the Church of Rome. Two 
bishops publicly visited Mr. Leyburn the 
Catholic prelate, at his apartments in St. 
James' Palace, on his beuig made almoner 
to the King, when it was, unhappily, impos- 
sible to impute their conduct to liberality or 
charity. t Walker, the Master of University 

* Barillon, supra. 

t Bonrepos, 28ih March.— Fox MSS. 

t D'Adda, 2l8t January, 1686,— MS. The 
King and Queen took the sacrament at St. James' 
Cbapel " Monsig" Vescovo Leyburn, passato 



College in Oxford, and three of the fellows 
of that society, were the earliest and most 
noted of the few open converts among the 
clergy. ' L'Estrange, though he had tor five- 
and-twenty years written all the scurrilous 
libels of the Court, refused to abandon the 
Protestant Church. Dryden, indeed, con- 
formed to the doctrines of his master;* and 
neither the critical time, nor his general cha* 
racter, have been sufficient to deter some of 
the admirers of that great poet from seriously 
maintaining that his conversion was real. 
The same persons who make this stand for 
the conscientious character of the poet of 
a profligate Court, have laboured with all 
their might to discover and exaggerate those 
human frailties from which fervid piety and 
intrepid integrity did not altogether preserve 
Milton, in the evil days of his age, and 
poverty, and blindness.t The King failed 
in a personal attempt to converi Lortl Dart- 
mouth, whom he considered as his most 
faithful servant for having 'advised him to 
bring Irish troops into England, such being 
more worthy of trust than others :i: — a re- 
markable instance of a man of honour ad- 
hering inflexibly to the Church of England, 
though his counsels relating to civi' affairs 
were the most fatal to public liberty. Mid- 
dleton, one of the secretaries of state, a man 
of ability, supposed to have no strong prin- 
ciples of religion, was equally inflexible. The 
Catholic divine who was sent to him began 
by attempting to reconcile his understanding 
to the mysterious doctrine of transubstantia- 
tion. "Your Lordship," said he, '-believes 
the Trinity." — " Who told you so ? " answer- 
ed Middleton ; " you are come here to prove 
your own opinions, not to ask about mine." 
The astonished priest is said to have imme- 
diately retired. Sheffield, Earl of INTnlgrave, 
is also said to have sent away a monk who 
came to convert him by a jest upon the same 
doctrine : — " I have convinced myself," said 
he, " by much reflection that God made man ; 
but I cannot believe that man can make 
God." But though there is no reasoi! to iloubt 



da alcuni giorni nell' apartamcnto de St. Jnmes 
destinato al gran Elimosiniere de S. M. in habito 
hingo nero portando la croce nera, si fa \edere in 
publico visitando i minisiri del Principe e altri: 
tnrono un giorno per fargli una visita due vescovi 
Protestant!." As this occurred before the pro- 
motion of the two profligate prelates, Parker and 
Cartwright, one of these visitors must liave been 
Crew, and the other was, too probably, Spratt. 
The former had been appoinled Clerk of the 
Closet, and Dean of the Chapel Royal, a few 
days before. 

* " Dryden, the famous play-writer, and his 
two sons, and Mrs. Nelly, were said to go to 
mass. Such proselytes were no great loss to the 
Church." Evelyn, vol. i. p. 594. The rumour, 
as far as it related to Mrs. Gwynne, was calumni- 
ous. 

t Compare Dr. Johnson's biography of Milton 
with his generally excellent life o? Dryden. 

t D'Adda, 10th May.— MS. " Diceva il Re 
che il detio Milord veramente gli aveva dato con 
sigli molto fedeli, uno di quelli era stato di far ve- 
nire truppi Irlandesi in Inghilterra, nelli quaU 
poteva S. M. meglio fidarsi che negli alf*i." 
2A 



302 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



his pleasantry or prot'aneness, his integrity 
is more qucstioiuible.* Colonel Kirke. from 
whom strong scruples were hardly to be ex- 
pected, is said to have answered the King's 
desire, that he would listen to Catholic di- 
vines, by declaring, that when he was at 
Tangier he had engaged himself to the Em- 
peror of Morocco, if ever he changed his 
religion, to become a Mahometan. Lord 
Churchill, though neither insensible to the 
kindness of James, nor distinguished by a 
strict conformity to the precepts of Religion, 
withstood the attempts of his generous bene- 
factor to bring him over to the Church of 
Rome. He said of himself, " that though he 
could not lead the life of a saint, he was re- 
solved, if there was ever occasion for it, to 
show the resolution of a martyr. "t So much 
constancy in religious opinion may seem 
singular among courtiers and soldiers: but 
it must be considered, that the inconsistency 
of men's actions with their opinions is more 
often due to infirmity than to insincerity ; 
that the members of the Protestant party 
were restrained from deserting it by princi- 
ples of honour ; and that the disgrace of de- 
sertion was much aggravated by the general 
unpopularity of the adverse cause, and by 
the violent animosity then raging between 
the two parties who divided England and 
Europe. 

Nothing so much excited the abhorrence 
of all Protestant nations against Louis XIV., 
as the measures which he adopted against 
his subjects of that religion. As his policy 
on that subject contributed to the downfall 
of James, it seems proper to state it more 
fully than the internal occurrences of a fo- 
reign country ought generally to be treated 
in English history. The opinions of the Re- 
formers, which triumphed in some countries 
of Europe, and were wholly banished from 
others, had very early divided France and 
Germany into two pow-erful but unequal 
parties. The wars between the princes of 
the Empire which sprung from this source, 
after a period of one hundred and fifty years, 
were finally composed by the treaty of West- 
phalia. In France, where religious enthusi- 
asm was exasperated by the lawless charac- 
ter and mortal animosities of civil war, these 



* He had born made Ijord Chamberlain imme- 
diately alter Jeffreys' circuit, and had been ap- 
pointed a member of the Ecclesiastical Commis- 
Bion, in November, 1685, when Bancroft refused 
to act, in which last office he continued to the last. 
He held out hopes that he might be converted to 
a very late period of the reign, (Barilion, 30th 
August, 1687,) and he was employed by James to 
persuade Sir George Mackenzie to consent to the 
removal of the Test.— (Halifax MSS.) He brought 
a patent for a marquisate to the King half-an-hour 
before King James went away. — (Ibid.) In Oc- 
tober, 1688, he thought it necessary to provide 
against the approaching storm by obtaining a gene- 
ral pardon. Had not Lord Mulgrave written some 
memoirs of his own time, his importance as a 
statesman would not have deserved so full an ex- 
posure of his political character. 

t Coxe, Memoirs of the Duke of Marlborough, 
Tol. i. p. 27. 



hostilities raged for nearly forty years with 
a violence unparalleled in any civilized age 
or countr}'. As soon as Heniy IV. had esta- 
blished his authority by conformity to the 
worship of the majority of his people, the 
first object of his paternal policy was to se- 
cure the liberty of the Protestants, and to 
restore the quiet of the kingdom by a general 
law on this equally arduous and important 
subject. The contending opinions in their 
nature admitted no negotiation or concession. 
The simple and efl'eclual expedient of per- 
mitting them all to be professed with equal 
freedom was then untried in practice, and al- 
most unknown in speculation. The toleration 
of error, according to the receivetl principles 
of that age, differed little from the permis- 
sion of crimes. Amidst such opinions it \Aas 
extremely difficult to frame a specific law 
for the government of hostile sects: and the 
Edict of Nantes, passed by Henry for that 
purpose in the year 1598, must be consider- 
ed as honourable to the wisdom and virtue 
of his Catholic counsellors. This Edict,* 
said to be composed by the great historian 
De Thou, was based on the principle of a 
treaty of peace between belligerent parties, 
sanctioned and enforced by the royal autho- 
rity. Though the transaction was fountied 
merely in humanity and prudence, without 
any reference to religious liberty, some of 
its provisions were conformable to the legiti- 
mate results of that great principle. All 
Frenchmen of the reformed religion v.-ere 
declared to be admissible to every office, 
civil and military, in the kingdom; and they 
were received into all schools and colleges 
without distinction. Dissent from \iie Esta- 
blished Church was exempted from all pen- 
alty or civil inconvenience. The public ex- 
ercise of the Protestant religion was confined 
to those cities and towns where it had been 
formerly granted, and to the mansions of the 
gentry who had seignorial jurisdiction over 
capital crimes. It might, however, be prac- 
tised in other places by the permission of the 
Catholics, who were lords of the respective 
manors. Wherever the wor.ship of the Pro- 
testants was lawful, their religious books 
might freely be bought and sold. They 
might inhabit any part of the kingdom with- 
out molestation for their opinion ; and private 
worship was everywhere protected by the 
exemption of their houses from all legal 
search on account of religion. These restric- 
tions, though they show the Edict to have 
been a pacification between parties, with 
little regard to the conscience of individuals, 
yet do not seem in practice to have much 
limited the religious liberty of French Pro- 
testants. To secure an impartial adminis- 
tration of justice. Chambers, into which Pro- 
testants and Catholics were admitted in equal 
numbers, were established in the principal 
parliaments.t The Edict was declared to be 

* The original is to be found in Benoit, Histoire 
de I'Edit de Nantes, vol. i. app. pp. 62 — 85. 

t Paris, Toulouse, Grenoble, and Bordeaux. 
The Chamber of the Edict at Paris took cogni- 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



303 



a perpetual and irrevocable law. By a sepa- 
rate grraiit executed at Nantes, the King 
authorised the Protestants, for eight years, 
to garrison the towns and places of which 
they were at that time in military possession, 
and to hold them under his authority and 
obedience. The possession of these places 
of security was afterwards continued from 
time to time, and the expense of their garri- 
sons defrayed by the Crown. Some cities also, 
where the majority of the inhabitants were 
Protestants, and where the magistrates, by 
the ancient constitution, regulated the armed 
force, with little dependence on the Crown, 
such as Nismes. Rochelle, and Montauban.* 
though not formerly garrisoned by the Reform- 
ed, still constituted a part of their military se- 
curity for the observance of the Edict. An 
armed sect of dissenters must have afibrded 
many plausible pretexts for attack; and Car- 
dinal Richelieu had justifiable reasons of 
policy for depriving the Protestants of those 
important fortresses, the possession of which 
gave them the character of an independent 
republic, and naturally led them into dan- 
gerous connection with Protestant and rival 
states. His success in accomplishing that 
important enterprise is one of the most splen- 
did parts of his administration; though he 
owed the reduction of Rochelle to the fee- 
bleness and lukewarmness, if not to the 
treachery, of the Court of England. Riche- 
lieu discontinued the practice of granting the 
royal licence to the Protestant body to hold 
political assemblies; and he adopted it as a 
maxim of permanent policy, that the highest 
dignities of the army and the state should be 
granted to Protestants only in cases of ex- 
traordinary merit. In other respects that 
haughty minister treated them as a mild 
conqueror. When they were reduced to en- 
tire submission, in 1629, an edict of pardon 
was issued at Nismes, confirming all the 
civil and religious principles which had been 
granted by the Edict of Nantes. t At the 
moment that they were reduced to the situa- 
tion of private subjects, they disappear from 
the history of France. They are not men- 
tioned in the dissensions which disturbed 
the minority of Louis XIV., nor are they 
named by that Prince in the enumeration 
which he gives of objects of public anxiety 
at the period which preceded his assumption 
of the reins of government, in 1660. The 
great families attached to them by birth and 
honour during the civil Avars were gradually 
allured to the religion of the Court; while 
those of inferior condition, like the members 
of other sects excluded from power, applied 



zance of all causes where Protestanis were parties 
in Normandy and Brittany. 

* Cautionary Towns. — " La Rochelle surtout 
avail des traites avec les Rois de France qui la 
rendoient presque independante." — Benoit, vol. i. 
p. 251. 

t Benoit, vol. ii. app. 92. Madame de Diiras, 
the sister of Turenne, was so zealous a Protestant 
that she wished to educate as a minister, her son, 
who afterwards went to England, and became 
Lord Feversham. — Vol. iv. p. 129. 



themselves to the pursuit of wealth, and 
were patronised by Colbert as the most in- 
genious manufacturers in France. A decla- 
ration, prohibiting the relapse of converted 
Protestants under pain of confiscation, indi- 
cated a disposition to persecute, which that 
prudent minister had the good fortune to 
check. An edict punishing emigration with 
death, though long after turned into the 
sharpest instrument of ir^olerance, seems 
originally to have nowet solely from the 
general prejudices on tnat subject, which 
have infected the laws and policy of most 
states. Till the peace of Nimeguen, when 
Louis had reached the zenilh of his power, 
the French Protestants experienced only 
those minute vexations from which secta- 
ries, discouraged by a government, are sel- 
dom secure. 

The immediate cause of a general and 
open departure from the moderate system, 
under which France had enjoyed undis- 
turbed quiet for half a century, is to be dis- 
cerned only in the character of the Kijig, 
and the inconsistency of his conduct with 
his opinions. Those conflicts between his 
disorderly passions and his unenlightened 
devotion, which had long agitated his mind, 
were at last composed under the ascendant 
of Madame de Maintenon ; and in this situ- 
ation he was seized with a desire of signal- 
izing his penitence, and atoning for his sins, 
by the conversion of his heretical subjects.* 
Her prudence as well as moderation prevent- 
ed her from counselling the employment of 
violence against the members of her former 
religion ; nor do such means appear to have 
been distinctly contemplated by the King; — 
still she dared not moderate the zeal on . 
which her greatness was founded. But the 
passion for conversion, armed with absolute 
power, fortified by the sanction of mistaken 
conscience, intoxicated by success, exaspe- 
rated by resistance, anticipated and carried 
beyond its purpose by the zeal of subaltern 
agents, deceived by their false representa- 
tions, often irrevocably engaged by their 
rash acts, and too warm to be considerate in 
choosing means or weighing consequences, 
led the government of France, under a prince 
of no cruel nature, by an almost unconscious 
progress, in the short space of six years, 
from a successful system of toleration to the 
most unprovoked and furious persecution 
ever carried on against so great, so innocent, 
and so meritorious a body of men. The 
Chambers of the Edict were suppressed on 
general grounds of judicial reformation, and 
because the concord between the two reli- 
gions rendered them no longer necessary. 
By a series of edicts the Protestants wero 
excluded from all public offices, and from 
all professions which were said to give them 
a dangerous influence over opinion. They 
were successively rendered incapable oil 

* " Le Roi pense serieusement a la conver 
sion des heretiques, et dans peu on y travaillera 
tout de bon.'' — Mad. de Maintenon, Oct. 28ih, 
1679. 



304 



MACKINTOSns MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



beiiii; jiulir''s, aJvomitos. iittoniovs. notaries, 
oK'iks, oliictis, or »'vt>ii alttMulauts ot' courts 
of law. Tlit'v woro baiiishod in nurltitU(lot» 
iVom platv's in iho ivwnuo, jo whioli their 
h.dnt ol" n\(".hoil and caloiilalioii li;ul ilirocttnl 
tli(-ir pur.<uiis. TUt>y wtMV torbiildon to ox- 
tMvi.-«o llu" oi'ouixitious ot" jniuttMs ami book- 
?oll<Ms.* KviMi tho ivu'ilit.' and noutral pro- 
l'(>s#ioii of nH'dioiiu\ iKnvn to its liuniblest 
branolu's, wasi'lostnl to thoir industry. Tlun' 
wort> prohibited t'lvm inttuuiarriage willi 
Ouholios, and tVoui hirinij Catliolio domos- 
tios, williout t>.\oeption ot oonvonionce or 
iieoossity. JNInltitudos ol men \vero thus 
driven troM\ tluMr employments, without any 
regard to the habits, expeetations. and plans, 
wliioh they had formed on the t'ailh of the 
laws, besides the misery whieh innnedi- 
ately tlo\v(\l from tliese acts of injustiee. 
they ixmsed and stimulated tlie bii:otrv of 
those, who need oidy the slii:htest mark of 
the temper of i^overnment to intliet on their 
dissentinij eounlrymen those minute but 
ceaseless vexations which embitter the daily 
course of hnn\an life. 

As the Edict of Nautes had oidy permitted 
the public worship of Protestants iu certain 
places, it h:'.d often been a question whether 
l>artieularc!rurches were erect t>d conformably 
to that law. Tiie renewal and nuiliiplication 
of suits on lliis subject furnished the nutans of 
strikiui):ada!\e'erous blow ai<-.nnst the Ueform- 
cd reliii'ion. l^ejudice and servile tribunals 
adjud rod umliitndesof churches to be demo- 
lished by tiecrees which were olteu ille<;~.il, 
and always unjust. By these judiiments a 
hundred thous;ind Protestants were, in fact, 
prohibited from the exerci.se of their r(Mii.'ion. 
They were deprived oi' the means of educa- 
tiuii' their cleri^y by the snppressiou of their 
tlourishiiiii' collt^^-es at Sedan, Saumur, and 
Montaubau, which had lonij- been numbered 
amonir the chief ornaments of Protestant 
Europe. Other expedients were devised to 
jnirsue them into their tamilies. and harass 
ihem in those situations where the disturb- 
ance of ipiiet inlliots the deept>st wounds on 
human nature. The local judiics were au- 
thorised and directed to visit the death-beds 
of Protestants, and to interroij-ate them whe- 
ther they determined to die in obstinate 
heresy. The.r children were declared com- 
petent to abjure their errors at the a^^e of 
seven ; and oy such mockery of conversion 
thev mii:ht escape, at that ai;e, from the 
alleetionate care of their ixirenrs. Everv 
childish sport was received as evidence of 
abjuiTitiou; and everv parent dri>aded the 
presence of a Catholic ueiiihbom\ as the 
means of ensnarius; a child into irrevocable 
alienation. Each of these dis;\bilities or se- 
verities was iullicted by a separate edict; 
and each was founded on the allej^ition of 
some special ijrounds, which seemed to 
ffuard aipiiiist any ijenenil conclusion at va- 
riance with the privileges of Protestants. 



* It 19 singular that they were not excluded 
'rom Ui« military service by sea or land. 



On the other hand, a third of the Kinij:'.^ 
savings on his privy purse was mM apart to 
recompense converts to the Establislu-d reli- 
jiion. Tiie new conveils were allowed a 
delay of three years tor the paxnient of their 
ilebis ; and they were exempted lor tlu> sauio 
pt>riod from the obliiialion ol ali'ordiMii' tpiar- 
ters to soldiers. Tliis last privileye seems to 
have suiiyested to l.ouvois, a minister of 
ijreat talent but of tyrannical chaiacler. u 
new and more terrible instrument of conver- 
sion. He ilespatched iciiiments of diai^oons 
into the Protestant provinces, with iiistiuc- 
tions that they shouKl be almost entirely 
ipiarteivil on the richer Protestants. 'Jhis 
practice, which afterwards, umler liie name 
of '• Drai^oiuuuhs,'' became so infamous 
throuuhont Europe, was attended by all the 
outiaiicsand barbaritit\s to be e\pecn>d from 
a licentious soldiery let loo.-ic on those A\luMn 
ib.ev consuhuiHl as the eneniies of iheirKiiiir, 
ami the blasphemers of their reiiiiion. lis 
eilects became soon conspicuous in the 
feiiiiieil conversion of peat cities and ex- 
tensive provinces; which, instead of open- 
iiiii' the eyes of the Government to the atro- 
city of the policy adopted under its t^anction, 
serveil only to create a deplorable t xpeeta- 
tiou of easy, immediate, and complete suc- 
cess. At Nisnies, (Ut.OOO Protestants abjured 
their leliiiion in three days. The Kini;- was 
informed by one despatch that all Poiteu 
was converted, and that in some parts of 
Daunhine the same cliani:e had been pio- 
ilnced by the terror of the dragoons witliout 
their actual presence.* 

All these expedients of disfitmchisemrnt, 
chicane, vexation, seduction, and military 
license, almost amounting to military execu- 
tion, were combined wilh declarations of 
respect for the Eilict of Nantes, and of reso- 
lutions to maintain the religious rights of the 
new churches. Every successive eilict siuike 
the language of toleration and liberality: 
every separate exclusion was justified on a 
distinct gromul of specious policy. The 
most severe hardships were j^lausibly repre- 
sented as necessarily arising from a just in- 
terpretation and administration of the law. 
JNIany of the restrictions were in themselves 
small; many tried in one province, and 
slowly extended to all; some apparently 
excused by the impatience of the sntrerers 
under preceding restraints. In the end, 
lunvever, iho unhappy Protestants saw them- 
selves suntnuuied by a persecution which, 
in its full extent, had probably never been 
contemplated by the author; and, after all 
the privileges were destroyed, nothing re- 
mained but the fi)imality of repealing the 
law by which these privileges had been con- 
ferred. 

At length, on ll\o 15th of October^ 1685, 
the Government of France, not uiiWilIingly 

* Lomontey. Nouveau.x Menioiresde Pangeau, 
p. 19. The fate of the province of Benrn was 
peculiarly dreudlul. It may bo seen in Rulhiere 
(Eolaircisscinens, &c. chap, xv.), and Bcnoit, liv 
\\a. 



RKWVM OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



30S 



deceivo'l by feiqriRd converBionfl, ari'?, a« it 
DOW appf.'.ifH, actuatfvl mor<; by BuddfTi im- 
pnlfWi than lorijr-fxcnrM.'dilatod <\(tK'i',iii, r<;vokr'<l 
th« Edict of Naiit'.'B. In the f)r«'ambl« of 
the edict orrc'vocatiori it was allf^r^d. ifiat. 
as tho b<;ttf!r and gn^ator part of thow; who 

Erofefisod lh« pretf-ndcd Iu;formf;d rrdlKJori 
ad embraf,f;d the Catholic failli, the Edict 
oi NantfiH had bccomf; unrir;c»;H«ary. Tho 
JTiinistcrBof tho RaformfA failh were banittli- 
ed from France in fifteen days, undrjr pain 
of the galleys. All Protestant bcIiooIs were 
shut up; and the unconverted children, at 
first allowed to remain in France without 
Snnoyance on account of their reJi^fion, were 
8r)on afterwards ordered to be taken from 
iheir parents, and committed to the care of 
their nearest Catholic relations, or, in default 
of such relations, to the magistrates. The 
return of the exiled ministers, and the at- 
tendance on a Protestant churcii for relijjious 
worship, were made punishable with flc-alh. 
Carrying? venj^eance beyond the grave, an- 
other edict enjoined, that if any new con- 
verl« should refuse the Catholic sacraments 
on their death-bed, when rerjuired to receive 
thern by a magistrate, their bodi<'» should 
be drawn on a hurdle along the public way, 
ami then cast into the common sewers. 

The conversion s/jught by James with most 
apparent eagernefis wa« that of IxKd Ifoches- 
ler. Though he had lost all favour, an<I even 
confidence, James long hesitated to remove 
him from oflice. The latter was willing, but 
afraid to take a measure which would involve 
a final rujjture with the Church of England. 
Rochester's connection with (he family of 
Hyde, and some remains pfMhaps of gratitude 
for past services, and a drc*ad of increasing 
the numbers of his enemies, together with 
the powerful influence of old luibits of inti- 
macy, kept his mind for some time ifi a state 
of irresf^Iulion and fluctuation. His dissa- 
tisfaction with the Lord Treasurer became 
gfmerally known in the summer, and appears 
to have been considerably increased by the 
supposed connection of that nobleman with 
the episcopalian a'Iministration in Vx-JiUaud; 
of whose removal it will bec^irne our duty 

Eresently to speak.* The sudden return of 
,ady Dorchester revived the spirits of his 
adherents. t But the Queen, a person of 
great importance in these affairs, wa.s, on 
this occasion, persuaded to repress her anger, 
and to profeKs a reliance on the promise ma<Je 
by the King not to Ree his mistress. "t For- 
merly, indeed, th'^ violence of th'; Queen's 
temper is said to have been one Bnurcn of 
her influence over the King; and her as- 
cendency v.a« observed to be always greatest 
after tho>:e paroxysms of rage to which she 
was excited by the detection of his infideli- 
ties. But, in circumstances fo critical, her 
experience*! a<lviser8<li«suaded her from re- 



• Barillon, 18th July.— Fox MSS. 
t Id. 2d Sept. -Ibid. 

t Report of an agent of Louis XIV. in London, 
in 1686, of which a copy is in my possession. 
39 



peating hazardous experiments;* and the 
amours of her hii.^band are wiid, at this 
time, to liave become tio vulgar and obscure, 
as to elude her vigilance. She was mild and 
submissive to hire ; but she showed h'^r sus- 
picion of tlie motive of ]>ady Dorchester's 
journey by violent rciH^ntrnent against Cla- 
rendon, the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, \\ horn 
she believed to lie jjrivy to it, and who in 
vain attempted to aj/pease her anger by the 
most hurnl.'le — not to say abject — submis- 
sions. t She at this moment seemed to have 
had more than ordinary influence, and wan 
admitted into the secrf;t of all affairs. t Sup- 
jwrted, if not instigated by her, Sunderland 
and Petre, with the more ambitious and tur- 
bulent part of the Catholics, represented to 
the Kirtg that nothing favourable to the 
Catholics was to be hoped from Parliament 
as long as his Court and Council were divi- 
ded, and as long as he was surrounded by a 
Protrjstant f^ifjal, at the head of which was 
the Lord Treasurer, professing the most ex- 
travagant zeal for the English Church; tfiat, 
notwithstanding the pious zeal of his Ma- 
jesty, nothing imjKjrtant had yet been done 
(or religion ; that not one w>nsiderable person 
had fleclarf;(l himself a Catholic; that no 
secret believer would avow himself, and no 
wf,'ll-diHfKjKed Protestant would be reconciled 
to the Church, till the King's administration 
was uniform, and the principles of govern- 
ment more decisive; and iLat the time wa» 
now come when it was necessary for his Ma- 
jesty to execute the intention whie?i he had 
long entertained, either to bring the Trrjasu- 
rer to more just sentiments, or to remove 
him from the imp^jrfant office which he filled, 
and thus prove to the public that there was 
no means of preserving power or credit but 
by Bupfwrting the King's measures for the 
Catholic religion.^ They reminded him of 
the necessity of taking means to perpetuate 
the benefits which he designed for the Catho- 
lics, and of the alarming facility with which 
the Tudrjr princes had made and suVjverted 
religious revolutions. Even the delicate 
question of the succession was agitated, 
and some L'ld the boldness of throwing 
out Buggestiorrs to James on the most ef- 
fectual means of insuring a Catholic suc- 
cessor. These extraordinary Buggestiona 
appear to have been in some meaHure known 
to Van Citters, the Dutch minister, who ex- 



* In a M.S. among the Stuart papers in fioHscs 
sion of Ills .Majesiy, which was written \>y Sheri- 
dan. S«crfiarv for Ireland under Tyrcnmel, we 
are told tint PeJre and Sunderland awrrefi to dis- 
minH Mrs. Sediey, under prrtcnce of nioraiiiy, hut 
really beniiuse she wan thoiigiit the support of Ro- 
cheKler; and tliai ii was efiecfed hy L:idy Powj* 
and Bislif/p Giftard, to the Qucen'H gr'-at joy.-— 
See farther narillon, 5th Sept.— Fox MSS. 

t r,f;tierB of flenry, Karl of Clarendon. 

t iJarillon. 2'Jd Sept.— Fox MSS. 

^ 'I'he words of Barillon, " pour retablissemenc 
de la religion Catholique," beiriz capable of two 
Benees, have beca translated in the text in a man 
ner which admita of a double interpretation. The 
context removes all ambiguity in this case. 
2 a2 



306 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



pressed his fears that projects were forming 
against the riglits of the Princess of Orange. 
The more aliiiient and considerable Catho- 
lics themselves became alarmed, seeing, as 
clearly as their brethren, the dangers to 
•which they might be exposed under a Pro- 
testant successor. But they thought it wiser 
to entitle themselves to his favour by a mo- 
derate e.xercise of their inlluence, than to 
[)rovoke his hostility by precautions so un- 
ikely to be effectual ag-ainst his succession 
or his religion. Moderation had its usual 
fate : tlie faction of z.ealots, animated by the 
superstition, the jealousy, and the violence 
of the Queen, became the most powerful. 
Even at this time, however, the Treasurer 
was thought likely to have maintained his 
ground for some time longer, if lie had en- 
tirely conformed to the King's wishes. His 
friends Ormonde, Middletou, Feversham, 
Dartmouth, and Preston were not without 
hope that he might retain office. At last, in 
the end of October, James declared that Ro- 
chester must either go to mass, or go out of 
office.* His advisers represented to him 
that it was dangerous to leave this alterna- 
tive to the Treasurer, which gave him the 
means of s;xving his place by a pretended 
conformity. The King replied that he haz- 
ardet! nothing by the proposal, for he knew 
that Rochester would never conform. If 
this observation was sincere, it seems to have 
been rash ; for some of Rochester's friends 
still believed he would do whatever was ne- 
cessary, and advised him to keep his office 
at any price. t The Spanish and Dutch am- 
bassadors expresseil their fear of the full of 
their last friend in the Cabinet ;t and Louis 
XIV. considered the measure as certainly 
favourable lo religion and to his policy, 
whether it ended in the conversion of Ro- 
chester or in his dismissal ; in acquiring a 
friend, or in disabling an enemy. § 

It was agreed that a conference on the 
questions in dispute should be held in the 
presence of Rochester, by Dr. Jane and Dr. 
Patrick on behalf of the Church of England, 
and by Dr. Giffard and Dr. Tiklen II on the 
part of the Church of Rome. It is not easy 
to believe that the King or his minister 
should have considered a real change of 
opinion as a possible result of such a dis- 
pute. Even if the influence of attachment, 
of antipathy, of honour, and of habit on the 
human mind were suspended, the conviction 
of a man of understanding on questions of 
great importance, then the general object of 
study and discussion, could hardly be con- 



* Barillon, 4th Nov. — Fox MSS. It is curious 
that t}ie report of Rochester's dismissal is men- 
tioned hy Narcissus Luttrell on the same day on 
which Barillon's despatch is dated. 

t Id. 9th Dec— Ibid. 

X Id. ISth Nov.— Ibid. 

^ The King to Barillon. Versailles, 19ih Oct. — 
Ibid. 

fi This peculiarly respectable divine assumed 
the name of Godden ; — a practice to which Catho- 
lic clergymen were then sometimes reduced to 
olude persecution. 



ceived to depend on the accidental superi* 
ority in skill and knowledge exhibited by 
the disputants of either party in the course 
of a single debate. But the proposal, if made 
by one party, was too sin-cious and popular 
to be prudently rejected by the other: they 
were alike interested in avoiding the impu- 
tation of shrinking from an argumentative 
e.xatnitiation of their faith. The King was 
desirous of being relievetl from his own in- 
decision by a signal proof of Rochester's ob- 
stinacy ; and in the midst of his fluctuations 
he may sometimes have indulged a linger- 
ing hope that the disputation might supply 
a decent excuse for the apparent conformity 
of his old friend and servant. In all pro- 
longed agitations of the mind, it is in succes- 
sion alTected by motives not very consistent 
with each other. Rochester foresaw that 
his popularity among Protestants would be 
enhanced by his triumphant resistance to the 
sophistry of their adversaries; and he gave 
the King, by consenting to the conference, a 
pledge of his wish to carry compliance to the 
utmost boundaries of integrity. He hoped 
to gain time; he retained the means of pro- 
fiting by fortunate accidents; at least he 
postponed the fatal hour of removal; and 
there were probably momcjits in which his 
fainting virtue looked for some honourable 
pretence for deserting a vanquished party. 

The conferetice took place on the 301 li of 
November.* Each of the contending par- 
ties, as usual, claimed the victoiy. The- 
Protestant writers, though they agree that 
the Catholics were defeated, vary from each 
other. Some ascribe the victory to the two 
divines; others to the arguments of Roches- 
ter himself; and one of the disputants of the 
English Church said that it was unneces.sary 
for them to do much. One writer tells us 
that the King said he never saw a good cause 
so ill defended ; and all agree that Roches- 
ter closed the conference with the most de- 
termined declaration that he was confirmed 
in his religion.t Gifl'ard, afterwards a Catho- 
lic prelate of exemplary character, published 
an account of the particulars of the contro- 
versy, which gives a directly opposite account 
of it. In the only part of it which can in any 
degree be tried by historical evidence, the 
Catholic account of the dispute is more pro- 
bable. Rochester, if we may believe Giffard, 
at the end of the conference, said — -'The 
disputants have discoursed learnedly, and I 
desire time to consider."! Agreeably to this 
statement, Barillon, after mentioning the 
dispute, told his Court that Rochester still 



• Dodd, vol. iii. p. 419. Barillon's short ac- 
count of the conference is dated on the 12ih De- 
cember, which, after making allowance for the 
difference of calendars, makes the despatch to be 
written two days after the conference, which de- 
serves to be mentioned as a proof of Dodd's singu- 
lor cxuctncss* 

t Burnet, Echard, and Kennet. There are other 
contradictions in the testimony of these historians, 
and it is evident that Burnet did not implicitly be- 
lieve Rochester's own story. 

X Dodd, vol. iii. p. 420. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



307 



showed a disposition to be instructed with 
respect to the difFiculties which prevented 
him from declaring himself a Catholic, and 
addetl tliat some even then expected that he 
would determine for conformity.* This des- 
patch was written two days after the dispu- 
tation by a minister who could neither be 
misinformed, nor have any motive to deceive. 
Some time afterwards, indeed, Rochester 
made great efforts to preserve his place, and 
laboured to persuade the moderate party 
among the Cathohcs that it was their interest 
to support him.t He did not, indeed, offer 
to sacrifice his opinion.s ; but a man who, after 
the loss of all confidence and real power, 
clung, with such tenacity to mere office, 
under a system of which he disapproved 
every pj-inciple, could hardly be supposed 
to be unassailable. The violent or decisive 

Soliticiansof the Catholic party dreaded that 
lochester might still take the King at his 
word, and defeat all their plans by a feigned 
compliance. James distrusted his .sincerity, 
suspected that his object was to amuse and 
temporiso, and at length, weary of his own 
irresolution, took the decisive measure of re- 
moving the only minister by whom the Pro- 
testant party had a hold on his councils. 

The place of Lord Rochester was accord- 
ingly supplied en the 5lh of January, 1G87, 
by commissioners, of whom two weie Catho- 
lics, Lord Bellasis of the cautious, and Lord 
Dover of the zealous party j and the remain- 
ing three, Lord GodolphLn, Sir John Ernley, 
and Sir Stephen Fox, were probably chosen 
for their capacity aivJ experience in the af- 
fairs of finance. Two days afterwards Par- 
liament, in which the Protestant Tories, the 
followers of Rochester, predominated, was 
prorogued. James endeavoured to soften 
Ihe removal of his minister by a pension of 
4000i. a year on the Post Office for a term 
of years, together with the polluted grant of 
a perpetual annuity of ITOOZ. a year out of 
ihe forfeited estate of Lord Gray,} for the 
sake of which the King, under a false show 
of mercy, had spared the life of that noble- 
man. The King was no longer, however, at 
pains to conceal his di.spleasure. He told 
iJarillon that Rochester favoured the French 
Protestants, whom, as a term of reproach, he 
called '•' Calvin ist?," and added that this was 
one of many instances in which the senti- 
ments of the minister were opposite to those 
of his master. § He informed D'Adda that 
the Treasurer's obstinate penseverance in 
error had at length rendered his removal in- 
evitable ; but that wary minister adds, that 
they who had the most sanguine hopes of 
the final success of the Catholic cause were 
obliged to own that, at that moment, the 
public temper was inflamed and exasperated, 
and that the cry of the people was, that 
eince Rochester was dismissed because he 
would not become a Catholic, there must 

* Bariilon, 12ih Dec— Fox MSS. 
t Id. 30th Dec— Ibid. 

t Evelyn, vol. i. p. 595. 

* Bariilon, 13ih Jan. 1687.— Fox MSS. 



be a design to expel all Protestants from 
office.* 

The fall of Rochester was preceded, and 
probably quickened, by an important change 
in the adrnini.strafion of Scotland, and it was 
also connected with a revolution in the go- 
vernment of Ireland, of both w hich events it 
is now necessary to relate the most important 
particulars. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Scotland. — Administration of Queensherry. — 
Conversion of Perth. — Measures conlcm- 
plaled by the King. — DchcUcs in Parliament 
on the King's letter. — Proposed bill of tole- 
ration — unsatisfa/Aory to James. — Adjourn- 
ment of Parliament. — Exercise of prero- 
gative. 

Ireland. — Character of Tyrconnel. — Review 
of the stale of Ireland. — Arrived, of Tyr- 
connel. — His appointment as Lord Deputy. 
— Advancement of Catholics to offices. — 
Tyrconnel aims at the sovereign power in 
Ireland. — Intrigues with France. 

The government of Scotland, under the 
Episcopal ministers of Charles II., was such, 
that, to the Presbyterians, who formed the 
majority of the people, " their native country 
had, by the prevalence of persecution and 
violence, become as insecure as a den of 
robbers. "t The chief place in the adminis- 
tration had been filled for some years by 
Queensberry, a man of ability, the leader of 
the Episcopal party, who, in that character 
as well as from a malrimonial connection 
between their families, was disposed to an 
union of councils with Rochester. t Adopting 
the principles of his English friends, he 
seemed ready to sacrifice the remaining 
liberties of his country, but resolved to adr 
here to the Established Church. The acts 
of the first session in the reign of James are 
such as to have extorted from a great histo- 
rian of calm temper, and friendly to the 
house of Stuart, the reflection that "nothing 
could exceed the abject servility of the 
Scotch nation during this period but the ar- 
bitrary severity of the administration. "§ Not 
content with servility and cruelty for the 
moment, they laid down principles which 
^VOuld render slavery universal and periie- 
tual, by assuring the King •' that they abhor 
and detest all principles and positions which 
are contrary or derogatory to the King's sa- 
cred, supreme, absolute power and authority, 
which none, whether persons or collective 
bodies, can participate of, in any manner or 
on any pretext, but in dependence on him 
and by commission from him."ll 



• D'Adda, lOih Jan 1687.— MS. 
t Hume, History of England, chap. Ixix. 
\ His son had married the niece of Lady Ro 
cheater. 
% Hume, chap. Ixx. 
H Acts of Parliament, vol. vui. p. 459. 



308 



MACKINTOSH'S MSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Bat the jealousies between the King's 
party and that of the Church among the 
scotch ministers were sooner visible than 
those between the corresponding factions in 
the English council; and they seem, in some 
degree, to have limited the severities which 
followed the revolt of Argyle. The Privy 
Council; at the intercession of some ladies 
of distinction, prevented the Marquis of 
Athol from hanging Mr. Charles Campbell, 
then confined by a fever, at the gates of his 
father's castle of Inverary:* and it was pro- 
bably by their representations that James 
was induced to recall instructions which he 
had issued to the Duke of Queensberry for 
the suppression of the name of Campbell ;t 
which would have amounted to a proscrip- 
tion of several noblemen, a considerable 
body of gentry, and the most numerous and 
powerful tribe in the kingdom. They did not, 
however, hesitate in the execution of the 
King's orders to dispense with the Test in 
the case of four peers and twenty-two gen- 
tlemen, who were required by law to take it 
before they exercised the office of commis- 
sioners to assess the supply in their respective 
counties. t 

The Earl of Perth, the Chancellor of Scot- 
land, began now to attack Queensberry by 
means somewhat similar to those employed 
by Sunderland against Rochester. Queens- 
berry had two years before procured the ap- 
pointment of Perth, as it was believed, by a 
present of a sum of 27,O00J. of public moriey 
to the Duchess of Portsmouth. Under a new 
reign, when that lady was by no means a 
favourite, both Queensberry and Perth ap- 
prehended a severe inquisition into this mis- 
application of public money ;§ Perth, whether 
actuated by fear or ambition, made haste to 
consult his security and advancement by 
conforming to the religion of the Court, on 
which Lord Halifax observed, that " his faith 
had made him whole." Queensberry ad- 
hered to the Established Church. 

The Chancellor soon began to exercise 
that ascendency which he acquired by his 
conversion, in such a manner as to provoke 
immediate demonstrations of the zeal against 
the Church of Rome, which the Scotch Pres- 
byterians carried farther than any other Re- 
formed community. He issued an order 
against the sale of any books without license, 
which was universally understood as intend- 
ed to prevent the circulation of controversial 
writings against the King's religion. Glen, 
a bookseller in Edinburgh, when he received 
this warning, said, that he had one book 
which strongly condemned Popery, and de- 
sired to know whether he might continue to 
sell it. Being asked what the book was, he 
answered, "TheBible."!! Shortly afterwards 
the populace manifested their indignation at 
the public celebration of mass by riots, in 

• Foantainhali, Chronicle, vol. i. p. 366. 

t Warrant, 1st June, 1685. — State Paper Office. 

t Warrant, 7ih Dec. — Ibid. 

% Fountainhall, vol. i. p. 189. II Ibid. p. 390. 



the suppression of which several persons 
were killed. A law to inflict adequate pe 
nalties on such offences against the security 
of religious worship would have been per 
fectly just. But as the laws of Scotland had 
however unjustly, made it a crime to be 
present at the celebration of mass, it was 
said, with some plausibility, that the rioters 
had only dispersed an unlawful assembly. 
The lawyers evaded this difficulty by the 
ingenious expedient of keeping out of view 
the origin and object of the tumults, and 
prosecuted the ofienders, merely for riotmg 
in violation of certain ancient statutes, some 
of which rendered that offence capital. They 
were pursued with such singular barbarity 
that one Keith, who was not present at the 
tumult, Avas executed for having said, that 
he would have helped the rioters, and for 
having drank confusion to all Papists; thongh 
he at the same time drank the health of the 
King, and though in both cases he only fol- 
lowed the example of the witnesses on whose 
evidence he was convicted. Attempts were 
vainly made to persuade this poor man to 
charge Queensberry with being accessory to 
the riots, which he had freely ridiculed in 
private. That nobleman was immediately 
after removed from the office of Treasurer, 
but he was at the same time appointed Lord 
President of the Council with a pension, that 
the Court might retabi some hold on him 
during the important discussions at the ap- 
proaching session of Parliament. 

The King communicated to the secret com- 
mittee of the Scotch Privy Council his in- 
tended instructions to the Commissioners 
relative to the measures to be proposed to 
Parliament. They comprehended the repeal 
of the Test, the abrogation of the sanguinary 
laws as far as they related to Papists, the 
admission of these last to all civil and mili- 
tary employments, and the confirmation of 
all the King's dispensations, even in the 
reigns of his successors, \mless they were 
recalled by Parliament. On these terms he 
declared his willingness to assent to any law 
(not repugnant to these things) for securing 
the Protestant religion, and the personal dig- 
nities, offices, and possessions of the clergy, 
and for contmuing all laws against fanati- 
cism.* The Privy Council manifested some 
unwonted scruples about these propositions : 
James answered them angrily.t Perplexed 
by this unexpected resistance, as well as by 
the divisions in the Scottish councils, and 
the repugnance shown by the Episcopalian 
party to any measure which might bring the 
privileges of Catholics more near to a level 
with their own, he commanded the Duke of 
Hamilton and Sir George Lockhart, Presi- 
dent of the Court of Session, to come to Lon» 
don, with a view to ascertain their inclina 
tions, and to dispose them favourably to hia 
objects, but under colour of consulting them 
on the nature of the relief which it might bo 



* 4th March, 1686.— State Paper Office, 
t 18th March.— Ibid. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



309 



prudent to propose for the members of his 
own comtriuriion.* The Scotch negotiators 
(for as such they seem to have acted) con- 
ducted the discussion with no small discre- 
tion and dexterity. They professed their 
readiness to concur in the repeal of the penal 
and .«an;L'uInary laws ap;ainsl Catholics; ob- 
serving, however, the difficulty of proposing 
to confine such an indulgence to one class 
of dissidents, and the policy of moving for a 
general toleration, which it would be as much 
the interests of Presbyterians as of Catholics 
to promote. They added, that it might be 
more politic not to propose the repeal of the 
Test as a measure of government, but either 
to leave it to the spontaneous dis^wsition of 
Parliament, which would very probably re- 

Eeal a law aimed in Scotland against Pres- 
yterians as exclusively as it hiid in England 
been intended to exclude Catholics, or to 
trust to the King's dispensing power, which 
was there nndi.sputed ; — as indeed every part 
of the prerogative was in that country held 
to be above question, and without limits.t 
These propositions embarrassed James and 
hjs more zealous counsellors. The King 
struggled obstinately against the extension 
of the liberty to the Presbyterians. The 
Scotch councillors required, that if the Test 
was repealed, the King should bind himself 
by the most solemn promise to attempt no 
farther alteration or abridgment of the privi- 
leges of the Protestant clergy. James did 
not conceal from them his repugnance thus 
to confirm and to secure the establishment 
Df a heretical Church. lie imputed the per- 
tinacity of Hamilton to the insinuations of 
Rochester, and that of.Lockhart to the still 
more obnoxious influence of his father-in-law, 
Lord Wharton. t 

The Earl of Moray, a recent convert to the 
Catholic religion, opened Parliament on the 
29th of April, and laid before it a royal let- 
ter, exhibiting traces of the indecision and 
ambiguity which were the natural conse- 
quence of the unsuccessful issue of the con- 
ferences in London. The King begins with 
holding out the temptation of a free trade 
with England, and after tendering an ample 
amnestj', proceeds to state, that while he 
shows these acts of mercy to the enemies of 
his crown and royal dignity, he cannot be 
unmindful of his Roman Catholic subjects, 
who had adhered to the Crown in rebellions 
and usurpations, though they lay under dis- 
couragements hardly to be named. He re- 
commends them to the care of Parliament, 
and desires that they may have the protec- 
tion of the laws and the same security with 
other subjects, without being laid under ob- 
ligations which their religion will not admit 
of. "This love," he says, "we expect ye 
will show to your brethren, as you see we 
are an indulgent father to you all. "4 

At the next sitting an answer was voted, 



* P'oiin'.ainliali, vol. i. p. 410. 

t Bnrillon, 22<J April.— Fox MSS. 

1 M. 29ih April.— Ibid. 

4 Acta of Parliament, vol. vUL p. 580. 



thanking the King for his endeavours to pro- 
cure a fiee trade with England ; expressing 
the utmost admiration of the offer of amnesty 
to such desperate rebels against m merciful 
a prince ; declaring, " as to that part of your 
Majesty's letter which relates lo your sub- 
jects of the Roman Catholic persuasion, we 
shall, in obedience to your Majesty's com- 
mands, and in tenderness to their persons, 
take the sjime into our serious and dutiful 
consideration, and go as great lengths therein 
as our consciences will allow y' and conclu- 
ding with these words, which were the more 
significant because they were not called for 
by any correspondent paragraph in the King's 
letter: — "Not doubting that your Majesty 
will be careful to secure the Protestant reli- 
gion established by law." I^veii this answer, 
cold and guarded as it was. did not pass with- 
out some debate, important only as indica- 
ting the temper of the assembly. The words, 
"subjects of the Roman- Catholic religion." 
were objected to, "as not to be given by 
Parliament to individuals, whom the law 
treated as criminals, and to a Church which 
Protestants could not, without inconsistency, 
regard as entitled to the appellation of Catho- 
lic." Lord Fountainhall proposed as an 
amendment, the substitution of " those com- 
monly called Roman Catholics." ■ The Earl 
of Perth calle<I this nicknaming the Kuig, 
and proposed, "tho.se subjects your Majesty 
lias recommended." Tne Archbishop of 
Glasgow supported the original answer, upon 
condition of an entry in the Journals, declar- 
ing that the words were used only out of 
courtesy to the King, as a repetition of tlie 
language of his letter. A minority of fifty- 
six in a house of one hundred and eighty- 
two voted against the original words, even 
though they were to be thus explained.* 
Some members doubted whether they could 
sincerely profess a dis[)Osilion to go any far- 
ther lengtns in favour of the Romanists, be- 
ing convinced that all the laws against the 
members of that communion ought to con- 
tinue in force. The Parliament having been 
elected under the administration of Queens- 
berry, the Episcopal party was very power- 
ful both in that assembly and in the com- 
mittee called the "Lords of the Articles," 
with whom alone a bill could originate. The 
Scottish Catholics were an inconsiderable 
body ; and the Presbyterians, though com- 
prehending the most intelligent, moral, and 
religious part of the people, so far from having 
any influence in the legislature, were pro- 
scribed as criminals, and subject to a more 
cruel and sanguinary persecution at the hand? 
of their Protestant brethren tlian either of 
these communionshad ever experienced from 
Catholic rulers.t These of the prelates who 
preferred the interest of their order to their 

• Foiiniainhall, vol. i. p. 413. 

t Wodrow, History of the Church of Scotlana, 
&c., vol. ii. p. 498: — an avowed pariiean, but a 
most sincere and iioneet writer, to whom gff-^t 
thanks are due for having preserved that collection 
of facts and documents which will for ex or render 



310 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



^'- 



o\m were dissatisfied oven with the very 
limited measme of toleration laid before the 
Lords of the Articles, Avhich only proposed 
\o exempt Catholics from puiiislmieiit on ac- 
count of the private exorcise of their reli- 
gious worship * The Primate was alarmed 
bv a hint thrown out by the Duke of Hamil- 
ton, that a toleration so limited might be 
granted to dissenting Protestants ;t nor, on 
the other hand, was the resistance of the 
prelates softened by the lure held out by the 
King in his first instmctions. that if they 
would remove the Test against Catholics 
they should be indulged in the persecution 
of their fellow Protestants. The Lortfs of 
the Articles were forced to introduce into the 
bill two clauses; — one declaring their deter- 
mination to ailliere to the established religion, 
the other expressly providing, that the im- 
munity and forbearance contemplated should 
not derog-ate from the laws which required 
the oath of allegiance and the test to be taken 
by all persons in otlices of public trust. t 

The arguments on both sides are to be 
found in pamphlets then printed at Edin- 
burgh; those for the Government publicly 
and actively circulated, those of the oppo- 
site party disseminated clandestinely.? The 
principal part, as in all such controver- 
sies, consists in personalities, recriminations, 
charges of inconsistency, and addresses to 
prejudice, which scarcely any ability can 
render interesting after the passions from 
which they spring have subsided and are 
forgotten. It happened, also, that temporary 
circumstances required or occasioned the 
best argmnents not to be unged by the dis- 
putants. Considered on general principles, 
the bill, like every other measure of tolera- 
tionj was justly liable to no pennanent ob- 
jection but its nicompleteness and partiality. 
But no Piotestant sect was then so tolerant 
as to object to the imperfection of the relief 
to Ik» gT-anted to Catholics; and the ruling 
party were neither entitled nor disposed to 
complain, that the Protestant Non-conform- 
ists, whom they had so long persecuted, 
were not to be comprehended in the tolera- 
tion. The only objection which could rea- 
eonably be made to the tolerant principles, 
now for the tirst time inculcated by the 
advocatas of the Court, was, that they were 
not proposed wilh good faith, or for the re- 
lief of the Catholics but for the subversion 
of the Piotestant Church, and the ultimate 

it impossible to e.xtenuale the tyranny exercised 
over Scotland from tiie Restoration to the llevolu- 
lion. 

* Wodrow, vol. ii. p. 594. 

t Foiimainliall, vol. i. p 415. 

t Wodrow, vol. ii. app. 

^ Ibid. Wodrow ascribes the Court pamphlet 
to Sir Ro^er L' Estrange, in which he is followed 
by ]Mr. I.aing, though, ^in answer to it, it is said to 
have been wriiien by a clergyman who had 
preached before the Parliament. L'Esirange was 
then in Edinburgii, probably engaged in" some 
more popular coniroversy. The tract in question 
Bcems more likely to have been written by Pater- 
Bon, Bishoo of Editiburgh. 



establishment of Popcvy, with all the hor- 
rors which were to follow in its train. 'I'ho 
present eflccts of the bill were a subject of 
more urgent consideration than its geiu-ral 
character. It was more necessary to ascer- 
tain the purpose which it was intenc^txl and 
calculated to promote at the instant, than to 
examine the principles on which such a 
measure, in other circumstances and m 
common times, might be perfectly wise and 
just. Even then, had any iiiaii been liberal 
and bold enough to propose Hiiiversal and 
perfect liberty of worship, the adoption of 
such a measure woukl probably have allordcd 
the most etlectual security ag^iinst the de- 
signs of the Crown. But very few enter- 
tained so generous a principle : and of these, 
some might doubt the wisdom of its applica- 
tion in that hour of peril, while no one could 
have pioposed it wilh any hope that it could 
be adopted by the majority of such a Parlia- 
ment. It can hardly be a subject of wonder^ 
that the Established clergy, without any root 
in the opinions and affections of the people, 
on whom they were imposed by law, ana 
against whom they were maintained by per- 
secution, should not in the midst of con- 
scious weakness have had calmness and 
fortitude enough to consider the policy of 
concession, but trembling for their unpopular 
dignities and invidious revenues, should ro- 
coil from the surrender of the most distant 
outpost which seemed to guard them, and 
struggle with all their might to keep those 
who threatened to become their most formi- 
dable rivals under the brand at least, — if not 
the scourge, — of penal laws. It must be 
owned, that the language of the Court wri- 
ters was not calculated either to calm the 
apprehensions of the Church, or to satisfy 
the solicitude of the friends of liberty. They 
told Parliament, " that if the King were ex- 
asperated by the rejection of the bill, he 
might, without the violation of any law, 
alone remove all Protestant othcers and 
judges from the government of the State, 
and all Protestant bishops and ministers 
from the goverimient of the Church;"'* — a 
threat the more alarming, because the dis- 
pensing power seemed sufficient to carry it 
into effect in civil offices, and the Scotch 
Act of Supremacy, jasseil in •one of the 
paroxysms of si-rvility which were frequent 
in the first years of the I\estoration,t ap- 
peared to afford the means of fully accom- 
plishing it against the Church. 

The unexpected obstinacy of the Scottish 
Parliament alarmed and oflended the Court. 
Their answer did not receive the usual com- 
pliment of publication in the Gazette. — 
Orders were sent to Edinburgh to remove 
two Privy Councillors.!: to displace Seton, a 
judge, and to deprive the Bishop of Dunkeld 
of a pension, for their conduct. Sir George 
Mackenzie, himself, the most eloquent and 
accomplished Scotchman of his age, was lor 



• Wodrow, vol. ii. npp. t 16G9. 

t The Earl of Glencairn and Sb W. Bruce. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



311 



the same reason dismissed from theofTice of 
Lord Advocate.* It \\a.s in vain that he had 
dishonoured his geniu.s by hein'^ for ten years 
the advocate of tyranny and the minister of 



* " Sir Gr-OT'^e .Mackenzie was the grandson 
of Kenneth, first Lord Mackenzie of Kintaii, and 
the nephew ot Cohii and George, firs' and second 
Earls of .Seaforih. He was born at Dundee in 
1636, and after passing through the usual course 
of education in his own country, he was sent for 
three years to the University of Boiirrjes, at that 
time, as he tells us, called the ' Athens of Law- 
yers;' — as in later limes the Scotch lawyers usually 
repaired to Uircclu and Leyden. Ife was called 
to the Bar, and hegari to practise before the Resto- 
ration ; irrimediafi.'ly afier which he was appointed 
one of the jusiiccs-deputc — criminal judijris, who 
exercised that jurisdiction which was soon after 
Tested in five lords of session imder the denomi- 
nation of ' commissioners of justiciary.' His name 
appears in the Parliamentary proceedings as coiin- 
sel in almost every important cause. He repre- 
sented the county of Ro-^s tor the four sessions of 
the Parliament which was called in 1G'")9. In 1077 
he was. appointed Lr)rd Advocate; and was in- 
volved by that preferment, most unhappily (or liis 
•haracter, in the worst acts of the Scotch adminis- 
tralion of Charles II. At the Revolution he ad- 
hered to the fortunes of his master. Bein^ elected 
a member of the Convention, he maint.ained tfie 
pretensions of James with courage and ability 
against Sir John Dalrympleand Sir James Mont- 

f ornery, who were the most considerable of the 
Revolutionary parly ; and remaining in his place 
after the imprisonment of Baicarras and the escape 
of Dundee, he was one of the minority of five in 
the memorable division on the forfeiture of the 
crown. When the death of Dundee destroyed 
the hopes of his party in Scotland, he took refuge 
at Oxford, — the natural asylum of so learned and 
irLveterate a 'I'ory. Under the tolerant govern- 
ment of William be appears to have enjoyed his 
ample fortune, — the fruit of his professional la- 
bours, — with perfect comfort as well as security. 
FIc died in St. James' Street in May, 1691 ; and 
his death is mentioned as that of an extraordinary 
person by several of those who recorded the 
events of their time, before the necrology of this 
country was so undisiinguishing as it has now 
become. The pomp and splendour of his inter- 
ment at Edinburgh affords farther evidence how 
little the administration of William was disposed 
to discourage the funeral honours paid to his most 
inflexible opponents. 'I'he writings of Sir Oeoree 
Mackenzie are literary, legal, and political. His 
Miscellaneous Essays, both in prose and verse, 
may now be dispensed with, or laid aside, without 
difficulty. They have not vigour enough for long 
life. But if they be considered as the elecrant 
amusements of a statesman and lawyer, who had 
little leisure for the cultivation of letters, they 
afford a striking proof of the variety of his accom- 
plishments, and of the refinement of his taste. 
In several of his Moral Essays, both the subject 
and the manner betray an imitation of Cowley, 
who was at that moment beginning the n-forma- 
tion of English style. Sir George Mackenzie 
was probably tempted, by the example of this 
great master, to write in praise of Solitude: and 
Evelyn answered by a panegyric on Active life. 
It seems singular that Mackenzie, plunged in the 
harshest labours of ambition, should be the advo- 
cate of retirement ; and that Evelyn, compara- 
tively a recluse, slionid have commended that 
mode of life which he did not choose. Both 
works were, however, rhetorical exercises, in 
which a puerile intrenuity was employed on rpies- 
tions which admitted no answer, and were not 
therefore the subject of sincere opinion. Before 
we can decide whether a retired or a pubUc lite 



persecution : all his ie^nominious claims were 
cancelled by the independence of one day. 
It was hoped tliat such examples might strike 
terror.* Several noblemen, who held com- 
missions in the army, were ordered to repair 
to thtjir posts. Some members weie threat- 
ened with the avoidance of their elections.t 
A prosecution was commenced against the 
Bishop of Ilos", and the proceedings were stu- 
diously protracted, to weary out the poorer 
part of those who refu.sed to comply with the 
Court. The ministers scrupled at no expe- 
dietit for seducing, or intimidating, or harass- 
ing. But the.se expedients proved infflectual. 
The majority of the Parliament adhered to 
their principles; and the session lingered for 
about a month in the midst of oidinary or 
unimportant affairs. t The Bill for Tolera- 
tion was not brought up by the Loids of the 
Articles. The wjrnmi.=sioners, doubting whe- 
ther it would be carried, and probably in- 
structed by the Court that it would neither 
sati«fy the expectations nor promote the 
purposes of the King, in the middle of June 
adjourned the Parliament, which was never 
again to assemble. 

It wag no wonder that the King should 
have been painfully di.sappointed by the 
failure of his attempt; for after the conclu- 
sion of the session, it was said by zealous 
and pious Protestants, that nothing less than 
a special interposition of Providence could 
have infused into such an assembly a stead- 
fast resolution to withstand the Court. ^ The 
royal displeasure was manifested by mea- 
sures of a very violent sort. The (fespotic 
supremacy of the King over the Church was 
exercised by depriving Bruce of his bishopric 
of Dunkeld ;ll — a severity which, not long af- 
ter, was repeated in the deprivation of Cairn- 
cross, Archbishop of Glasgow, for some sup- 



be best, we must ask, — best for whom? The 
absurdity of these childish generalities, which 
exercised the wit of our forefathers, has indeed 
been long acknowledged. Perhaps posterity may 
discover, that many political questions which agi- 
tate our times are precisely of the same nature ; 
and that it would be almost as absurd to attempt 
the establishment of a democracy in China aa 
the foundation of a nobility in Connecticut."— 
Abridged from the " Edinburgh Review," vol. 
xxxvi. p. 1. En. 

* P'oimiainhall, vol. i. p. 414. 

t Ibid. p. 419. 

t Among the frivolous but characteristic trans- 
actions of this session was the " Bore Brieve," 
or authenticated pedigree granted to the Marquia 
de .Seignelai, as a supposed descendant of the an- 
cient family ofCuthbert of Casilebill, in Inverncss- 
sliire. His father, the great Colbert, who appears 
to have been the son ofa reputable woollen-draper 
of Troyes, had attempted to obtain the same cer- 
tificaie of genealogy, but such was the pride of 
birth at that time in Scotland, that his atiempta 
were vain. It now required all the influence of 
the Court, set in motion by the soliciiaiions of 
Barillon, to obtain ii f<jr Seijjnelai. By an elabo 
rate display of all ihe collateral relations of tho 
Cuthberts. the " Bore Brieve" connects Seignelai 
with the Royal Family, and wiih all the nobility 
and gentry of the kingdom. — Acts ot Parliament, 
vol. iii. p. 611. 

^ Fountainhall, vol. i. p. 419. II Ibid. p. 416. 



312 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



posed countenance to an obnoxious preacher, 
thougli that prelate laboured to avert it by 
promises of support to all measures favour- 
able to the King's religion.* A low days 
after the prorogation. Quecnsberry was dis- 
missed from all his oflices, and requireil not 
to leave Edinburgh until he had rendered an 
accountof his administration of the treasury.! 
Some part of the royal displeasure fell upon Sir 
George Mackenzie, the Lord Register, lately 
created Lord Cromarty, the most submissive 
servant of every government, for having flat- 
tered the King, by too confident assurances 
of a majoritj' as obsequious as himself. Th(! 
connection of Rochester with Queensberry 
now aggravated the offence of the latter, and 
prepared the way for the ilownfall of the 
former. IMoray, the commissioner, promised 
|>ositive proofs, but produced at last only 
such circumstances as were sufficient to con- 
firm the previous jealousies of James, that 
the Scotch Opposition were in secret corres- 
pondence with Pensionary Fagel, and even 
with the Prince of Orange. t Sir George 
Mackenzie, whose unwonted independence 
seems to have speedily faltered, was refused 
an audience of the King, when he visited 
London with the too probable purpose of 
making his peace. The most zealous Pro- 
testants being soon afterwards removed from 
the Privy Council, and the principal noble- 
men of the Catholic communion being in- 
troduced in thtMr stead, James addressed a 
letter to the Council, informing them that 
his application to Parliament had not arisen 
from any doubt of his own power to stop the 
severities against Catholics ; declaring his 
intention to allow the exercise of the Catholic 
worship, and to establish a chapel for that 
purpose in his own palace of Ilolyrood House ; 
and intimating to the judges, that they were 
to receive the allegation of this allowance as 
a valid ilefenee, any law to the contrary not- 
withstanding. 'J The warm royalists, in their 
proposed answer, expressly acknowledge the 
King's prerogative to bo a legal security : but 
the Council, in consequence of an objection 
of the Duke of ILiniilton, faintly asserteil 
their independence, by substituting " suffi- 
cient" instead of "legal."ll 

The determination was thus avowed of 
pursuing tlie objects of the King's policy in 
Scotland by the exercise of prerog-.itive, at 
least until a more compliant Parliament could 
be obtained, which would not only remove 
all donbt for 'the present, but protect the 
Catholics against the recall of the di.'spen- 
eations by James' successors. The means 
principally relied on for the accomplishment 
of that object was the power now assumed 

• Fountainhall, vol i. p. 441. Skinner, Ecclesi- 
astionl History, vol. ii. p. 503. 

t Ihid. p. 4eo. 

t Biiriilon, lat— 22J July, 168(^ — Fo.t MSS. 
It will appear in the sequel, that these suspicions 
are at variance wiili probability, and unsupported 
l>y evidence. 

♦ Wodrow, vol. ii. p. 598. 

U Fovintainhall, vol. i. p. 424. 



by the King to stop the annual elections in 
burghs, to nominate the chief magi.strates, 
and through them tocommanti the election by 
more summary proceedings than those of the 
English courts. The choice of ministers cor- 
responded with the principles of administra- 
tion. The disgrace of the Duke of Hamilton, 
a few months later,* coiupleted the transfer 
of power to the party which professtui an 
unbounded devotion to the principles of their 
master in the government both of Church 
and Slate. The measures of the Government 
did not belie their professions. Sums of mo- 
ney, considerable when compared with the 
scanty revenue of ScotlamI, were employed 
in support of establishments for the main- 
tenance and propagation of tht; Roman Ca- 
tholic religion. A sum of 1400?. a year Avaa 
granted, in equal portions, to the Catholic 
missionaries, to the Jesuit missio^nariCvS, to 
the mission in the Highland,?, to the Chapel 
Royal, and to each of the Scotch colleges at 
Paris, Douay, and Romc.t The Duke of 
Hamilton, Keeper of the Palace, was com- 
manded to surrender the Chancellor's apart- 
ments in Ilolyrood House to a college of 
Jesuits.! By a manifest act of partiality, 
two-thirds of the allowance made by Charles 
the St:!Cond to indigent royalists were directed 
to be paid to Catholics; and all pensions and 
allowances to persons of that religion were 
required to be paid in the first place, in pre- 
ference to all other pensions.^ Some of these 
grants, it is true, if they had been made by a 
liberal sovereign in a tolerant age, were ii^ 
themselves justifiable; but neither the cha- 
racter of the King, nor the situation of the 
country, nor the opinions of the times, left 
any reasonable man at liberty then to doubt 
their purpose ; and some of them were at- 
tended by circumstances which would be 
remarkable as proofs of the infatuated im- 
prudence of the King and his counsellors, if 
they were not more worthy of observation 
as symptoms of that insolent contempt with 
which they trampled on the provisions of law, 
and on the strongest feelings of the people. 

The government of Ireland, as well as 
that of Englaiul and Scotland, was, at the 
accession of James, allowed to remain in the 
hands of Protestant Tories. The Lord-lieu- 
tenancy was, indeed, taken from the Duke 
of Ormonde, then far advanced in years, but 
it was bestowed on a nobleman of the same 
party. Lord Clarendon, whose moderate un- 
derstanding added little to those claims On 
high office, which he derived from his birth, 
connections, and opinions. But the feeble 
and timid Lord Lieutenant was soon helil in 
check by Richard Talbot, then created Earl 

* Foiintainliali, vol. i. p. 449 — 451. Letter (in 
Siaip Paper OfHee,) 1st March, HiS7, eNprcssing 
the King's displeasure at the condncl of Hamilton, 
and direelins; the names of his sons-in-law. Pan- 
mure and Dunmore, to be siruct( out of the list of 
the Council. 

t Warrants in the State Paper OfTice, dated 
19th May. 1687. 

\ Ibid. 15ih August. ^ Ibid. 7th January, 1688, 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



313 



of Tyrconnel, a Catholic gentleraaYi of an- 
cient Enj;lish extraction, who joined talents 
and spirit to violent passions, boisterous 
manners, unbounded indulgence in every 
excess, and a furious zeal for his religious 
party.* His character was tainted by that 
disposition to falsehood and artifice, which, 
however seemingly inconsistent with violent 

{)assioris, is often combined with them; and 
le possessed more of the beauty and bravery 
than of the wit or eloquence of his unhappy 
nation. He had been first introduced to 
Cliarles II. and his brother before the Ilesto- 
ration, as one who was wiiUng to assassinate 
Cromwell, and had made a journey into 
England with that resolution. He soon after 
received an appointment in the housf*liold of 
the Duke of York, and retained the favour 
of that prince during the remainder of his 
life. In the year 166G. he was imprisoned 
for a few days by Charles II., for having re- 
solved to assassinate the Duke of Ormonde, 
with whose Irish administration he was dis- 
Ratisfied.t He did not, however, even by the 
last of these criminal projects, forfeit the 
patronage of either of the royal brothers, and 
at the accession of James held a high place 
among his personal favourites. He was in- 
duced, both by zeal for the Catholic parly, 
and by animosity against the family of II) de, 
to give effectual aid to Sunderland in the 
overthrow of Rochester, and required in re- 
turn that the conduct of Irish affairs should 
be left to him.t Sunderland dreaded the 
temper of Tyrconnel, and was desirous of 

fierforming his part of the bargain with as 
ittle risk as possible to the quiet of Ireland. 
The latter at first contented himself with the 
rank of senior General Officer on the Irish 
staff; in which character he returned to 
Dublin in June, 1686, as the avowed favourite 
of the King, and with powers to new-model 
the army. His arrival, however, had been 



* The means by which Tnlbot obtained the fa- 
vour of James, if we may believe the accounts of 
his enemies, were somewhat singular. " Cla- 
rendon's daughier had been got wiili child in 
Flanders, on a pretended promise of marriaite, by 
the Duke of York, who was forced by the King, 
at her father's importunity, to marry her, after ne 
had resolved the contrary, and got her reputation 
blasted by Lord Fiizhardins; and Colonel Talbot, 
who impudently aflirrned that they had received 
the last favours from her." — Sheridan MS. 
Stuart Papers. " 5lh July 1694. Sir E. Harley 
told us, that when the Duke of York resolved on 
putting away his first wife, particularly on disco- 
very of her commerce with , she by her 

father's advice turned Roman Catholic, and there- 
by secured herself from reproach, and that the 
pretence of her father's opposition to it was only 
to act a part, and secure himself from blame." — 
MSS. in the handwriting of Lord Treasurer Ox- 
ford, in the pos.session of the Duke of Portland. 
The latter of these passages from the concluding 
part must refer to the time of the marriage. But 
It must not l)e forgotten that both the reporters 
were the enemies ofClarendon, and that Sheridan 
was the bitter enemy of Tyrcoimel. 

t Clarendon, Continuation of History (Oxford, 
1759). p. 362. 
J Sheridan MS. Stuart Papers. 
40 



preceded by reports of extensive changes in 
the government of the kingdom.* The State, 
the Church, the adrnini.'-tiation, and the pro- 
perly of that unhappy island, were bound 
together by such unnatural ties, and placed 
on such weak foundations, that every rumour 
of alteration in one of them spread the deepest 
alarm for the safety of the whole. 

From the colonization of a small part of 
the eastern coast uiitier Henry II., till the 
last years of the reign of Elizabeth, an un- 
ceasing and cruel warfare was wagt- d by the 
English governors against the princes and 
chiefs of' the Irish tribes, with little other 
effect titan that of preventing the progress 
of civilization among the Irish, of replunginc 
many of the English into barbarism, and of 
generating that deadly animosity betweea 
the natives and the invader.s, under the 
names of Irishry and Englishry, which, as- 
suming various forms, and exasperated by a 
fatal succession of causes, has continued 
even to our days the source of innumerable 
woes. During that dreadful period of four 
hundred years, the laws of the English co- 
lony did not puni.sh the murder of a man of 
Irish blood as a crime. t Even so late as the 
year 1547, the Colonial Assembly, called a 
''Parliament," confirmed the insolent laws 
which prohibited the English " of the pale" 
from marrying persdTis of Irish blood. t Re- 
ligious hostility infiamed the hatred of these 
mortal foes. The Irish, attached to their 
ancient opinions as well as usages, and little 
addicted to doubt or inquiry, rejected the 
reformation of religion offered to them by 
their enemies. The Protestant worship be- 
came soon to be considered by them as the 
odious badge of conquest and oppiession ;§ 
while the ancient religion was endeared by 
persecution, and by its association with the 
name, the language, and the manners of their 
country. The island had luig been repre- 
sented as a fief of the See of Rome ; the 
Catholic clergy, and even laity, had no un- 
changeable friend but the Sovereij^n Pontiff; 
and their chief hope of deliverance from a 
hostile yoke was long confined to Spain, the 



* Clarendon's Letters, passim. 

+ Sir J. Davies, Discoverie, &c., pp. 102 — 112. 
"They were so far out of the protection of the 
laws that it was often adjudjjed no ielony to kill a 
mere Irishman in time of peace," — except he 
were oi the five privileged tribes of tiie O'Neils 
of Ulster, the O'Mnlaghlinsof Mealh, the O'Con- 
nors of Connaught, the O'Briens ol 'I'homond, 
and the MacMurroughs of Lcinsier; to whom 
are to be added the Oastmen of the city of Wa- 
terford. — See also Lelaiid, History of Ireland, 
book i. chap. 3. 

t 28 Hen. VIH. c. 13. " The Engli.sh," says 
Sir W. Petty, "before Henry VH.'s time, lived 
in Ireland as the Europeans do in America." — 
Political Anatomy of Ireland, p. 112. 

^ That the hosiiliiy of religion was, however, 
a secondary prejudice superinduced on hostility 
between nations, appears very clearly from the 
laws of Catholic isovereigns against the Irish, even 
after the Reformation, particularly the Irish statute 
of 3 & 4 Phil. & Mar. c. 2, against the O' Mores, 
and O'Dcmpsiea, and O'Connors, "and otbert 
of the Irishry." 

2B 



314 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



leader of tlio Catholic party in the European 
common wfaUh. The old enmity of Irishry 
and Englishry tlius appeared \vith redoubled 
force under the new names of Catholie and 
Protestant. The necessity of sell-defence 
compelled Elizabeth to attempt the complete 
reduction of Ireland, wliieh, since she had 
assumed lier station at the head of Protest- 
ants, became the only vulnerable part of 
her dominions, and a weapon in the hands 
of her most formidable enemies. But few 
of the benefils which sometimes atone for 
conquest were lelt by Ireland. Neither the 
success with which Ehzabeth broke the bar- 
baric power of the Irish chieftains, nor the 
real benevolence and seeming policy of in- 
troducing industrious colonies under her suc- 
cessor, counterbalanced the dreadful evil 
which was then for the first time added to 
her hereditary snflerings. The extensive for- 
feiture of the lands of the Catholic Irish, 
and" the grant of these lands to Protestant 
nativesof Great Britain, became a new source 
of hatred between these irreconcilable fac- 
tions. Forty years of quiet, however, fol- 
lowed, in which a Parliament of all dis- 
tricts, and of both religions, was assembled. 
The administration of the Earl of Strallord 
bore the stamp of the political vices which 
tarnished his genius, and which often pre- 
vailetl over those generous atTections of 
which ho was not incapable towards those 
who neither rivalled nor resisted him. The 
etate of Ireland abounded with tempta- 
tions, — to a man of daring and haughty 
spirit, intent on taming a turbulent people, 
and impatient of slow discipline of law and 
justice, — to adopt those violent and sum- 
mary measures, the necessity of ^^ hich his 
nature promptetl him too easily to believe.* 
When his vigorous arm was withdrawn, 
the Irish were once more excited to revolt 
by the memory of the provocations which 
they had received from him and from his 
predecessors, by the feebleness of their go- 
vernment, and by the confusion and distrac- 
tion which announced the approach of civil 
war ill Great Britain. This insurrection, 
which broke out in 1641, and of which the 
atrocities appear to have been extravaij-antly 
exag-geratedt by the writers of the victorious 
party, was only finally subdued by the genius 
of Cromwell, who. mged by the general an- 
tipathy against the Irish, t and the peculiar 

_ • See Carle's Life of Ormonde, and the eonfcs- 
sions of Clarendon, together wiih the evidence on 
the Tri;)! of Strnflord. 

t Evidence of this exaggeration is to be found 
in Carle and Leland, in the Political Anatomy of 
Ireland, by Sir W. Petty, — to say nothing of 
Curry's Civil Wars, which, thouijh the work of 
an Irish Catholic, deserves the serious considera- 
tion of every historical inquirer. Sir W. Petty 
limits the number of Protestants hilled ihroughou't 
the island, in the first year of the war, to thirty- 
seven thousand. The niassacres were contined to 
Ulster, and in that province were imputed only to 
tlie detachment of insurgents under Sir Pheiim 
O'Neal. 
i Even Milton calls the Irish Catholics, or, in 



animosity of his o^m followers towards Ca- 
tliolics, exercised more than once in his Irish 
campaigns the most odious rights or practices 
of war, departing fiom the clemency which 
nstially distinguished him above most men 
who have obtained supreme power by vio- 
lence. The confiscation which followed 
Cromwell's victories, adiled to the forfeitures 
under Elizabeth and Jame.'*. transferred more 
than two-thirds of the land of the kingdom 
to British adventurers.* "Not oidy all the 
Irish nation (with very few exceptions) were 
found guilty of the rebellion, ami forfeited 
all their estates, but all the Englisli Catholics 
of Ireland were declared to be under the 
same guilt. "t The ancient proprietors con- 
ceived sanguine hopes, that coiiiiscations by 
usurpers woulil not be ratified by the restored 
government. But their agents were inex- 
perienced, indiscreet, and sometimes mer- 
cenary ; while their opponenf.s who were in 
possession of power ami property, chose the 
Irish House of Commons, and secured the 
needy and rapacious courtiers of Charlies II. 
by hirii'e bribes.! The Court became a mart 
at which much of the projierty of Ireland 
was sold to the highest bidiler ; — the inevit- 
able result of measures not governed by rules 
of law. but loatled with exceptions ami con- 
ditions, where the artful use of a single word 
might affect the possession of consiilerable 
fortunes, and where so many minute particu- 
lars relating to unknown and uninteresting 
snbji^cts were ntH-es.*arily introduced, that 
none but parties deeply conctniitHl had the 
patience to examine tliem. Cliarles was de- 
sirous of an arrangement which shtnild give 
him the largest means of quieting, by profuse 
grants, the importunity of his favourites. He 
beg-an to speak of the necessity of strength- 
ening the English interest in Ireland, and he 
represented the ''settlement" rather as a 
matter of policy than of justice. The usual 
and legitimate policy of statesmen and law- 
givers is, tlonbtless, to favour every measure 
which quiets present possession, and to dis- 
courage all retrospective inquisition into the 
temire of property. But the Irish Govern- 
ment professed to adopt a princijile of com- 
prt^mise, and the general object of the statute 
called the "Act of Settlement," was to secure 
the land in the hands of its possessors, on 
condition of their making a ceitain compen- 
s;rtion to those classes of expelled proprietors 
who were considered as iiniocent of the re- 
bellion. Those, however, were declared not 
to be innocent who had accepted the terms 
of peace granted by the King in l(j-J8, who 
liad paid contributions to support tlie insur- 
gent administration, or who enjoyed any real 
or personal property in the districts occupied 
by the rebel army. The first of these con- 



other words, the Irish nation, " Conseelerata et 
barbnra eolluvies." 

• Pettv. pp. 1—3. 

t Life of Clarendon (0.\ford, 1759). vol. ii. p. 115. 

t Cn-te, Life of Ormonde, vol. ii. p. 21)5. Tal- 
hot. afterwards Earl of Tyrconn^l, returned •« 
Ireland with IS.OOOZ. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



315 



ditioiiB was sin^ilarly unjust ; the two latter 
mufit have compreFi'rndf-d many who were 
entirely innocent; and all of them were in- 
conHislent with those principles of compro- 
mi-«e and provision for the interest of all on 
which the act was professfjdiy founded. Or- 
monde, liowever, restored to his own f^reat 
estates, a^^l {(ratified by a grant of 30.000/. 
from the Irish Commons, acfjuicsced in this 
measure, and it was not opjws(!d by his friend 
Clarendon ; — circumstances which naturally, 
though j)erhap3 not justly, have rendered the 
memory of these celebrated men odious to 
the Irish Catholics. During the whole reign 
of Charles H. they struirgled to obtain a re- 
peal of the Act of Settlement. J3ut Time 
opposed his mighty powf;r to their labours. 
Every new year strengthened the rights of 
the poswissors, and furnished additional ob- 
jections against the claims of tlie old owners. 
It is far easier to do mischief than to repair 
it ; and it is one of the most malignant pro- 
perties of extensive confiscation thjit it is 
commonly irreparable. The land is shortly 
sold to honest purchasers; it is inherited by 
innocent children; it becomes the security 
of creditors; its safely becomes interwoven, 
by the complicated transactions of life, with 
all the interests of the community. One act 
of injustice is not atoned for by the commis- 
eion of another ag;iinst parties who may be 
equally unoffending. In such cases the most 
specious plans for the investigation of con- 
flicting claims lead either to endless delay, 
attended by the entire suspension of the en- 
joyment of the disputed property, if not by 
a final extinction of its value, or to precipi- 
tate injustice, arising from caprice, from 
favour, from enmity, or from venality. The 
resumption of forfeited prop«;rty, and the 
restoration of it to the heirs of the ancient 
owners, may be attended by all the mis- 
chievous consequences of the original con- 
fiscation ; by the jlisturbance of habits, and 
by the disappointment of expectations; and 
by an abatement of that reliance on the in- 
violability of legal pos.session, which is the 
mai?ispring of industry, and the chief source 
of comfort. 

The arrival of Tyrconnel revived the ho§es 
of the Catholics. They were at tfuit time 
estimated to amount to eight hundred thou- 
sand souls; the F2nglish Episcopalians, the 
English Nonconformists, and the Scotch Pres- 
byterians, each to one hundred thousand.* 
ITiere was an army of three thousand men, 
which in the sequel of this reign was raised 
to eight thousand. The net revenue afforded 
a yearly average of 300,000/.t Before the 

" Petty, p. 8. — As Sir WilliaTn Petty cxa<»2;c- 
rates the population of England, wlijch he rac-s at 
six millions, cotisiderahiy more ihati its amount in 
1700 (Population Returns, 1821. Introduciion). it 
is probable he may have overrated that of Ireland ; 
but there is no reason to suspect a mistake in the 
proponiotis. 

t Supposing the taxes then paid bv England and 
Wales to have been about three millions, each in- 
habitant contributed ten shillings, while each Irish- 
man paid somewhat more than five. 



civil war of 1G41, the disproportion of num- 
bers of Catholics to Protestants had been 
much greater; and by the conscqur-nces of 
that event, the bilance of jjropcrty had been 
entirely reversed.* "In playing of this game 
or match" (the war of 1641) "upon so great 
odds, the English," says Sjr William Petty, 
"won, and have a gamester's right at least 
to their estates."! On the arrival of Tyr- 
connel, too, were redoubl'-d the fears of the 
Protestants for possessions always itividious, 
and now, as it seernf;d, about to be preca- 
rious. The attempt to give both {'arlies a 
sort of representation in the government, and 
to balance the Prot(!Stant Lord Lieutenant by 
a Catholic commander of the arrny, unsettled . 
the minds of the two communions. The 
Protestants, though they saw that the rising 
ascendant of Tyrconnel would speedily be- 
come irresistible, were betrayed into occa- 
sifjnal infliscretion by the declarations of the 
Lord Lieutenant; and the Catholics, aware of 
their growing force, were only exasperated by 
Clarendon's faint and ff;arful show of zeal for 
the established laws. The contemptuous dis- 
regard, or rather indecent insrjlence manifest- 
ed by Tyrconnel in his con versations witli Lord 
Clarendon, betrayed a consciousness of the 
superiority of a royal favourite over a Lord 
Lieutenant, who had to execute a system to 
which he was disinclined, and was to remain 
in office a little longer only as a pageant of 
state. He indulged all his habitual indecen- 
cies and excessfjs; he gave loo.«e to every 
passion, and threw off every restraint of good 
manners in these conversations. It is diffi- 
cult to represent them in a manner compati- 
ble with the deconjm of history: yet they 
are too clwracteristic to be passed over. 
"You must know, my Lord," said Tyrconnel, 
"that the King is a Roman Catholic, and re- 
solved to employ his subjects of that religion, 
and tliat he will not keep one man in his 
service who ever served under the usurpers. 
Tlie sheriffs you Iiave made are trenerally 
rogues and old Cromweliians. There has 
not been an honest man sheriff in Ireland 
the.se twenty years." Such language, inter- 
mingled with oaths, and uttered in the bois- 
terous tone of a brai.'gart youth, s^jmewhat 
intoxicated, in a military guard-house, are 
specimens of the manner in which Tyrconnel 
delivered his opinions to his superior on the 
gravest aflairs of state. It was no wonder 
that Clarendon told his brother Rochester. — 
'•'If this Lord continue in the temper he ia 
in, he will gain here the reputatir^n of a mad- 
man ; for his treatment of people is scarce to 
be described. "t The more moderate of his 
own communion, comprehending almost all 
laj-men of education or fortune, he reviled 
as trimmers. He divided the Catholics, and 
embroiled the King's affairs ^ill farther by a 
violent prejudice again.st the native Irish, 
whom he contemptuously called the "0'» 

• Petty, p. 24. t Ibid. 

t Correspondence of Clarendi'in arid Rochea- 
ter, vol. ii. Clarendon, Diary, 5ih — Hih Jant, 
1686. 



316 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



and Macs."* To the letter of the King's 
public declarations, or even positive instruc- 
tions to the Lord Lieutenant, he paid very 
little regard. He was sent by James " to do 
the rough work" of remodelling the army 
and the corporations. With respect to the 
army, the King professed only to admit all 
his subjects on an equal footing without re- 
gard to religion ; but Tyrconnel's language, 
and, when he had the power, his measures, 
led to the formation of an exclusively Catho- 
lic force. t The Lord Lieutenant reasonably 
understood the royal intentions to be no more 
than that the Catholic religion should be no 
bar to the admission of persons othervvise 
qualified into corporations : Tyrconnel disre- 
garded such distinctions, and declared, with 
one of his usual oath.=i, "I do not know what 
to say to that; I would have all the Catholics 
in."t Three unexceptionable judges of the 
Protestant persuasion were, by the King's 
command, removed from the bench to make 
way for three Catholics, — Daly, Rice, and 
Nugent, — also, it ought to be atided, of un- 
objectionable character and competent learn- 
ing in their profession. § Officious sycophants 
hastened to prosecute those incautious Pro- 
testants who. in the late times of zeal against 
Popery, had spoken with freedom against 
the succession of the Duke of York ; though 
it is due to justice to remark, that the Catho- 
lic council, judges, and juries, discouraged 
these ve.vatious prosecutions, and prevented 
ihem fiom protlucing any very grievous 
effects. The King had in the beginning 
solemnly declared his determination to ad- 
here, to the Act of Settlement; but Tyrcon- 
nel, with hie usual imprecations, said to the 
Lord Lieutenant, ''These Acts of Settlement, 
and this new interest, are cursed things."!! 
The coarseness and insolence of Tyrconnel 
could not fail to offend the Lord Lieutenant: 
but it is apparent, from the latter's own de- 
scription, that he was still more frightened 
than provoked ; and perhaps more decorous 
language would not have so suddenly and 
completely subdued the little spirit of the 
demure lord. Certain it is that these scenes 
of violence were immediately followed by 
the most profuse professions of his readiness 
to do whatever the King required, without 
any reservation even of the interest of the 
Established Church. These professions were 
not merely formularies of that ignoble obse- 
quiousness which degrades the inferior too 
much to exalt the superior: they were e.v- 
plicit and precise declarations relating to the 
particulars of the most momentous mea.sures 
then in agitation. In speaking of the re- 
formation of the army he repeated his assur- 

* Sheridan MS. 

t Sheridan MS. It should be observed, that the 

fassages relating to Ireland in the Life of James 
I., vol. ii. pp. .59— f>3, were not written by the 
King, and di) not even profefs to be founded on 
the auilioriiy of his MSS. They are merely a 
statement made by Mr. Dicconson, the compiler 
of that work. 

t Clarendon, 20th— 31st July. 

♦ Ibid. 19th June. II Ibid. 8th June. 



ance to Sunderland, " that the King may 
have every thing done here which he has a 
mind to : and it is more easy to do things 
quietly than in a storm."* He descended 
to declare even to Tyrconnel himself, that 
•' it was not material how many Roman 
Catholics were in the army, if the King 
would have it so; for whatever li^p Majesty 
would have should be made easy as far as 
lay in me."t 

In the mean time Clarendon had incurred 
the displeasure of the Queen by his supposed 
civilities to Lady Dorchester during her resi- 
dence in Ireland. The King was also dis- 
pleased at the disposition which he imputed 
to the Lord Lieutenant rather to traverse 
than to forward the designs of Tyrconnel in 
favour of the Catholics. t It w as in vain that 
the submissive viceroy attempted to disarm 
these resentments by abject declarations of 
deep regret and fftibounded devotedness.§ 
The daily decline of the credit of Rochester 
deprived his brother of his best support ; and 
Tyrconnel, who returned to Court m August, 
1686, found it easy to effect a change in the 
government of Ireland. But he found more 
dilficulty in obtaining that important govern- 
ment for himself. Sunderland tried every 
means but the resignation of his own office 
to avert so impolitic an appointment. He 
urged the declaration of the King, on the re- 
moval of Ormonde, that he would not bestow 
the lieutenancy on a native Irishman : he re- 
presented the danger of alarming all Protest- 
ants, by appointing to that office an acknow- 
ledged enemy of the Act of Settlement, and 
of exciting the apprehensions of all English- 
men, by intrusting Ireland to a man .so de- 
voted to the service of Louis XIV : he offered 
to make Tyrconnel a Major General on the 
English staff, with a pension of 5000/. a year, 
and with as absolute though as secret au- 
thority in the all'airs of Ireland, as Lauderdale 
had possessed in those of Scotland : he pro- 
mised that after the abrogation of the penal 
laws in England, Tyrconnel, if he pleased, 
might be appointed Lord Lieutenant in the 
room of Lord Powis, who was destined for 
the present to succeed Clarendon. Tyrconnel 
turned a deaf ear to these proposals, and 
threatened to make disclosures to the King 
and Queen which might overthrow the policy 
and power of Sunderland. The latter, when 
he was led by his contest with Rochester to 
throw himself into the arms of the Roman 
Catholics, had formed a more particular con- 
nection with Jermyn and Talbot, as the 
King's favourites, and as the enemies of the 
family of Hyde : Tyrconnel now threatened 
to disclose the terms and objects of that 
league, the real purpose of removing Lady 
Dorchester, and the declaration of Sunder- 
land, when this alliance was formed, "that 
the King could only be governed by a woman 
or a priest, and that they must therefore 



* Clarendon, 20th July. t Ibid. 30th July. 
t Ibid. 6ih Oct. 

i Clarendon to ihe King, 6th Oct.; to Lord 
Rochester, 23d Oct. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



317 



combine the influence of the Qneen with 
that of Father Pelre." Sunderland appears 
to have made some resistance even after this 
formidable threat; and Tyrconnel proposed 
that the young Duke of Berwick should 
marry his daughter, and be created Lord 
Lieutenant, while he himself should enjoy 
the power under the more modest, title of 
"Lord Deputy."* A council, consisting of 
Sunderland, Tyrconnel, and the Catholic 
mdnisters, was held on the affairs of Ireland 
hi the month of October. The members 
who gave their opinions before Tyrconnel 
maintained the necessity of conforming to 
the Act of Settlement; but Tyrconnel ex* 
claimed against them for advising the King 
to an act of injustice ruinous to the interests 
of religion. The conscience of James was 
alarmed, and he appointed the next day to 
hear the reasons of state which Sunderland 
had to urge on the opposite side. Tyrconnel 
renewed his vehement invectives against the 
iniquity and impiety of the counsels which 
he opposed ; and Sunderland, who began as 
he often did with useful advice, ended, as 
usual, with a hesitating and ambiguous sub- 
mission to his master's pleasure, trusting to 
accident and his own address to prevent or 
mitigate the execution of violent measures.! 
These proceedings decided the contest for 
office ; and Tyrconnel received the sword of 
state as Lord Deputy on the 12th February, 
1687. 

The King's professions of equality and 
impartiality in the distribution of office be- 
tween the two adverse communions were 
speedily and totally disregarded. The Lord 
Deputy and the greater part of the Privy 
Council, the Lord Chancellor with three 
fourths of the judges, all the King's counsel 
but one, almost all the sheriffs, and a ma- 
jority of corporators and justices, were, in 
less than a year, Catholics; — numbers so 
disproportioned to the relative property, edu- 
cation, and ability for business, to be found 
in the two religions, that even if the appoint- 
ments had not been tamted with the inex- 
piable blame of defiance to the laws, they 
must still have been regarded by the Pro- 
testants with the utmost apprehension, as 
indications of sinister designs. Fitten, the 
Chancellor, was promoted from the King's 
Bench prison, where he had been long a 
prisoner for debt; and he was charged, 
though probably without reason, by his op- 
ponents, with forgery, said to have been 
committed in a long suit with Lord Mac- 
clesfield. His real faults were ignorance 
and subserviency. Neither of these vices 
could be imputed to Sir Richard Nagle, 
the Catholic Attorney General; who seems 
chargeable only with the inevitable fault of 
being actuated by a dangerous zeal for his 



* London Gazette. AH these pnriiculara are to 
be found in Sheridan's MS. It is but fair to add 
that, in a few months after Sheridan accompanied 
Tyrconnel to Ireland, they became violent ene- 
mies. 

t D'Adda, 15lh Nov. 1687.— MS. 



o^vn suffering party. It does not appear 
that the Catholic judges actually abused 
their power. We have already seen that, 
instead of seekmg to retaliate for the mur- 
ders of the Popish Plot, they discounte- 
nanced prosecutions against their adversa- 
ries with a moderation and forbearance very 
rarely to be discovered in the policy of 
parties in the first moments of victory over 
long oppression. It is true that these Ca- 
tholic judges gave judgment against the 
charters of towns; but in these judginents 
they only followed the example of the most, 
eminent of their Protestant brethren in Eng- 
land.* The evils of insecurity and alarm 
were those which were chiefly experienced 
by the Irish Protestants. These mischiefs, 
very great in themselves, depended so much 
on the character, temper, and maimer, of the 
Lord Deputy, on the triumphant or sometimes 
threatening conversation of their Catholic 
neighbours, on the recollection of bloody 
civil wars, and on the painful consciousnesa 
which haunts the possessors of recently con- 
fiscated property, that it may be thought 
unreasonable to require any other or more 
positive proof of their prevalence. Some 
visible fruits of the alarm are pointed out. 
The Protestants, who were the wealthiest 
traders as well as the most ingenious arti- 
sans of the kingdom, began to emigrate : the 
revenue is said to have declined: the greater 
part of the Protestant officers of the army, 
alarmed by the removal of their brethren, 
sold their commissions for inadequate prices, 
and obtained military appointments in Hol- 
land, then the home of the exile and the 
refuge of the oppressed. t But that which 
Tyrconnel most pursued, and the Protestants 
most dreaded, was the repeal of the Act of 
Settlement. The new proprietors were not, 
indeed, aware how much cause there was 
for their alarms. Tyrconnel boasted that he 
had secured the support of the Queen by the 
present of a pearl necklace worth 10,000^, 
which Prince Rupert had bequeathed to his 
mistress. In all extensive transfers of pro- 
perty not governed by rules of law, where 
both parties to a corrupt transaction have a 
great interest in concealment, and where 
there can seldom be any effective responsi- 



♦ Our accounts of Tyrconnel's Irish administra- 
tion before the Revolution are peculiarly itriperfect 
and suspicious. King, af'tersvards Archbishop of 
Dublin, whose State of the Protestants has been 
usually quoted as authority, was the most zealous 
of Irish Protestants, and his ingenious antago- 
nist, Leslie, was the most inflexible of Jacobites. 
Though both were men of great abilities, their 
attention was so mxich occupied in personalities 
and in ilie discussion of controverted opinions, 
that they have done little to elucidate matters of 
fact. Clarendon and Sheridan's MS. agree so 
exactly in their picture of Tyrconnel, and huve 
such an air of truth in their accounts of him, that 
it is not easy to refuse them credit, though they 
were both his enemies. 

t"The Earl of Donegal," saya Sheridan, 
" sold for 600 guineas a troop of horse which, two 
years before, cost him 1800 guineas."— 'Sheri- 
dan MS. 

8b8 



318 



MACKINTOSirS MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



bility eithor jiulicial or monil, the suspicion 
of bribery must bo incurred, and the tempta- 
tion itself must often prevail. Tyreonnel 
asked Sheridan, his secretary, whetlier he 
did not think the Irish would give 50,000/. 
for the repeal of the Act of Settk'ment : — 
"Certainly," s;iid Sheridan, '-since the new 
interest paid thiee times that sum to the 
Dnke of Drmonde for passing it." Tyrconnel 
then anlhorised Sheridan to ofler to Lord 
Sunderland 50,000/. in money, or 5000/. a- 
year in land for the repeal. Sunderland pre- 
ferred the 50,000/.; but with what serion.s- 
nessof purpose cainiot be ascertained, for the 
repeal was not adoptctl, and the money was 
never paid ;* and he seems to have contin- 
ued to thwart and traverse a measure wliich 
he did not ilare openly to resist. The abso- 
lute abrogation of laws under which so nua-h 
property was held seemed to be beset with 
such dillioulty, that in the autumn of the 
following year Tyrconnel, on his visit to 
England, proposeil a more modified mea- 
sure, aitued only at atibrding a partial relief 
to the ancient proprietors. In the temper 
■which then prevailed, a partial measure pro- 
duced almost as much alarm as one more 
comprehensive, and was thought to be in- 
tended to pave the way for total resumjitiou. 
The danger consisted in hiquiry : the object 
of apprehension was any proceeding which 
brought this species of legul possession into 
question ; and the proprietors dreaded the 
approach even of discussion to their invi- 
dious and originally iniquitous titles. It 
would be hard to expect that James should 
abstain from relieving his friends lest ]\e 
might disturb the secure enjoyment of his 
enemies. Motives of policy, however, and 
some apprehensions of too sudden a shock 
to the feelings of Protestants in Great Britain, 
retartled the tiual adoption of this measure. 
It could oidy be carried into efl'ect by the Par- 
liament of Ireland ; and it was not thought 
wise to call it together till every part of the 
internal policy of the kiiiii'dom which could 
intiuence the elections of that assembly 
should be completed. Probably, however, 
the delay principally arose from daring pro- 
jects of separation and independence, wliich 
were entertained by Tyrconnel : and of which 
a short statement (in its most important parts 
hitherto unknown to the public) will conclude 
tlie account of his adiuinistration. 

In the year IGGt), towards the close of the 
first Dutch war, Louis XIV. had made pre- 
parations for invading Ireland with an army 
of twenty thousand men, under the Due de 
Beaufort, — i\ssured by the Irish ecclesiastics, 
that he would be joined by the Catholics, 
then more than usually incensed by the con- 
firmation of the Act of Settlement, and by 
the English statutes against the importation 
of the produce of Ireland. To this plot, 
(which was discovered by the Queen-j\Iother 
at Paris, and by her disclosed to Charles II.,) 
it is not probable that so active a leader as 

• Sheridan M.S. 



Tyrconnel could have been a stranger.* We 
are informed by his secretary, that^ during 
his visits to England in 1(58(5, he made no 
scruple to avow projects of the like nature, 
when, after some remarks on the King's de- 
clining ai;e, and on the improbability that 
the (iueen's children, if ever she had any, 
should live beyond iidancy, he declared, 
'• that the Irish would be fools or mailmen 
if they submitted to be governed by the 
Prince of Oranue, or by Hyde's grand-dauiih- 
lers; that they ought rather to take that 
0|)portnnity of resolving no longer to be the 
slaves of England, but to set up a king of 
their own under the protection of France, 
which he was sure would be readily grant- 
ed ;" and ailded that " nothing could be more 
advantageous to Ireland or ruinous to Eng- 
land." t His reliance on Freuch support 
was probnbly fonmled on the general policy 
of Louis XIV., on his conduct towards Ireland 
in 1(3G6, ami, jierhaps, on infornuition from 
Catholic eeclesiasties in France ; but he was 
not long content with these grouutis of assur- 
ance. During his residence in England in 
the autumn of 1GS7, he had recourse to de- 
cisive and audacious measures for ascertain- 
ing how far he might rely on foreign aid in 
the execution of his ambitious schemes. A 
friend of his at Court (whose name is con- 
cealed, but who probably was either Henry 
Jermyn or Father Petre) applied on his be- 
half to Bourejios (then employed by the 
Court of Versailles in London, on a special 
mission, |,t expressing his desire, in case of 
the deaiii of .lames II., to take measures to 
prevent Ireland from falling under the domi- 
nation of the Prince of Orange, and to place 
that country under the protection of iholNIost 
Christian King. Tyrcoiuiel expressed his 
desire that Boiuepos would go to Chester for 
the sake of a full discussion of this important 
proposition; but the wary minister iledined 
a step which should have amounted to the 
opening of a negotiation, until he had autho- 
rity from his Government. He promised, 
however, to keep the secret, especially from 
Barillon, who it was feared would betray it 
to Sunderland, then avowedly distrusted by 
the Lord Deputy. Bonrepos, in communi- 
cating this proposition to his Court, atlds, 
that he very certainly knew the King of Eiig- 

* There nre obscure intimations of this intended 
invasion in Cnrie, Life of Ormonde, vol. ii. p. 3C8. 
Tiie resolutions of the Parliameiu ol Ireland con- 
cernins: it are to l)e found in the Gazette, '2M\ — 
eSih December, 1(U">3. Louis XIV. himself iflla 
us, that he had a correspondence wiih those whom 
he calls the " remains of Cromwell" in England, 
and " with the Irish Catholics, who, always dis- 
contented with their condition, seem ever ready 
to join any enterprise wliich may render it more 
supportable." — Oeuvres de Lonis XIV., vol. ii. 
p. 203. Sheridan's MS. contains more particu- 
lars. It is supported by the printed authorities as 
far as they iz<i ; and being written at St. (lermains, 
probably ditVered little in matters of fact from the 
received statements of the Jacobiio exiles. 

t Sheridan MS. 

t Bonrepos to Seignelai, 4th Sept. 1C87.— Fo* 
MSS. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



319 



land's intention to be to deprive his pro- 
Bumptive heir of Ireland, to make that coun- 
try an asyhiiri for all hi.s Catholic subjeclH, 
and to connplete his measures on that suhjict 
in the course of five years, — a time which 
Tyrconnel lhoui,dit much too lon;^. and ear- 
nestly besouj^ht the Kiiiy to abridj^e ; and 
that the Prince of Orange eertaitdy appre- 
nended such desifjus. James himself lold 
the Nuncio that one of the objects of the ex- 
traordinary mission of Dyk veldt was the 
affair of Ireland, hajjpily be^fun by Tyrcon- 
nel ;* and the same prelate was afterwards 
informed by Sunderland, that Dykv(;Mt had 
expressed a fear of some {general desij^ns 
against the succession of the Prince and 
Princess of Orarifje.t Bonrep'is was speedily 
instructed to inform Tyrconnel, that if on the 
death of James he could maintain himself in 
Ireland, he mif^ht rely on e/feetnal aid from 
Louis to pr(!serve the Calholiij ndij^ion. and 
to separate that country from Eii;:,'land, when 
under th(! dominion of a Protestant sove- 
reign.}: Tyrconnel is said to have agreed, 
without the knowledge of his own master, 
to put four Irish sea-ports, Kinsale, Water- 
ford, Limerick, and either Gal way or Cole- 
raine, into the hands of F'rance.^ The re- 
maining particulars of this bold and hazard- 
ous negotiation were reserved by Boniepos 
till his return (o Paris; but he closes his last 
despatch with the sirijjular intimation that 
several Scotch lords had sounded him on the 
succour they might expect from France, on 
the death of James, to exclude the Prince 
and Princess of Orange from the throne of 
Scotland. Objects so far beyond lh<! usual 
aim of ambition, and means so much at vari- 
ance with prudence as well as duty, could 
hardly have presented themselves to any 
mind whose native violence had not been 
inflamed by an education in the school of 
conspiracy and insurrection; — nor even to 
such but in a country which, from the divi- 
sion of its inhabitant.s, and the impolicy of 
its administration, had constantly stood on 
the brink of the most violent revolutions; 
where quiet seldom subsisted long but as the 
bitter fruit of terrible examples of cruelty 
and rapine ; and where the majority of the 
people easily listened to offers of foreign aid 
against a government which they considered 
as the most hostile of foreigners. 



CHAPTER V. 

Rupture vjilh the Protestant Tories. — Increas- 
ed decision of the King's desifrns. — En- 
croachments on the Church establishment. — 
Charter- House. — Oxford, University Col- 
lege. — Christ Church. — Exeter College, 
Cambridge. — Oxford, Magdalen College. — 



♦ D'Adda, 7ih Feb. 1687.— MS. 

t Id. 20th June. 

t Scigtielai to lionrepos, 29th Sept. — Fox MSS. 

S Sheridan MS. 



Declaration of liberty of conscience. — Simi' 
lar attempts of Charles. — Proclamation at 
Edinburgh. — Resistance of the Church. — 
Attempt to conciliate the Nonco7iformisls. 
— Rcvicv) of their sufferings. — Jiarter. — 
Bunyaa. — Presbyterians. — Independents. — 
Baptists. — Quakers. — Addresses of thanJcs 
for the declaration. 

In the beginning of the year 1687 the 
rupture of James with the powerful party 
who were; ready to sacrifice all 'but the 
Church to his j)leasure appeared to be irrepa- 
rabl(!. He hud apparently destined Scotland 
to set the example of unbounded submission, 
und'.'r the forms of the constitution; and he 
undoubtedly ho{)ed that the revolution in 
Irfdand would suj)ply him with tlie means 
of securing tlie obedience of his English sub- 
jects by intimidation or force. The failure 
of his project in the most Protestant part of 
his dominions, and its alarming succr.'ss in 
the most Catholic, alike tended to widen the 
breach between parties in England. The 
Tories were alienated from the Crown by the 
example of tlieir friends in Scotland, as well 
as by their dread of the Irish. An unre- 
served compliance with the King's designs 
became notoriously the condition by which 
ofFice was to be obtained or preserved ; and, 
except a very few instances of personal 
friendship, the public profession of the Ca- 
tholic faith was required as the only security 
for that compliance. The royal confidence 
and the direction of public aflairs were trans- 
ferred from the Protestant Tories, in spite of 
their services and sufTerings during half a 
century, into the hands of a faction, who, as 
their title to power was zeal for the advance- 
ment of Popery, must be called "Papists;" 
though some of them professed the Protest- 
ant religion, and though their maxims of 
policy, both in Church and State, were dread- 
ed and resisted by the most considerable of 
the English Catholics. 

It is hard to determine, — perhaps it might 
have been impossible for James himself to 
say, — how far his designs for the advance- • 
ment of the Roman Catholic Church extend- 
ed at the period of his accession to the 
throne. It is agreeable to the nature of such 
projects that he should not, at first, have 
dared to avow to himself any intention be- 
yond that of obtaining relief for his religion, 
and of placing it in a condition of safety ana 
honour ; but it i.? altogether improbable that 
he had even then steadily fixed on a secure 
toleration as the utmost limit of his endea- 
vours. His schemes were probably vaguo 
and fluctuating, assuming a greater distinct- 
ness with respect to the removal of grievous 
penalties and disabilities, but always ready 
to seek as much advantage for his Church as 
the progress of circumstances should render 
attainable; — sometimes drawn back to toler 
ation by prudence or fear, and on other oc- 
casions impelled to more daring counsels by 
the pride of success, or by anger at resist 
ance. In this state of fluctuation it is iio» 



320 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



altogether irreconcilable with the irregu- 
larities of human nature that he might have 
sometimes yielded a faint fnd transient as- 
sent to tliose principles of religious liberty 
which he professed in his public acts- though 
even this superficial sincerity is hard to be 
reconciled with his share in the secret treaty 
of 1670, — with his administration of ScotlantI, 
where he carried his passion for intolerance 
60 far as to be the leader of one sect of here- 
tics in the bloody persecution of another, — 
and with^his language to Barillon. to whom, 
at the very moment of his professed tolera- 
tion, he declared his approbation of the cruel- 
ties of Louis XIV. against his own Protestant 
subjects.* It would be extravagant to ex- 
pect that the liberal maxims which adorned 
his public declarations had taken such a hold 
on his mind as to withhold him from endea- 
vouring to establish his own religion as .soon-- 
as his sanguine zeal should lead him to think 
it practicable; or that he should not in pro- 
cess of time go on to guard it by that code 
of disabilities and penalties which was then 
enforced by every state in Europe except 
Holland, and deemed indispensable security 
for then religion by every Christian com- 
munity, except the obnoxious sects of the 
Socinians, Independents, Anabaptists, and 
Quakers. Whether he meditated a violent 
change of the Established religion from the 
beginning, or only entered on a course of 
measures which must terminate in its sub- 
version, is rather a philosophical than a poli- 
tical question. lu both ca.ses, apprehension 
and resistance were alike reasonable) and 
in' neither could an appeal to arms be war- 
ranted until every other means of self-de- 
fence had proved manifestly hopeless. 

Whatever opinions may be formed of his 
Intentions at an earlier period, it is evident 
that in the year 4687 his resolution was 
taken: though still no doubt influenced by 
the misgivings and fluctuations incident to 
vast and perilous projects, especially when 
they are entertained by those whose charac- 
ter is not so daring as their designs. All the 
measures of his internal government, during 
the eighteen months which ensued, were 
directed to the overthrow of the Established 
Church, — an object which was to be attained 
by assuming a power above law, and couki 
only be preserved by a force sufficient to 
bid defiance to the repugnance of the nation. 
An absolute monarchy, if not the first instru- 
ment of his purpose, must have been the 
last result of that series of victories over the 
people which the success of his design re- 
quired. Such, indeed, were his conscientious 
cpmions of the constitution, that he thought 
the Habeas Corpus Act inconsistent with it; 

* " J'ai (lit an Roi que V. M. n'avoit plus au 
effiur que cie voir prosperer ies soiiis qu'il prends 
ici pour y eia'.jiir la religion Caiholique. S. M. B. 
•lie dit en mc qnittan., • Vous voyez qUR je 
n'oinets rien de ce qui est en mon pouvoir. J'es- 
pere que ie Roi voiie maitre nraidera, et que nous 
fcroiig de concert des grandes clioses pour la re- 
U^ioa •' Barillon, I2th May, 1687.--Fox MSS. 



and so strong was his conviction of the ne^ 
cessity of military force to his designs at that 
time, that in his dying advice to his son, 
written long afterwards, in secrecy and soU- 
tude, after a review of his own government, 
his injunction to the Prince is, — "Keep up a 
considerable body of Catholic troops, with- 
out w hich you cannot be .safe."* The liberty 
of the people, and even the civil constitu- 
tion, were as much the objects of his hos- 
tility as the religion of the great majority, 
and were their best security against ultimate 
persecution. 

The measures of the King's domestic po- 
licy, indeed, consisted rather in encroach- 
ments on the Church than in measures of 
relief to the Catholics. He had, in May, 
1686, granted dispensations to the curate of 
Putney, a convert to the Church of Rome, 
enabling him to hold his benefices, and re- 
lieving him from the performance of all the 
acts inconsistent with his new religion, which 
a long series of statutes had required clergy- 
men of the Church of England to perform.! 
By following this precedent, the King might 
have silently transferred to ecclesiastics of 
his own communion many benefices in every 
diocese in which the bishop had not the 
courage to resist the dispensing power. The 
converted incumbents would preserve their 
livings under the protection of that preroga- 
tive, and Catholic priests might be presented 
to benefices without any new ordination ; for 
the Church of England. — althopghshe treats 
the ministers of any other Protestant commu- 
nion as being only in pretended holy orders, 
— recognise? the ordination of the Church of 
Rome, which she sometimes calls -idola- 
trous," in order to maintain, even through 
such idolatrous predecessors, that unbroken 
connection with the apostles which she deems 
essential to the power of conferring the sacer- 
dotal character. This obscure encroachment, 
however, escaped general observation. 

The first attack on the laws to which resist- 
ance was made was a royal recommendation 
of Andrew Popham, a Catholic, to the Gover- 
nors of the Charter House (a hospital school, 
founded by a merchant of London, named 
Sutton, on the site of a Carthusian monas- 
tery), to be received by them as a pensioner 
on theiropulent establishment, without taking 
the oaths required both by the general law 
and by a private statute passed for the go- 
vernment of that foundation. t Among the 



* Life of James II., vol. ii. p. 621. 

t Gulch, Collecianca Curio.-a. v>il. i. p. 290. and 
Rcre.shy, p. -233. Si-Iaier pu!'lirly recanted the 
Romish religion on llic 5ili of .\l;iy, 1089, — a 
pretty rapid rctrea'. — Account of E. Sclater's Re- 
mrn to the Church of England, by Dr. Horneck, 
London, 1089. It is remarkable that Sancroft so 
far exorcised his archie piscopal jurisdiction as to 
authorise Sciatcr's admission to the Protestant 
communion on condition of public recantation, at 
which Burnet preached: yet the pious t^orneck 
owns that the juncture of time tempted him to 
smile. 

t Relation of the Proceedings at the Charter 
House, London, 1689. — Carte, Life of Ormonda, 
vol. ii. p. 246. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



321 



Governors were persons of the highest dis- 
tinction in Church and State. The Chan- 
cellor, at their frrst meeting, intimated the 
necessity of immediate compliance with the 
King's mandate. Thomas Burnet, the Mas- 
ter, a man justly celebrated for genius, elo- 
quence, and learning, had the courage to 
maintain thfi authority of the laws against 
an opponent so formidable. He was sup- 
ported by the aged Duke of Ormonde, and 
Jeffreys' motion was negatived. A second 
letter to the same effect was addressed to 
the Governors, which they persevered in re- 
sisting; assigning their reasons in an answer 
to one of the Secretaries of State, which was 
subscribed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, 
the Bishop of London, Ormonde, Halifax, 
Nottingham, and Danby. This courageous 
resistance by a single clergyman, counte- 
nanced by such weighty names, induced the 
Court to pause till experiments were tiied in 
other places, where politicians so important 
could not directly interfere. The attack on 
the Charter House was suspended and never 
afterwards resumed. To Burnet, who thus 
threw himself alone into the breach, much 
of the merit of the stand which followed 
justly belongs. He was requited like other 
public benejfactors ; his friends forgot the 
service, ai^d his enemies were excited by 
the remembrance of it to defeat his promo- 
tion, on the pretext of his free exercise of 
reason in the interpretation of the Scriptures, 
— which the Established Clergy zealously 
maintained in vindication of their own sepa- 
ration from the Roman Church, but treated 
with little tenderness in those who dissented 
from their own creed. 

Measures of a bolder nature were resorted 
to on a more conspicuous stage. The two 
great Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, 
the most opulent and splendid literary insti- 
tutions of Europe, were from their foundation 
under the government of the clergy,-:-thQ 
only body of men who then possessed suffi- 
cient learniiig to conduct education. Their 
constitution had not been much altered at 
the Reformation : the same reverence which 
spared their monastic regulations happily 
preserved iheir rich endowments from ra- 
pine; and though many of their members 
suffered at the close of the Civil War from 
their adherence to the vanquished party, the 
corporate property was undisturbed, and their 
studies flourished both under the Common- 
wealth and the Protectorate. Their fame as 
seats of learning, their station as the eccle- 
siastical capitals of the kingdom, and their 
ascendant over the susceptible minds of all 
youth of family and fortune, now rendered 
them the chief scene of the decisive contest 
between James and the Established Church. 
Obadiah Walker, Master of University Col- 
lege, Oxford, a man of no small note for 
ability and learning, and long a concealed 
Catholic, now obtained for himself, and two 
of his fellows, a dispensation from all those 
acts of participation in the Protestant wor- 
ship which the laws since the Reformation 
41 



required, together with a license for the pub- 
lication of books of CathoUc theology.* He 
established a printing press, and a Catholic 
chapel in his college, which was henceforth 
regarded as having fallen into the hands of 
the Catholics. Both these exertions of the 
prerogative had preceded the determination 
of the judges, which was supposed by the 
King to establish its legality. 

Animated by that determination, he (con- 
trary to the advice of Sunderland, who 
thought it safer to choose a well-affected 
Protestant,) proceeded to appoint one Mas- 
sey, a Catholic, who appears to have been a 
layman, to the high station of Dean of 
Christ Church, by which he became a dig- 
nitary of the Church as well as the ruler of 
the greatest college in the University. A 
dispensation and pardon had been granted 
to him on the 16th of December, 1686, dis- 
pensing with the numerous statutes standing 
in the way of his promotion, one of which 
was the Act of Uniformity, — the only foun- 
dation of the legal establishment of the 
Church. t His refusal of the oath of supre- 
macy was recorded ; but he was, notwith- 
standing, installed in the deanery without 
resistance or even remonstrance, byAldrich, 
the Sub-Dean, an eminent divine of the High 
Church parly, who, on the part of the Col- 
lege, accepted the dispensation as a substi- 
tute for the oaths required by law. Massey 
appears to have attended the chapter offi- 
cially on several occasions, and to have pre- 
sided at the election of a Bishop of Oxford 
near two years afterwards. Thus did that 
celebrated society, overawed by power, or 
still misled by their extravagunt principle of 
unlimited obedience, or, perhaps, not yet 
aware of the extent of the King's designs, 
recognise the legality of his usurped power 
by the surrender of an academical office of 
ecclesiastical dignity into hands which the 
laws had disabled from holding it. It was 
no wonder, that the unprecedented vacancy 
of the archbishopric of York for two j-ears 
and a half was generally imputed to the 
King's intending it for Father Petre ; — a sup- 
position countenanced by his frequent appli- 
cation to Rome to obtain a bishopric and a 
cardinal's hat for that Jesuit :t for if he had 
been a Catholic bishop, and if the chapter 
of York were as submissive as that of Christ 
Church, the royal dispensation would have 
seated him on the archiepiscopal throne. 
The Jesuits were bound by a vow§ not to 
accept bishoprics unless ctrnpelled byapre- 



♦ Glitch, Collectanea CurioSa, vol. i. p. 287. 
Athense Oxoniensis, voU iv. p. 438. Dodd, Church 
History, vol. iii. p. 454. 

t Gulch, vol. ii. p. 294. The dispensation to 
Massey contained an ostentatious enumeration of 
the laws which it sets at defiance. 

t Dodd, vol. iii. p. 511. D'Adda MSS. 

i Imposed by Ignatius, at the suggestion of 
Claude Le Jay, an original member of the order, 
who wished to avoid a bishopric, probably from 
humility ; but the regulation afterwards prevented 
the Jesuits from looking for advancement any- 
where but to Rome. 



<lS2 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCKLLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



cept from tho Popo, so tluit his iiitorfi>rence 
was iici'cssai V to open iho gales of the En- 
glish Chmvli to IVtiv. 

An attrnipt was UKuIoon specious pounils 
to take posst>ssion of another eolleiie by a 
suit before the Ecelesiastieal Comniissioners, 
ill wliieli private iiuliviihials were the appa- 
rent parlies. J'he noble family of Petre (of 
whom Father Eilward Petre was one), in 
Jamiary, l(iS7, claimed the riiiht of nomina- 
tion to si>ven fellowships in Exeter Collejre, 
which hail been tbni\i.leil tliere by Sir Wil- 
liam Petre, in the rtMi>n ot Kli/abelh. It 
wasaeki\o\vK\lj:eil on the part of the Collciie, 
that Sir William and his son hail exercised 
that power, tliooiih the latter, as they con- 
tended, had nominated only by siifierance. 
The Bishop of Exeter, the Visitor, had, in 
the reign of .lames I., prononneed an opinion 
airainst the fonnder's descendants; and a 
jndgment had been obtaiiu'd ag^ainst them 
in the Conn of Common Pleas about the 
same time. Under the sanction of these 
authorities, tlie College had for seventy years 
nominated without disturbance to lhesi> fel- 
lowships. Ailibone, the Catholic lawyer, 
contended, that this longu.<;ige, which would \ 
otherwise have been eonchisive, ileserved 
little consideration in a jieriod of such ini- j 
quity towards C;itholics that they were di»- j 
terred from asserting their civil rights. Lord 
Chief Justice Herbert observed, that the ques- 
tion turned upon the agreement between Sir 
William Petre and Exeter College, under 
which that body received the fellows on 
his foundation. JeflVeys. perhaps, fearful of 
violent imwsures at so earlv a stage, and 
taking advantage of the non-appearance of 
the Crown as an ostensible parly, declared 
his concurrence with the Chief .Justice ; and 
file Court determined that the suit was a 
civil case, dependent on the interpretation 
of a contr.ict, and therefore not within their 
jurisdiction as Commissioners of Ecclesiasti- 
cal Canst^s. Sprat afterwards took some 
merit to himself for having contributed to ' 
save Exeter Collegia from the hands of the 
enemy: but the concurrence of the Chan- 
cellor and Chief ,Tu.-5tice, and the technical 
ground of the determination, render the 
vis:-our and value of his resistance very 
doubtful.* " j 

The honour of opposiuir the illeg-al power 
of the Crown devolved on Cambridge, second 
to Oxford in rank and magnificence, but then 
more distinguished by zeal tor liberty ; — ;i 
distinction juobably originating in the long 
residence of Charles 1. at Oxford, and in the 
prevalence of the Parliamentary party at the 
Rime period, in the country around Cam- 
bridge Ttic experiment was made now on 
the w holt> University ; but it was of a cautions 
and timi.l nature, and related to a case im- 
portant in nothing but the principle which it 

• Sprat's l.p!tc>r to Tnird Dorset, p. 1?, This 
casp is now published from tlio Rooords of FxtMor , 
Collojjp, for ilu> first time, ihrouiih ihc kii-d por- 
mission o\ Dr. Joiiee, the present [1826] Rector 
of that society. 



would have established. Early in February, 
of this year, the King had recoimneiuled 
Alban Francis, a Hencdictine monk (said to 
have been a missionary tnnployed to convert 
the young s^i-holars to the Church of Rome, 
on whom an academical honour could hardly 
have been conferred without some appear- 
nnce of countenancing .his mission) to be ad- 
mitted a master of arts, — which was a com- 
mon act of kingly authoritv ; and had granted 
him a dispiMisation from tlie oaths appointed 
by law to be taken on such an admission.* 
Peachell, the Vice-Chancellor, ileclared. that 
he could not tell what to do, — to decline 
his Majesty's letter or his laws. IVlen of 
more wisdom and conragi^ persuaded him to 
choose the better part : and he refused the 
degree without the leg^tl condition. I On the 
complaint of Francis he was snmiuoned 
before the Ecclesiastical Commissioners to 
answer for his disobedience, and (though 
vigorously supported by the Univeisily, who 
appointed deputies to attend him to the bar 
ot the hostile tribunal), after several hearings 
was dejMived of his Vice-Chancellorship, and 
suspended from his oHice o\' Master of Mag- 
dalen College. Atuong those deputies at the 
bar, and probably undistirgnished from the 
rest by the ignorant and arrog-ant Chancellor, 
who looked down upon them all w ith the 
like scorn, stood Isaac Newton, Professor of 
JMathematics in the University, then employ- 
ed in the publication of a work which will 
perish only with the world, but w ho showed 
on that, as on every other tit opportunity in 
his life, that the most sublime contempla- 
tions and the most glorious discoveries could 
not withdraw him from the defence of the 
liberties of his country. 

Put the attack on Oxford, which imme- 
diately ensued, was the most memorable of 
all. The Presidency of Magdalen College, 
one of the most richly endowed communities 
of thtf English Universities, had become va- 
cant a4 the end of March, w hich g-ave occa- 
sion to immediate attempts to obtain from 
the King a nomination to that desirable 
ollice. Smith, one of the fellow.'^, paid his 
court, with this view, to Parker, the treache- 
rous Pishop of Oxford, who, al'ter having 
sounded his friends at Court, warned him 
•• that the King expected the person to be 
reconnnended should be favourable to his 
religion." SmitU answered by general ex- 
pressions of loyalty, which l\irker assured 
him " would not do.'' A few days after- 
wards, S;mcroft anxiously asked Smith who 
was to be the President ; to which he an- 
swered, ''Not I; I never will comply with 
the conditions." Some rumours of the pro- 



* Slate Tri.tls, vol. .\i. p. 13.'>0. Narcissus Lut- 
trell, Apiil and .'May. UiST.— MS. 

t Fepys. IMenioirs, vol. ii. Correspondence, p. 
79. He consistently pursued the doctrine of pas- 
sive obedience. " If," says he, " his M.njesty, 
in his wisdom, and accordinsr to his supreme 
power, contrive other methods to saiisty himself, 
I shall be no nnirnuirer or comploiner, but can ba 
no abettor." — Ibid., p. 81. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1C88. 



323 



jocts of J.'imort havinj? probably iiidiicfd fhn 
AOlowH to appoint lh(i (!l(!(;tioii for tlio 13lh 
of April, on thi! 5th of ihat month thr Kinj^ 
isKnod hirt Irllcr mandatory, corriniaridinji: 
lh(!m to inak(! choic-o of Anthony Farmer,* 
— not a incmhcr of tin; (^olli'j^^c!, and a recent 
conv(!rt to the Chnrtiliof Rome, "any slatut(; 
or custom to IIk; contrary notwithHtandin;.^" 
On the iJlli, the feliowK airrecMi to a petition to 
th(! Kin;/, which vvaH (hihvemd th(! next day 
to Lord Sunderland, to b'j laid l)efor(! his 
Maj(!Bly, in which they alleged that Furmi;r 
was hi^ally incapabhi of holdinj^ thfs oflice, 
and prayed cither that tln^y mi^^ht bo left to 
make a frcus election, or that the Kitif; would 
r<;comm(!nd Horm; perwon fit to be preferred. 
On the lllh, the mandate arriv(!d, and on 
the 13lh the (diM-.tioii was i)OHlpf)ned to the 
l.'ith, — the last day on which it could by the 
Ktatutos be held, — to allow time for receivin;.,' 
an aoHwer to tlu; p<!titiou. On that day they 
weri! informed that tho Kinf^ "expeclcMl lo 
bo obeyed." A small numbiir of the Wiiiior 
fellows proposed a second ptstition ; but thfi 
larger and youn<.n!r i)art rcijectod the ])ropo- 
sal with indifjnation, and |)rocec(h!d lo th(? 
eloclion of Mr. Mou;.;h, al'ttir a discussion 
moro af^rocablo to the natural feelin^^H of iii- 
jur(!(l men than to the principlr-s of passive; 
obi;dience recisiitly prornul;(ali;d by Ihe (Jni- 
versity.t The fellows w(m(! summoned, in 
June, before the Ecch^siaRtical Commission, 
to answer for their conlemj)t of his Majesty's 
commands. On their ap|)eararic(!, Fairfax, 
Olio of tlusir body, haviiif^ desired to know 
the commission by which the Court sat, Jef- 
freys said lo him, "What commission hav(i 
you to be so impuchnit in court"? This man 
ought to be k(!pt in a dark room. Why do 
you siiffrir him without a f(nardian?"^ On 
the 22(1 of the sam(! month, Hough's el(!C- 
tioii was pronounced to be void, and the 
Vice-President, with two of the; fellows, Wf^re 
Buspended. IJnt proofs of sucli notorious and 
vulgar {)io[bgacy had been produced tigainst 
Farm(;r, that it was thought necessary to 
withdraw him in Augu.st ; and the follows 
were dirf^cted by a now mandate to admit 
Parker, Bishop of Oxford, to the presidency. 
This man was as much disabled by tho sta- 
tutes of the College as Farrn(!r; but as ser- 
vility and treachery, though immoralities 
often of a d(!eper dye than debauchery, are 
neither so cai)able of proof nor so easily 
fitrijiped of their disguises, the fellows w<;re 
by this recommendation driven to the neces- 
sity of denying the dispensing power. Their 
inducements, however, to resist him, were 



* Rintc Trials, vol. xii. p. 1. 

t " Hot floliatns nroBC abmit tho Kinjj'a letter, 
anrl horrible nrle reflect ions were iniide upon hJH 
authority, llini he had nothiriK lo do in our nfTiiir, 
and tliinfru of n far worm: niilurr. nnd rormr.qup.nre. 
I told one of them thai the Hpirit of Kcrcuson had 
got into him." — Smith's Diary, Stale Trials, vol. 
jcii. p. .^)ft. 

\ In Narcifisiis Ijullrell's Diary, JefTreye is made 
to say of Fairfax, " He is filler to be in a mad- 
house." 



strengthened by the impossibility of lepre- 
sfMiting them to ihf! King. J'arker. oiigi- 
iially a fanalics'i! Puritan, b(!came a bigoted 
f!linrchman at the liestoratioii, and disgraced 
abilities not iiKtoiisidtirablt! l)y llu; zeal with 
which he defi'iided the penseculioii of his 
late luclhren, and by the nnbridl(!d ribaldry 
with which he revihvj the most virtuous men 
among them. His labours for the (Church of 
England vvisre no sooner rewarded by the 
bishfjpric of Oxford, than he transfijrred his 
sfMvices, if not his faith, to the Church of 
|{orn(!, which thrMi began to bo opi^nly pa- 
tronised by the Court, and seems to have re- 
tained his station in tin; Protestant hierarchy 
III ord(;r to contribute more f-nectually to its 
(histruction. The zeal of those who are more 
anxious lo recommend tlM'triselves than to 
promote their (•aiisf! is often loo eager : and 
the convivial enioymenls of I'arker often 
brstrayed him into very imprudent and un- 
sfif'mly language.* Against such an intru- 
der thf! College had the most powerful mo- 
tives to mak(! a vigorous rj'sistanco. They 
w'cH! summoned into the prestince of tho 
King, when he arrivcid at Oxford in Septem- 
ber, and was received by the body of the 
Uiiiversily with such demonstrations of loy- 
alty as If) Ije boasted of in tlic! (iazette. 
'■'J'he King chid them very much for their 
disobedience," says oiu! ol his altendants. 
"and with a much grealfsr ajjpearance oi 
anger tlian ever I perceived in his Majesty; 
who bad*! them go away and choose the 
Bishop of Oxford, or else they should cer- 
tainly fe(;l the weight of their Sovereign's 
(lis[)ff!asurf;."t They ai)sw(tr(>d respectfully, 
but persevfired. I'ney furth<!r recfoved pri- 
vate warnings, that it was b(!tter toac(piiesce 
in tlie c}ioic(!of a hfiad of suspected religion, 
such as the Bishop, than to expost; them- 
selv(;s to be destroyed by the subservient 
judgfis, in T)rocf!edings of quo viarrunio (for 
which the inevitable breaches of ilieir innu- 
merable statutes would supply a fairer pre- 
text than was sufficient in th(! other corpoiJi- 
tions), or to subjc'Ct themselves to innovations 
in their religious worship which might bo 
imposed by the King in virtue of his unde- 
fined supremacy over the Church.f 

These insinuations proving vain, the King 
issued a commission to Cartwright, JJishop 
of Chester, Chief Justice Wright, and Baron 
Jenner, to examiiur the state of tlu; Collr-ge, 
with full power to alter (he statutes and 
frame new ones, in execution of the autho- 
rity which tho King claimed as supreme 
visitor of cathedrals and colh^ges, and which 
was held to supersede tho powers of their 
ordinary visitors. The commissioners ac- 
cordingly arrived at Oxford on the 20th of 
October, for the purpose of this royal visita- 

•"Athcnffi Oxonienscfl, vol. ii. p. 814. It ap- 
pears that he refused on his deal h- bed to deelare 
himself a Catholic, wliich Evelyn justly thinks 
Btrance. — IVIemoirs, vol. i. p. fiO."). 

t Blathwayt, Secretary of War, Pepys, voL ii 
Correspondenee, p. 8f>. 

\ State Trials, vol. xii. p. 19. 



324 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



tion ; and the object of it was opened by 
Cartwright in a speech full of anger anil 
menace. Hough maintained his own rights 
and those of his College with equal decorum 
and firmness. On being asked whether he 
submitted to the visitation, he answered, 
<^We submit to it as far as it is consistent 
with the laws of the land and the statutes 
of the College, but no farther. There neither 
is nor can be a President as long as I live 
and obey the statutes." The Court cited 
five cases of nomination to the Presitlencj- by 
the Crown since the Reformation, of which 
he appears to have disputed only one. But he 
was unshaken: he refused to give up posses- 
sion of his house to Parker; and when, on 
the second day they deprived him of the 
Presidency, and struck hi? name off the 
books, he came into the hall, and protested 
"against all they had done in prejudice of 
his right, as illegal, unjust, and null." The 
strangers and young scholars loudly ap- 
plauded his courage, w-hich so incensed the 
Court, that the Chief Justice bound him to 
appear in the King's Bench in a thousand 
pounds. Parker having been put into pos- 
session b}' force, a majority of the fellows 
were prevailed on to submit, '-as far as was 
lawful and agreeable to the statutes of the 
College." The appearance of compromise, 
to which every man feared that his com- 
panion might be tempted to yield, shook 
their firmness for a moment. Fortunately 
the imprudence of the King set them again 
at liberty. The answer with which the com- 
missioners were willing to be content did 
not satisty him. He required a written sub- 
mission, in which the fellows should acknow- 
ledge their disobedience, and express their 
sorrow for it. On this proposition they with- 
drew their former submission, and gave in a 
writing in which they finally declared "that 
they could not ackuowledge themselves to 
have done any thing amiss." The Bishop 
of Chester, on the 16th of November, pro- 
nounced the judgment of the Court ; by 
which, on their refusal to subscribe a hum- 
ble acknowledgment of their errors, they 
were deprived and expelled from their fel- 
lowships. Cartwright, like Parker, had origi- 
nally been a Puritan, and was made a Church- 
man by the Restoration ; and running the 
same race, though with less vigorous pow- 
ers, he had been made Bishop of Chester for 
a sermon, inculcating the doctrine, that the 
promises of kings were not binding.* Within 
a few months after these services at Oxford, 
he was rebuked by the King, for saying in 
his cups that Jeifreys and Sunderland would 
deceive him.t Suspected as he was of more 
opprobious vices, the merit of being useful 
in an odious project was sufficient to cancel 

* The King; hath, indeed, promised to govern by 
law ; but the safety of the people (of which he is 
judge) is an exception implied in every nionarchial 
promise." — Sermon at Ripon, 6th February, 1686. 
See also his sermon on the 30ih January, 1682, at 
Holy rood House, before the Lady Anne. 

t I^arcissus Luttrell, February, 1688. — MS. 



all private guilt; and a design was even 
entertained of promoting him to the see of 
London, as soon as the contemplated depriva- 
tion of Compton should be carried into execu- 
tion.* 

Early in December, the recusant fellows 
were incapacitated from holding any benefice 
or preferment in the Church by a decree 
of the Ecclesiastical Commissioners, which 
passed that body, however, only by a majo- 
rity of one ; — the minority consisting of Lord 
Mulgrave, Lord Chief Justice Herbert, Baron 
Jenner, and Sprat, Bishop of Rochester, who 
boasts, that he laboured to make the Com- 
mission, which he countenanced by his pre- 
sence, as little mischievous as he could. t 
This rigorous measure was probably adopted 
from the knowledge, that many of the no- 
bility and gentry intended to bestow livings 
on many of the ejected fellows.t The King 
told Sir Edward Seymour, that he had heard 
that he and others intended to take some of 
thein into their houses, and added that he 
should look on it as a combination against 
himself.§ But in spite of these thieats con- 
siderable collections were made for them ; 
and when the particulars of the transaction 
were made known in Holland, the Princess 
of Orange contributed two hundred pounds 
to their relief.ll It was probably by these 
same threats that a person so prudent as 
well as mild was so transported beyond her 
usual meekness as to say to D'Abbeville, 
James' minister at the Hague, that if she 
ever became Queen, she would signalise het 
zeal for the Church more than Elizabeth. 

The King represented to Barillon the ap- 
parently triumphant progress which he had 
just made through the South and West of 
England, as a satisfactory proof of the popu- 
larity of his person and government.T But 
that experienced statesman, not deceived by 
these outward shows, began from that mo- 
ment to see more clearly the dangers which 
James had to encounter. An attack on the 
most opulent establishment for education of 
the kingdom, the expulsion of a body of 
learned men from their private property 
without any trial known to the laws, and for 
no other offence than obstinate adherence to 
their oaths, and the transfer of their great 
endowments to the clergy of the King's per- 
suasion, who were legally unable to hold 
them, even if he had justly acquired the 
power of bestowing them, were measures of 
bigotry and rapine, — odious and alarming 
without being terrible, — by which the King 
lost the attachment of many friends, without 



* Johnstone (son of Warriston) to Burnet, 8th 
December, 1687. — Welbeck MS. Sprat, in his 
Letter to Lord Dorset, speaks of "farther pro- 
ceedings" as being meditated against Compton. 

t Johnstone, ibid. He does not name the ma 
jority : they, probably, were Jeffreys, Sunderland, 
the Bishops of Chester and Durham, and Lord 
Chief Justice Wriaht. 

t Johnstone, 17ih November. — MS. 

^ Td. 8ih December.— MS. 

II Smith's Diary, State Trials, vol. xii. p. 73. 

T Barillon, 23d— 29th Sept.— Fox MSS. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



S26 



inspiring his opponents with much fear. The 
members of Magdalen College were so much 
the objects of general sympathy and respect, \ 
that though they justly obtained the honours 
of martyrdom, they experienced little of its 
Bufferings. It is hard to imagine a more un- 
skilful attempt to persecute, than that which 
thus inflicted sufferings most easily relieved 
on men who were most generally respected. 
In corporations so great as the University the 
■wrongs of every member were quickly felt 
and resented by the whole body ■ and the 
prevalent feeling was speedily spread over 
the kingdom, every part of which received 
from thence preceptors in learning and teach- 
ers of religion, — a circumstance of peculiar 
importance at a period when publication still 
continued to be slow and imperfect. A con- 
test for a corporate right has the advantage 
of seeming more generous than that for indi- 
vidual interest j and corporate spirit itself is 
one of the most steady and infle.xible prin- 
ciples of human action. An invasion of the 
legal possessions of the Universities was an 
attack on the strong holds as well as palaces 
of the Church, where she was guarded by 
the magnificence of art, and the dignity and 
antiquity of learning, as well as by re.spect 
for religion. It was made on principles which 
tended directly to subject the whole propeity 
of the Church to the pleasure of the Crown ; 
and as soon as, in a conspicuous and exten- 
sive instance, the sacredness of legal pos- 
session is intentionally violated, the securit)- 
of all property is endangered. Whether 
such proceedings were reconcilable to law. 
and could be justified by the ordinary au- 
thorities and arguments of lawyers, was a 
question of very subordinate importance. 

At an early stage of the proceedings 
against the Universities, the King, not con-- 
tent vi'ith releasing individuals from obedi- 
ence to the law by dispensations in particular 
cases, must have resolved on altogether sus- 
pending the operation of penal laws relating 
to religion by one general measure. He had 
accordingly issued, on the 4th of April, ''A 
Declaration for Liberty of Con.science ;" 
which, after the statement of those princi- 
ples of equitj' and policy on which religious 
liberty is founded, proceeds to make provi- 
sions in their own natures so wise and just 
that they want nothing but lawful authority 
and pure intention to render ihem worthy 
of admiration. It suspends the execution 
of all penal laws for nonconformity, and of 
all laws which re(]aire certain acts of con- 
formity, as qualifications for civil or military 
office; it gives leave to all men to meet and 
serve God after their own manner, publicly 
and privately ; it denounces the royal dis- 
pleas-,:re and the vengeance of the land 
against all who should disturb any religious 
worship; and, finally, '-in order that his 
loving subjects may be discharged from all 
penalties, forfeitures, and disabilities, which 
they may have incurred, it grants them a 
free pardon for all crimes by them committed 
against the said penal laws." This Declara- 



tion, founded on the eui)posed pov\er of eus- 
pending laws, was, in several respecle, of 
more extensive operation than the exercise 
of the power to dispense with them. The 
laws of disqualification only became penal 
v\ hen the Nonconformist was a candidate for 
office, and not necessarily implying immo- 
rality in the person disqualified, might, ac- 
cording to the doctrine then received, be the 
proper object of a dispensation. But some 
acts of nonconformity, which might be com- 
mitted by all men, and which dul not of ne- 
cessity involve a coiiscieiitious dissent, were 
regarded as in themselves immoral, and to 
them it was acknowledged that the dispen- 
sing power did not extend. Dispensations, 
however multiplied, are presumed to be 
grounded on the special circumstances of 
each case. But every exercise of the power 
of indefinitely suspending a whole class of 
laws which must be grounded on general 
rea.sons of policy, without any consideration 
of the circumstances of paiticular individu- 
als, is evidently a more undi.'^gui.sed assump- 
tion of legislative authority. Theie were 
practical differences of considerable import- 
ance. No dispensation could prevent a legal 
proceeding from being commenced and car- 
ried on as far as the point where it was regu- 
lar to appeal to the dispensation as a defence. 
But the declaration which suspended the 
laws stopped the prosecutor on the threshold; 
and in the case of disqualification it seemed 
to preclude the necessity of all subsequent 
dispen,salions to individuals. The dispensing 
power might remove disabilities, and protect 
from punishment; but the exemption from 
expense, and the security against vexation, 
were completed only by this exercise of the 
suspending power. 

Acts of a similar nature had been twice 
attempted by Charles II. The first was the 
Declaration in Ecclesiastical Affairs, in the 
year of his restoration ; in which, after many 
concessions to Dissenters, wliicli might be 
considered as provisional, and binding only 
till the negotiation for a general union in re- 
ligion should be closed, he adds. '-We hereby 
renew what we promised in our D.ec]aration 
from Breda, that no man should be disquieted 
for difference of opinion in matters of religion, 
which do not disturb the peace of the king- 
dom."* On the faith of that promise the 
Engli-sh Nonconformists had concurred in the 
Restoration: yet the Convention Parliament 
itself, in which the Presbyterians were 
powerful, if not predominant, refused, though 
by a small majority, to pass a bill to render 
this tolerant Declaration effectual.t But the 
next Parliament, elected under the preva- 
lence of a different spirit, broke the public 
faith by the Act of Uniformity, which pro- 
hibited all public worship and religious in- 
struction, except such as were conformable to 

* Kennet, History, vol. iii. p. 242. 

t Commons' Journals, 28ih November, 1660. 
On the second reading; 'the numbers were, ayes, 
157; noes, 1S3. Sir G. Booth, a telle*- for the 
ayes, was a Presbyterian leader. 
2C 



326 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



the Established Church* The zeal of that 
assembly had, indeed, at its opening, been 
stimulated by Clarendon, the deepest stain 
on whose administration was the renewal of 
intolerance. t Charles, whether most actu- 
ated by love of quiet, or by indifference to 
religion, or by a desire to open the gates to 
Dissenters, that Catholics might enter, made 
an attempt to preserve the public faith, 
which he had himself pledged, by the exer- 
cise of his dispensing power. In the end of 
1662 he had published another Declaration,! 
m which he assured peaceable Dissenters, 
who were only desirous modestly to perform 
their devotions in their own wa}-, that he 
would make it his special care to incline the 
wisdom of Parliament to concur with him in 
making some act which, he adds, "may 
enable us to exorcise, with a more universal 
satisfaction, the dispensing power which we 
conceive to be inherent in us." In the 
speech with which he opened the next ses- 
sion, he oidy ventured to say, '-'I coulil 
heartily wish I had such a power of indul- 
geirce." The Commons, however, better 
royalists or more zealous Churchmen than 
the King, resolved '• that it be represented 
to his Majesty, as the humble advice of this 
House, that no indulgence be granted to 
Dissenters from the Act of Uniformity •"§ 
and an address to that effect was presented 
to him, which had been drawn up by Sir 
Heneage Finch, his ovim Solicitor-General. 
The King, counteracted by his ministers, 
almost silently acquiesced ; and the Parlia- 
ment proceeded, in the years which immedi- 
ately followed, to enact that series of perse- 
cuting laws which disgrace their memory, 
and dishonour an administration otherwise 
not without claims on our praise. It was not 
till the beginning of the second Dutch war, 
that "a Declaration for indulging Noncon- 
formists in matters ecclesiastical" was ad- 
vised by Sir Thomas Clifford, for the sake of 
Catholics, and embraced by Shaftesbury for 
the general interests of religious liberty. || A 



* 14 Car. II. civ. 

t Speeches, 8ih M.iy, 1661, and 19di May, 
1663. " The Lords Clarendon and Southampton, 
together with the Bishops, were the great oppo- 
sers of the King's inleniion to grant toleration to 
Dissenters, according to the promise at Breda." — 
Life of James II. vol. i. p. 3'Jl. These, indeed, 
are not the words of the King; but for more than 
twelve years on thi.s part of his Life, the compiler, 
Mr Dicconson, does not quote James' M.SS. 

I Kennet, Register, p. 850. — The concluding 
paragraph, relating to Catholics, is a model of that 
stalely ambiguity under which the style of Claren- 
don gave him peculiar facilities of cloaking an un- 
popular proposal. 

§ Journals. 25th Feb., 1663. 

II " We think ourselves obliged to make use of 
that supreme power in ecclesiastical matters which 
is inherent in us. We declare our will and plea- 
sure, that the e.xecution of all penal laws in mat- 
ters ecclesiastical be suspended ; and we shall 
allow a sufficient number of places of worship as 
they shall be desired, for the use of those who do 
not conform to the Church of England : — without 
allowing public worship to Roman Catholics." 
Most English hislorians tell us that Sir Orlando 



considerable debate on this Declaration took 
place in the House of Commons, in which 
Waller alone had the boldness and liberality 
to contend for the toleration of the Catholics; 
but the principle of freedom of conscience, 
and the desire to gratify the King, yielded to 
the dread of prerogative and the enmhy to 
the Church of Rome. An address was pre- 
sented to the King, "to inform him that 
penal statutes in matters ecclesiastical can- 
not be suspended but by Act of Parlia- 
ment ;" to which the King returned an eva- 
sive answer. The House presented another 
address, declaring " that the King was very 
much misinformed, no such power having 
been claimed or recognised by any of his 
predecessors, and if admitted, might tend to 
altering the legislature, which has always 
been acknowledged to be in your Majesty 
and your two Houses of Parliament ;" — in 
answer to which the King said, " If any 
scruple remains concerning the suspension 
of the penal law.s, I hereby faithfully promise 
that what hath been done in that particvxlar 
shall not be drawn either into consequence 
or example." The Chancellor and Secretary 
Coventry, by command of the King, acquaint- 
ed both Houses separately, on the same day, 
that he had caused the Declaration to be can- 
celled in his presence; on which both Houses 
immediately voted, and presented in a body, 
an unanimous address of thanks to his 
Majesty, "for his gracious, full, and satis- 
factory answer."* The whole of this trans- 
action undoubtedly amounted to a solemn 
and final condemnation of the pretension to 
a suspending power by the King in Parlia- 
ment : it was in substance not distinguishable 
from a declaratory law ; and the forms of a 
statute seem to have been dispensed with 
only to avoid the appearance of distru.st or 
discourtesy towards Charles. We can dis- 
cover, in the very imperfect accounts which 
are preserved of the debates of 1673, that 
the advocates of the Crown had laid main 
stress on the King's ecclesiastical supremacy; 
it being, as they reasoned, evideirt that the 
head of the Church should be left to judge 
when it was wise to execute or suspend the 
laws intended for its protection. They relied 
also on the undisputed right of the Crown to 
stop the progress of each single prosecution 
which seemed to justify, by analogy, a more 
general exertion of the same power. 

James, in his Declaration of Indulgence, 
disdaining any appeals to analogy or to .su- 
premacy, chose to take a wider and higher 
ground, and concluded the preamble in the 
tone of a master: — "We have thought fit, 
by virtue of our royal* prerogative, to issue 

Bridgman refused to put the Great Seal to this 
Declaration, and that Lord Shaftesbury was made 
Chancellor to seal it.. The falsehood of this state- 
ment is proved by the mere inspection of the 
London Gazette, by which we see that the De- 
claration was issued on the 15th of March, 1672, 
when Lord Shaftesbury was not yet appointed. 
— See Locke's Letter from a Person of Quality, 
and the Life of Shaftesbury (unpublished), p. 247. 
* Journals, 8ih March, 1673. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



327 



forth this our Declaration of Indulgence, 
making no doubt of the concurrence of our 
two Houses of Parliament, when we shall 
think it convenient for them to meet." His 
Declaration was issued in manifest defiance of 
the parliamentary condemnation pronounced 
on that of his brother, and it was introduced 
in language of more undefined and alarming 
extent. On the other hand, his measure was 
countenanced by the determination of the 
judges, and seemed to be only a more com- 
pendious and convenient manner of effecting 
what these perfidious magistrates had de- 
clared he might lawfully do. Their iniqui- 
tous decision might excuse many of those 
who were ignorant of the means by which it 
was obtained • but the King himself, who 
had removed judges too honest to concur in 
it, and had neither continued nor appointed 
any whose subserviency he had not first as- 
certained, could plead no such authority in 
mitigation. He had dictated the oracle which 
he aff"ected to obey. It is very observable 
that he himself, or rather his biographer (for 
it is not just to impute this base excuse to 
himself), while he claims the protecting au- 
thority of the adjudication, is prudently .silent 
on the unrighteous practices by which that 
show of authority was purchased.* 

The way had been paved for the English 
Declaration by a Proclamationt issued at 
Edinburgh, on the 12th of February, couched 
in loftier language than was about ,to be 
hazarded in England: — "We, by our sove- 
reign authority, prerogative royal, and abso- 
lute power, do hereby give and grant our 
ro3-al toleration. We allow and tolerate the 
moderate Presbyterians to meet in their 
private houses, and to hear such ministers 
as have been or are willing to accept of our 
indulgence ; but they are not to build meet- 
ing-houses, but to exercise in houses. We 
tolerate Quakers to meet in their form in any 
place or places appointed for their worship. 
We, by our sovereign authority, &c. suspend, 
stop, and disable, all laws or Acts of Parlia- 
ment made or executed against any of our 
Roman Catholic subjects, so that they shall 
be free to exercise their religion and to enjoy 
all ; but they are to exercise in houses or 
chapels. And we cass, annul, and discharge 
all oaths by which our subjects are disabled 
from holding offices." He concludes by con- 
firming the proprietors of Church lands in 
their possession, which seemed to be wholly 
unnecessary while the Protestant establish- 
ment endured ; and adds an assurance more 
likely to disquiet than to satisfy, " that he 
will not use force against any man for the 
Protestant religion." In a short time after- 
wards he had extended this indulgence to 
those Presbyterians who scrupled to take the 
Test or any other oath; and in a few months 
more, on the 5th of July, all restrictions on 
toleration had been removed, by the per- 

* Life of James II., vol. ii. p. 81. " He," says 
the biographer, " hf>d no other oracle to apply to 
for exposition of dilT.cult and intricate points." 

"t Wodvow, vol. ii. app. 



mission granted to all to serve God in their 
own manner, whether in private houses or 
chapels, or houses built or hired for the pur- 
pose ;* or, in other words, he had established, 
by his own sole authority, the most unbound- 
ed liberty of worship and rehgious instruc- 
tion in a country where the laws treated 
every act of dissent as one of the most 
heinous crimes. There is no other example, 
perhaps, of so e.xcellent an object being pur- 
sued by means so culpable, or for purposes 
in which evil was so much blended with 
good. 

James was equally astonished and incensed 
at the resistance of the Church of England. 
Their warm professions of loyalty, their ac- 
quiescence in measures directed only against 
civil liberty, their solemn condemnation of 
forcible resistance to oppression (the lawful- 
ness of which constitutes the main strength 
of every opposition to misgovernment), had 
persuaded him that they would look patiently 
on the demolition of all the bulwarks of their 
own wealth, and greatness, and power, and 
submit in silence to measures which, after 
stripping the Protestant religion of all its 
temporal aid, might at length leave it exposed 
to persecution. He did not distinguish be- 
tween legal opposition and violent resistance. 
He believed in the adherence of multihades 
to professions poured forth in a moment of 
enthusiasm ; and he was so ignorant of hu- 
man nature as to imagine, that speculative 
opinions of a very extravagant sort, even if 
they could be stable, were sufficient to su- 
persede interest and habits, to bend the pride 
of iTigh establishments, and to stem the pas- 
sions of a nation in a state of intense excite- 
ment. Yet James had been admonished by 
the highest authority to beware of this de- 
lusion. Morley, Bishop of Winchester, a 
veteran royalist and Episcopalian, whose 
fidelity had been tried, but whose judgment 
had been informed in the Civil War, almost 
with his dying breath desired Lord Dart- 
mouth to warn the King, that if ever he de- 
pended on the doctrine of Nonresistance he 
would find himself deceived; for that most 
of the Church would contradict it in their 
practice, though not in terms. It was to no 
purpose that Dartmouth frequently reminded 
James of Morley's last message; for he an- 
swered, '• that the Bishop was a good man, 
but grown old and timid. "t 

It must be owned, on the other hand, that 
there were not wanting considerations which 
excuse the expectation and explain the dis- 
appointment of James. Wiser men than he 
have been the dupes of that natural preju- 
dice, which, leads us to look for tha same 
consistency between the different parts of 
conduct which is in some degree found to 
prevail among the different reasonings and 
opinions of every man of somid mind. It 
cannot be denied that the Church had dono 

* Wodrow. vol.ii. app. Fountainhall, vol.i. p. 463. 
t Burnet, (0.\ford, 1823), vol. ii. p. 428. Lord 
Dartniouth'e note, 



328 



MACKINTOSH'S mSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



much to deliidp him. Fov they did not con- 
tent themselves with never controveitinii, nor 
even confine tliemselves to calmly preachinii^ 
the doctrine of Nonresistance (wliich mipht 
be justified and perhaps commended) ; but it 
was constantly and vehemently inculcated. 
The more furious preachers treated all who 
doubted it with the (lercest scurrility,* and 
the must pure and jjentle were ready to intro- 
duce it harshly and unreasonably ;t and they 
all boasted of it, perhaps with reason, as a pe- 
culiar characteristic which dislineuished the 
Church of Eni;lanil from other Christian com- 
munities. Nay, if a solemn declaration from 
an authority second only to the Church, as- 
sembled in a national council, could have 
been a security for their conduct, the judii-- 
ment of the University of Oxford, in their Con- 
vocation in 16S3, may seem to warrant the 
utmost expectations of the King. For among 
other po.sitions condemned by that learned 
boily, one was, ''that if lawful governors be- 
come tyrants, or govern otherwise than by 
the laws of God or man they ought to do, 
they forfeit the right they had unto their 
government, t Now, it is manifest, that, 
acconling to this tletermination, if the King 
had abolished Parliainents, shut the courts 
of justice, and changed the laws according 
to hfs pleasure, he would nevertheless retain 
the same rights as before over all his sub- 

{'ects; that any part of them who resisted 
lim would still contract the full guilt of re- 
bellion ; and that the co-operation of the 
sounder portion to repress the revolt woulil 
be a moral duty and a lawful service. How, 
then, could it be reasonable to withstand him 
in far less important assaults on his sub- 
jects, and to turn against him laws which 
owed their continuance solely to his good 
pleasure ? Whether this last mode of rea- 
soning be proof against all objections or not. 
it was at loa.st specious enough to satisfy the 
King, when it agreed with his passions and 
supposed interest. Under the influence of 
these natural delusions, we find him filled 
with astonishment at the prevalence of the 
ordinary motives of human conduct over an 
extravas^ant dogma, and beyond measure 
amazed that the Church should oppose the 



* Sonih, pasfiin. 

t Ti!lot.«!on, On the Death of Lord Russell. 
About n year before tlie time to wliich ilie text 
alludes, in a visitation sermon preached bel'ore 
Sancroft by Keitleweil, an excellent man, in 
whom nothing was sierii but this doctrine, it is in- 
culcated to such an exient as, according to the 
usual interpretation of the passage in P.iul's Epis- 
tle to the Romans (xiii. C), to prohibit resistance 
to Nero ; " who," says nevertheless the preacher, 
"invaded honest men's estates to supply his own 
profusion, and emhnied his hands in the blood of 
any he had a pique against, without any regard to 
law or justice." "^IMie Homily, or exhortation to 
obedience, composed under Edward VI.. in 1547, 
by Crainner, and sanctioned by authority of the 
Church, asserts it to be "the calling of God's 
people to render oliedience to governors, although 
they be wicked or wrong-doers, and in no case to 

t Collier, Ecclesiastical History, vol. ii. p. 902. 



Crown after the King had become the ene 
my of the Church. " Is this your Church of 
England loyalty?" he cried to (he fellown 
of Magdalen College ; while in his confiden- 
tial conversations he now spoke with the 
utmost indignation of this inconsistent and 
mutinous Church. Ag-ainst it, he told the 
Nuncio, that he had by his Declaration struck 
a blow whicli would resouml through the 
country ; — ascribing their unexpected resist- 
ance to a consciousness that, in a general 
liberty of conscience, '• the Anglican religion 
would be the first to decline.''* Suriderland, 
in sp(^akiiig cf the Church to the stune min- 
ister, exclaimed, '-Where is now their boast- 
ed fidelity'? The Declaration has mortified 
those who have resisted the King's pious and 
benevolent designs. The Anglicans are a 
ridiculous sect, who aflect a sort of modera- 
tion in heresy, by a compound and jumble 
of all other persuasions; and who, notwith- 
standing the attachment which they boast 
of having maintained to the monarchy and 
the royal family, have proved on this occa- 
sion the most insolent and contumacious of 
men."t After the refusid to comply with 
his designs, on the ground of conscience, by 
Admiral Herbert, a- man of louse life, loaded 
with the favours of the Crown, and supposed 
to be as sensible of the obligations of honour 
as he was negligent of those of religion and 
morality, James declared to Barillon, that he 
nevej^ould put confidence in any man, how- 
ever attached to him, who afTected the cha- 
racter of a zealous Prote.stant.t 

The Declaration of Indulgence, however, 
had one important purpose beyond the asser- 
tion of prerogative, the advancement of the 
Catholic religion, or the gratification of anger 
ag-ainst the unexpected resistance of the 
Church: it was intended to divide Protest- 
ants, and to obtain the support of the Non- 
conformists. The same policy had, indeed, 
failed in the preceding reign; but it was not 
unreasonably hoped by the Court, that the 
sufferings of twenty years liad irreconcilably 
inflamed the dissenting sects against the 
Establishment, and had at length taught 
them to prefer their own personal and reli- 
gious liberty to vague and speculative oppo- 
sition to the Papacy, — the only bond of union 
between the discordant communities who 
were called Protestants. It was natural 
enough to suppose, that they would show no 
warm interest in universities fiom which 
they were excluded, or for prelates who had 
excited persecution against them; and that 
they would thankfully acci>pt the blessings 
of safety and repose, without anxiously ex- 
amining whether the grant of these advan- 
tages was consistent with the principles of a 
constitution which treated them as unworthy 
of all trust or employment. Certainly the 
penal law from which the Declaration ten- 



* D'Adda, 21s: March, 16S7; "un colpo stre- 
pitoso." " Pcrche la religione Anglicara sarebb« 
staia la prima a declinare in questa mutazione." 

t D'Adda, 4th— 18th April. 

X Barillon, i\\.h. March.— Fox MSS, 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



329 



tiered relief, was not such as to dispose them 
to be very jealous of the mode of its removal. 
An Act in the latter years of Elizabeth* 
had made refusal to attend the established 
worship, or presence at that of Dissenters, 
punishable by imprisonment, and, unless 
atoned forby conformity within three months, 
by perpetual banishment,t enforced by death 
if the offender should return. Within three 
years after the solemn promise of liberty of 
conscience from Breda, this barbarous law, 
which had been supposed to be dormant, 
was declared to be in force, by an Act t which 
subjected every one attending any but the 
estabhshed worship, where more than five 
were present, on the third ofTence, to trans- 
portation for seven years to any of the colo- 
nies (except New England and Virginia, — 
the only ones where they might have been 
consoled by their fellow-religionists, and 
where labour in the fields was not fatal to an 
European); and which doomed them in case 
of their return, — an event not very probable, 
after having laboured for seven years as the 
slaves of their enemies under the sun of Bar- 
badoes, — to death. Almost every officer, 
civil or military, was empowered and en- 
couraged to disperse their congregations as 
unlawful assemblies, and to arrest their ring- 
leaders. A conviction before two magis- 
trates, and in some cases before one, without 
any right of appeal or publichy of proceed- 
ing, was sufficient to expose a helpless or 
obnoxious Nonconformist to these tremen- 
dous consequences. By a refinement in per- 
secution, the jailer was instigated to disturb 
the devotions of his prisoners ; being subject 
to a fine if he allowed any one who was at 
large to join them in their religious worship. 
The pretext for this statute, which was how- 
ever only temporary, consisted in some riots 
and tumults in Ireland and in Yorkshire, 
evidently viewed by the ministers them- 
selves with more scorn than fear.§ A per- 
manent law, equally tyrannical, was passed 
in the next session. II By it every dissenting 
clergjinan was forbidden from coming within 
five miles of his former congregation, or of 
any corporate town or parliamentary borough, 
under a penalty of forty pounds, unless he 
should take the following oath : — •' I swear 
that it is not lawful, upon any pretence what- 
soever, to take up arms against the King, or 
those commissioned by him, and that I will 
not at any time endeavour any alteration of 
government in Church or State." In vain 
did Lord Southampton raise his dying voice 
against this tyrannical act. though it was 
almost the last exercise of the ministerial 

*35EIiz. c. 1, (1593.) 

t A sort of exile, called, in our old law, " ab- 
juring the realm," in which the offender was to 
banish himself. 

t 16 Car. n. c. 4. 

^ Ralph, History of England, vol. ii. p. 97. 
" As these plots," says that writer, "were con- 
temptihle or formidable, we must acquit or con- 
demn this reign." 

II 17 Car. II, c. 2. 

42 



power of his friend and colleague Clarendon ; 
— vehemently condemning the oath, which, 
royalist as he was, he declared that neither 
he nor any honest man could take.* A faint 
and transient gleam of indulgence followed 
the downfall of Clarendon. But, in the year 
1670, another Act was passed, reviving that 
of 1664, with some mitigations of punish- 
ment, and with amendments in the fonn of 
proceeding ;t but with several provisions of 
a most unusual nature, which, by their mani- 
fest tendency to stimulate the bigotry of ma- 
gistrates, rendered it a sharper instrument 
of persecution. Of this nature was the de- 
claration, that the statute was to be construed 
most favourably for the suppression of con- 
venticles, and for the encouragement of those 
engaged in carrying it into effect ; the ma- 
lignity of which must be measured by its 
effect in exciting all public officers, especial- 
ly the lowest, to constant vexation and fre- 
quent cruelty towards the poorer Noncon- 
formists, marked by such language as the 
objects of the fear and hatred of the legisla- 
ture. 

After the defeat of Charles' attempt to re- 
lieve all Dissenters by his usurped preroga- 
tive, the alarms of the House of Commons 
had begun to be confined to the Catholics; 
and they had conceived designs of union 
with the more 'moderate of their Protestant 
brethren, as well as of indulgence towards 
those whose dissent was irreconcilable. But 
these designs proved abortive : the Court re- 
sumed its animosity against the Dissenters, 
when it became no longer possible to employ 
them as a shelter for the Catholics. The 
laws were already sufficient for all practical 
purposes of intolerance, and their execution 
was in the hands of bitter enemies, from the 
Lord Chief Justice to the pettiest constable. 
The temper of the Established clergy was 
such, that even the more liberal of them 
gravely reproved the victims of such laws 
for complaining of persecution. t The in- 
ferior gentry, who constituted the magistracy, 
— ignorant, intemperate, and tyrannical, — 
treated dissent as rebellion, and in their con- 
duct to Puritans were actuated by no princi- 
ples but a furious hatred of those whom they 
thought the enemies of the monarchy. The 
whole jurisdiction, in cases of Nonconformity, 
was so vested in that body, as to release 
them in its e.xercise from the greater part of 
the restraints of fear and shame. With the 
sanction of the legislature, and the counte- 
nance of the Government, what indeed could 
they fear from a proscribed party, consisting 
chiefly of the humblest and poorest men? 
From shame they were effectually secured, 
since that which is not public cannot be 
made shameful. The particulars of the con- 
viction of a Dissenter might be unknown 
beyond his village; the evidence against 



* Locke, Letter from a Person of Quality. 
+ 22 Car. IL c. 1. 

t SiiUingfleet, Sermon )n the Mischief of Se> 
paration. 

2c2 



S30 



MACKLNTOSHS MISCELLANEOVS ESSAYS. 



him, if any, might be coufiae*.! to the room 
where he was; coavicteil : and in that age of 
slow ooninuKiii'ation. few men would incur 
the trvnible or obloquy of couveyiiig to their 
corresjHnultMits tlu» harvlships intliotod, with 
the apjvirent amotion of hiw, in remote and 
ignorant dist riots, ou men at onoo obscure 
and odious, and often provoked by their suf- 
ferings into intoniperanoe and ext!-.\\i\g;vnoe. 
Imprisonment is, of all punislunents, the 
most iiuiet and convenient nuxlo of porsecu- 
tion. The prisoner is silentlv hid irom the 
public eye ; his sutTerings, ^eini; imseen, 
speedily cease to excite pitv or iniiignation : 
he is soon diXMuod to oblivion. As it is 
alwa}-s the s;\fest punishment for an oj> 
pressor to intlict. so it was in that age, m 
England, jvrhaps the most cruel. Some esti- 
mate of ihe sutieriivg from cold, hunger, and 
nakedness, in ihe dark and noisome dun- 
^Hins, tlien called prisons, may be formed 
Irom the remains of such buildings, which 
iiKlustrious benevolence has not yet every 
\vher\? demolisht\l. Being subject to no re- 
gulation, juul without means for the regvilar 
suslen;uice of the prisoners, they were at 
once the scene of debaucherv and famine. 
The Puritans, the most stM-ere\v moral men 
of anv age, were canvdt\i in cells with the 
protliasite and ferocious criminals with whom 
the kingxloni then aKniuded. We learn from 
the testimony of the legislature itself, that 
"needy ivrs<.ins committevl to jail many times 
perished betore their t lal."* We are told 
bv Thomas Eihvood, the Quaker, a friend of 
million, that when a prist^uer in Xewg-;\te for 
his religion, he s;»w ine heads and quarters 
of men who had KH»n execntetl for treason 
kept for siMne time close to the cells, and 
the heads lossovl ab<.Hit in sjx^rt by the hang- 
man and the more harvlened malefactors ;t 
a:id the description given by Ciixn"ge Fox. 
the founder of ine Quakers, of liis own treat- 
ment when a prisoner at Launcesion. too 
clearly exhibits the unfunded jxiwer of his 
jailers, and its mast cruel exercise.! It was 
no wonder that, when prisoners were bronsrht 
to trial at the assises, the cor.tagion of jail 
fever should of^en rush forth with them from 
these abovles of all that was Kxxthsome and 
hideous, and sweep away judgt^s, and jurors, 
and advocates, with its pestilential blast. 
The mortality of such prisons must have 
suriv\ssed the im,^gir.ations of more civilizcvl 
times ; and death, if it amid be seivirated 
from the long sutfering* which lt\t to it, might 



• IS & 19 Car. il. c. 9. Evidence mor«> con- 
clusive, froin its boing undesignedly drv>piH^d, of 
the fr*Hnu>noy of such horrit>le ovvurrences in the 
jail of Newsrste. transpires in a ix^ntroversy be- 
tween a CaiKoIio and PrvMesiant clergyman, about 
the reliiiivnis $entiineni$ of a dvinjj eriininal, and 
b preserved in a curious i^awpHlet, o.-»'.lt\i '" The 
Pharisee Inmaskod." published in 16S7. 

t " This prison, whert^ are so manv. sutTivateth 
the spints ol" f«j;ed ministers." — Lite of Baxter 
(Calamy's AbndiinenO, v^ari iii. p. '200. 

t Journal, jv liki. where the desciipiion of the 
duiig^on c«lted " VitamsJitle" surpasses all ima^i- 
Mtion. 



perha^ be considere*.! as the most mercilnJ 
}x\rt ot the prison discipline of that age. It 
would be exceedingly harvl to estimate the 
amount of this mortality, even if the ditfi- 
culty were not enhanced by the pri^judices 
which led either to its exteiuiation or aggra- 
vation. Prisotjers were then so torgvMUm, 
that a rtvonl of it was not to be exivcted ; 
and the very tiature of the atrocious wicked- 
ness which employs imprisonment as the in- 
strument of murvler. would, in many cases, 
render it imix>ssible distinctly and mlpabjy 
to show the prv^cess by which cold and hunger 
begot mortal disease. But computations have 
betMi attempted, and. as was natural, chietly 
by the sutferers. William Penn, a man ot 
such virtue as to make histestimony weighty, 
even when Kirne to the sutferings of his 
own p;\rty, publicly atlirmed at the time, that 
since the Kestoiation "mori" than tive thou- 
sand persons had died in Ivnds for maiters 
of ntere conscience to Cuxl.'* Twelve hun- 
dred Quakers were enlarged by James.t 
The calculations of Neale. the historian of 
the Nonconformists, would carry the mtm- 
bors. still farther ; and he does not ap^var, on 
this jxiint, to be contradictt\l by his zealous 
and unwearied antagonist.! But if we reduce 
the number of deaths to one half of Penn's 
estimate, and supjxise that number to be the 
tenth of the prisiMiens, it will alfon.! a dread- 
ful measure of the sutleringis of iwenty-tive 
thonsiind prisoners; and the misery within 
the jails will too plainly indicate tl\e beg- 
gtiry,4 banishment, dis<]niet, vexation, fear, 
and horror, which were spread among the 
whole body of Pissentens. 

The sutierings of two memorable men 
among them, ditfering from each other still 
mori^ widely in opinions and disix^sition th;in 
in s^ation and acijnin^ment. may K^ st^Kx'ted 
as prtxits that no character was tix^ high to 
be beyond the reach of this jx^rstxmtion. and 
no condition tixi humble to be beneath its 
notice. Kicharvl Rixter. one of the most 
acute and leanieil as well as pious and ex- 
emplary men of his age. was the most cele- 
bratCvi divine of the Prt^sbyterian jvrsna- 
sion. He had Kvu so well known tor his 
nuxlcration as well as. his gt^neral merit, that 
"at the Restoration he had btHni made chap- 
lain to the King, and a bishopric had been 
otfercvl to him. which he decliiuxl, not be- 
caust^ he deemeii it unlawt'ul. but Kx'ause it 
might encage him in severities against the 
conscientious, and Kx^anst* he was unwilling 
to gi\-e simndal to his brethrtMi by accepting 
preferment in the hour of their atHiction.l 
lie joinevl in the public worship of the 



• Otxxl Advice to the Church of England. 

t .Address of the Quaker* to .Tames II. — Clark- 
son. Ijte of William Penn. vol. i. yv 4V*"2, Lon- 
don liaseite. Cod and Ooth May. Itv^T. 

J Grey. Examination of Neale. 

^ " Fifteen thousand families nnnod." — Gvx>d 
.\dvice. &c. In this tract, very linle is said of 
the dispensinir jxiwer : the fiir greater part con- 
sis'i:^ of a noMe defeui-* of religious lilwriy, 
app'io.ible to all a^n's and communious 

II Life of Baxter, i^art iii. p. 3;?1. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE TxEVOLUTION OF 1CS8. 



331 



Church of Ensjland, but himself preached 
to a small congregation at Acton, whore ho 
soon became the friend of his neighbour, Sir 
Matthew Hale, who, though then a magis- 
trate of great dignity, avoitled the society of 
those who might be supposed to inllnence 
him, and from his jealous regard to iiule- 
][tendence, chose a privacy as simple and 
Irugid as that of the pastor of a persecuted 
flock. Their retired leisure was often em- 
ployed in high reasoning on those sublime 
subjects of metajMiysical philosophy to which 
both had been conducted by their theological 
studies, and which, imleed, few contempla- 
tive men of elevattjd thought have been ile- 
lerred by the fate of their foreruimers from 
aspiring to comprehend. Honoured as he was 
bv such a friendship, esteemed by the most 
distinguished persons of all persuasions, and 
consulted by the civil and ecclesiastical au- 
thorities in every project of reconciliation 
and harmony, Baxter was live times in fif- 
teen years dragged from his retirement, ami 
thrown into prison as a malefacler. In 1(569 
two subservient magistrates, one of whom 
was the steward of Uie Archbishop of Can- 
terbury, summoned him before them lor 
preaching at a conventicle ; at hearing of 
which, ilale, too surely foreknowing the 
event, conld scarcely refrain from tears. 
He was committed to prison for six months; 
but, after the unavailing intercession of his 
friends whh the King, was at length enlarg- 
ed in consequence of informalities in the 
commitment.* Twice afterwards he escaped 
by irregularities into which the precipitate 
zeal of ignorant persecutors had betrayed 
them ; and once, when his physician made 
oath that imprisonment would be dangerous 
to his life, he owed his enlargement to the 
pity or prudence of Charles II. At last, in 
the year 1685, he v^as brought to trial for 
some suppose^l libels, before Jeirreys, in the 
Court of King's Bench, in which his vener- 
able friend luul once presided, — where two 
Chief Justices, within ten years, had exem- 
plified the extremities of human excellence 
and depravity, and where he, whose misfor- 
tunes had almost drawn tears down the aged 
cheeks of Hale was doomed to undergo the 
most brutal indignities from JetTreys. 

The history anil genius of Bunyanwere as 
much more extraordinary than those of Ba.v- 
ter as his station and attainments were infe- 
rior. He is probably at the head of unlettered 
men of genius ; and perhaps there is no other 
instance of any man reaching fame from so 
abject an origin. For other extraordinary 
men who have become famous without edu- 
cation, though they were without what is- 
called "learning," have had much reading 
and knowledge ; and though they were re- 
pressed by poverty, were not, like him, sul- 
lied by a vagrant and disreputable occupa- 
tion. By his trade of a travelling tinker, he 
had been from his earliest years placed in 
;he midst of profligacy, and on the verge of 
disjionesty. He was for a time a private in the 

* Life of Baxter, part iii. pp. 47—51. 



I parliamentary army, — the only military ser- 
vice which was likely to elevate his senti- 
ments and amend his life. Having embraced 
the opinions of the Baptists, ho was soon ad- 
mitted to preach in a community which did 
not recognise the distinction between the 
clergy and the laity.* Even under the Pro- 
tectorate he had been harassed by some busy 
magistrates, who took advantage of a parlia- 
mentary ordinance, excluding fiom toleration 
those who maintained the unlaw iulncss of 
infant baptism. t But this oliiciouMiess was 
checked by the spirit of the guvornnient ; and 
it was not till the return of inloloiance with 
Charles II. that the suiForings of Buiiyan be- 
gan. Within tive months after the Bestora- 
tion, he was apprehended under the statute 
35lhof Elizabeth, and was thrown into a pri- 
son, or rather dungeon, at Bedford, where he 
remained for twelve years. Tlie narratives of 
his life exhibit remarkable spociinens of the 
acnteness and fortitude with which he witli- 
.stood ihethieatsnud snai^sof the magistrates, 
and clergymen, and attorneys, who beset 
him, — foiling them in every ooiifost of argu- 
ment, especially in that which roiates to the 
independence of religion on civil authority, 
which he expounded with oleamess and 
exactness; for it was a subject on which his 
naturally vigorous mind was better educated 
by his habitual meditations than it could 
have been by the most skilful instructor. In 
the year after his appreh(Misio;>, he luul made 
some informal applications for release to the 
judges of assize, in a petition presented by 
his wife, who was treated by or.e of them, 
Twisden, with brutal insolence. His col- 
league, Sir ^lathew Hale, listened to hei 
with patience and goodness, and with con- 
solatory compassion pointe*!- out to her the 
only leg-al means of obtaining redress. It is 
a singular giatitication thus to lind a himaan 
character, which, if it be met in ihe most 
obscure recess of the history of a bad time, 
is sure to disjilaysome new I'xcelleuce. The 
conduct of Hale on this occasion can be as- 
cribed only to strong and pure benevolence ; 
for he was unconscious of Bunyau's genius, 
he disliked preaching mechnuics, and he 
partook the general prejudice against Ana- 
baptists. In the long years which followed, 
the timeof Bunyan was divided between the 
manufacture of lace, which he learned in 
order to support his family, ami the compo- 
sition of those works whicli have given cele- 
brity to his suflerings. He was at length re- 
leased, in 1672, by Barlow, Bishop of Lincoln, 

* See Grace Al)Ounding. 

t Scoliell's Ordinances, chap. 111. This excep- 
tion is oniitied in a suh.-^equeni Ordinnnce against 
blasphemous opinions, (9in ."Vusnst, 1650), direct- 
ed chiefly against the Aniinomians, wlio wero 
charged with denying the ohligiuion of morality, 
— the single case where the dargor of nice dis- 
tinction is the chief objection to the use of punish- 
ment against the promulgation of opinions. Reli 
gious liberty was afterwards csirried much nearer 
to its just limits by the letter of Cromwells* 
constitution, and probably to its full e.xtent by 
its spirit. — See Humble Petition and Advice, 
sect. xi. 



332 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



but not till the timid prelate had received an 
injunction from the Lord Chancellor* to that 
effect. He availed himself of the Indulgence 
of James II. without trusting it, and died 
unmolested ia the last year of that prince's 
government. His Pilgrim's Progress, an alle- 
gorical representation of the Calvinistic the- 
ology, at first found readers only among those 
of that persuasion, but, gradually emerging 
from this narrow circle, by the natural power 
of imagination over the uncorrupted feelings 
of the majority of mankind, has at length 
rivalled Robinson Crusoe in popularity. The 
bioots and persecutors have sank into ob-. 
livion ; the scoffs of witst and worldlings 
have been unavailing; while, after the lapse 
of a century, the object of their cruelty and 
scorn has touched the poetical sympathy, as 
well as the piety, of Cowper ; liis genius has 
subdued the opposite prejudices of Johnson 
and of ^ Franklin ; and his name has been 
uttered in the same breath with those of 
Spenser and Dante. It should seem, from 
this statement, that Lord Castlemaine, him- 
self a zealous Catholic, had some colour for 
asserting, that the persecution of Protestants 
by Protestants, after the Restoration, was 
more violent than that of Protestants by 
Catholics under Mary; and that the perse- 
cution then raging against the Presbyterians 
in Scotland was not so much more cruel, as 
it was more bloody, tljan that which silently 
consumed the bowels of England. 

Since the differences between Churchmen 
and Dissenters, as such, have given way to 
other Controversies, a recital of them can 
have no other tendency than that of dispos- 
ing men to pardon each other's intolerance, 
and to abhor the fatal error itself, wliich all 
communions have practised, and of which 
some malignant roots still lurk among all. 
Without it, the policy of the Kmg, in his at- 
tempt to form an alliance with the latter, 
could not be understood. The general body 
of Nonconformists were divided into four 
parties, on whom the Court acted through 
different channels, and who were variously 
affected by its advances. 

The Presoyterians, the more wealthy and 
educated sect, were the descendants of the 
ancient Puritans, who had been rather de- 
sirous of reforming the Church of England 
than of separating from it ; and though the 
breach was widened by the Civil War, they 
might have been reunited at the Restoration 
by moderate concession in the form of wor- 
ship, and by limiting the episcopal authority 
agreeably to the project of the learned Usher, 
and to the system of superintendency esta- 
blished among the Lutherans. Gradually, 
indeed, they learned to prefer the perfect 

* Probably Lord Shaftesbury, who received the 
Great Seal in November, 1672. The exact date 
of Bunyan's complete liberation is not ascertained ; 
but he was twelve years a prisoner, and had been 
apprehended in November, 1660. Ivimey (Life 
of Bunyan. p. 2S9^ makes his enlargement to be 
about the close of 1672. 

t Hudibras, part i. canto ii. Grey's notes. 



equality of the Calvinistic clergy; but they 
did not profess that exclusive zeal for it 
which actuated their Scottish brethren, who 
had received their Reformation from Geneva. 
Like men of other communions, they had 
originally deemed it the duty of the magis- 
trate to establish true religion, and to punish 
the crime of rejectnig it. In Scotland they 
continued to be sternly intolerant ; while in 
England they reluctantly acquiesced in im- 
perfect toleration. Their object was now 
what was called a "comprehension," of such 
an enlargement of the terms of communion 
as might enable them to unite with the 
Church; — a measure which would have 
broken the strength of the Dissenters, as a 
body, to the eminent hazard of civil liberty. 
From them the King had the least hopes. 
They were undoubtedly much more hostile 
to the Establishment after twenty-five years' 
persecution ; but they were still connected 
with the tolerant clergy ; and as they con- 
tinued to aim at something besides mere 
toleration, they considered the royal Decla- 
ration, even if honestly meant, as only a 
temporary advantage. 

The Independents, or Congregationalists, 
were so called from their adoption of the 
opinion, that every congregation or assembly 
for worship was a church perfectly imlepen- 
dent of all others, choosing and changing 
their own ministers, maintaining with others 
a fraternal intercourse, but acknowledging 
no authority in all the other churches of 
Christendom to interfere with its internal 
concerns. Their churches were merely vo- 
luntary associations, in which the office of 
teacher might be conferred and withdrawn 
by the suffrages of the members. These 
members were equal, and the government 
was perfectly democratical ; if the term ''go- 
vernment" may be applied to assemblies 
which endured only as long as the members 
agreed in judgment, and which, leaving all 
coercive power to the civil magistrate, exer- 
cised no authority but thatof admonition, cen- 
sure, and exclusion. They disclaimed ihe 
qualification of '-national" as repugnant to the 
nature of a "church."* The religion of the 
Independents, therefore, could not, without 
destroying its nature, be established by law. 
They never could aspire to more than reli- 
gious liberty; and they accordingly have the 
honour of having been the first, and long the 
only. Christian community who collectively 
adopted that sacred principle.t It is true, 



* " There is no true visible Church of Christ 
but a particular ordinary congregation only. Every 
ordinary assembly of the faithful hath power to 
elect and ordain, deprive and depose, their minis- 
ters. The pastor must have others joined with 
him by the congregation, to exercise ecclesiastical 
jurisdiction ; neither ought he and they to perform 
any material act without the free consent of the 
congregation." — Christian Offer of a Conference 
tendered to Archbishops, Bishops, &c. London, 
:606.) 

t An Humble Supplication for Toleration and 
Liberty to James I. (London, 1609;: — a tract 
which affords a conspicuous specimen of the abJ'iy 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



333 



that in the beginning they adopted the per- 
nicious and inconsistent doctrine of limited 
toleration ; excluding Catholics, as idolaters, 
and in New England (where the great ma- 
jority were of their persuasion), punishing, 
even capitally, dissenters from what they ac- 
counted as fundamental opinions.* But, as 
intolerance could promote no interest of 
theirs, real or imaginary, their true princi- 
ples finally worked out the stain of these 
dishonourable exceptions. The government 
of Cromwell, more influenced by them than 
by any other persuasion, made as near ap- 
proaches to general toleration as public pre- 
judice would endure; and Sir Henry Vane, 
an Independent, was probably the first who 
laid down, with perfect precision, the invio- 
lable rights of conscience, and the exemption 
of religion from all civil authority. Actuated 
by these principles, and preferring the free- 
dom.. of their worship even to political liberty, 
it is not wonderful that many of this persua- 
sion gratefully accepted the deliverance from 
persecution which was proffered by the King. 

Similar causes produced the like disposi- 
sitions among the Baptists, — a simple and 
pious body of men, generally unlettered, ob- 
noxious to all other sects for their rejection 
of infant baptism, as neither enjoined by the 
New Testament nor consonant to reason, and 
in some degree, also, from being called by 
the same name with the fierce fanatics who 
had convulsed Lower Germany in the first 
age of the Reformation. Under Edward VI. 
and Elizabeth many had suffered death for 
their religion. At the Restoration they had 
been distinguished from other Nonconform- 
ists by a brand in the provision of a statute,! 
which excluded every clergyman who had 
opposed infant baptism from re-establish- 
ment in his benefice ; and they had during 
Charles' reign suffered more than any other 
persuasion. Pubhcly professing the principles 
of religious liberty, t and. like the Indepen- 
dents, espousing the cause of republicanism, 
they appear to have adopted also the congre- 
gational system of ecclesiastical polity. More 
incapable of union with the Established 
Church, and having less reason to hope for 
toleration from its adherents than the Inde- 
pendents themselves, — many, perhaps at 
first most of them, eagerly embraced the In- 
dulgence. ThuS; the sects who maintained 
the purest principles of religious liberty, and 
had supported the most popular systems of 
government, were the most disposed to fa- 
vour a measure which would have finally 
buried toleration under the ruins of political 
freedom. 

But of all sects, those who needed the 
royal Indulgence most, and who could accept 

and learning of the ancient Independents, often 
described as unlettered fanatics. 

* The Way of the Churches in New England, 
by Mr. J. Cotton (London, 1645); and the Way 
of Congregational Churches, by Mr. J. Cotton 
(London, 1648) ; — in answer to Principal Baillie. 

t 12 Car. II. c. 17. 

t Crosby, History of English Baptists, &c., 
v«l. iL pp. 100—144. 



it most consistently with their religious prin- 
ciples, were the Quakers. Seeking perfec- 
tion, by renouncing pleasuies, of which the 
.social nature promotes kinuiiesp, and by con- 
verting self-denial, a means of moral disci- 
pline, into one of the ends of life, — it was 
their more peculiar and honourable error, 
that by a literal interpretation of that affec- 
tionate and ardent language in which the 
Christian religion inculcates the pursuit of 
peace and the practice of beneficence, they 
struggled to extend the sphere of th^se most 
admirable virtues bej-ond the boundaries of 
nature. They adopted a peculiarity of lan- 
guage, and a uniformity of dress, indicative 
of humility and equality, of brotherly love — 
the sole bond of their pacific union, and of 
the serious minds of men who lived only for 
the performance of duty, — taking no part in 
strife, renouncing even defensive a/ms, and 
utterly condemning the punishment of death. 
George Fox had, during ihe Civil War, 
founded this extraordinary community. At 
a time when personal revelation vvas gene- 
rally believed, it was a pardonable self-delu- 
sion that he should imagine himself to be 
commissioned by the Deity to preach a sys- 
tem which could only be objected to as too 
pure to be practised by man.* This belief, 
and an ardent temperament, led him and 
some of his followers into unseasonable at- 
tempts to convert their neigh bour.'=. and into 
unseemly intrusions into places of worship 
for that purpose, which excited general hos- 
tility against them, and expo?ed them to 
frequent and severe punishments. One or 
two of them, in the general fermentation of 
men's minds at that time, had uttered what 
all other sects considered as blasphemous 
opinions; and these peaceable men became 
the objects of general abhorrence. Their 
rejection of most religious rites, their refusal 
to sanction testimony by a judicial oalh, or 
to defend their country in the utmost danger, 
gave plausible pretexts for representing them 
as alike enemies to religion and the common- 
wealth; and the fantastic pjciiiiarities of 
their language and dress seemed to be the 
badge of a sullen and morose secession from 
human society. Prescribed as the)'' were by 
law and prejudice, the Quakers gladly re- 
ceived the boon held out by the King. They 
indeed were the only consistent professors of 
passive obedience : as they resisted no wrong, 
and never sought to disarm hostility other- 
wise than by benevolence, they naturally 
j'iekled with unresisting submission to the 
injustice of tyrants. Another circumstance 
also contributed, still more perhaps than these 
general causes, to throw them into the arms 
of James. Although their sect, like most 
other sect.s, had sprung from among the 
humbler classes of society, — who, from their 



* Journal of the Life of George Fox, by him- 
self: — one of the most extraordinary and in.'struc- 
tive narratives in the world, which no reader of 
competent judgment can peruse without revering 
the virtue of the writer, pardoning liis self-delu 
aion, and ceasing to smile at bis peciiliarities. 



334 



MACKINTOSirS TVIISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



numbers aiul simplicity, are alone suscepti- 
ble of those sudilcri ami simultaneous emo- 
tions whirh I'haiiije opinions ami institutions, 
— they had early been joined by a few per- 
sons of superior rank and eilueafion, who, in 
a period of mutation in fX'^vernment and re- 
ligion, had lonii: contemplated their benevo- 
lent visions willi indulgent complacency, and 
had at lenglh persuaded themselves that this 
pure system of peace and charity might be 
realised, if not amongall. at least among a few 
of the wisest and best of men. Such a hope 
would gradually teach the latter to tolerate, 
and in time to.;ulopt, the peculiarities of their 
simpler brethren, and to give the most rational 
interpretation to the language and pretensions 
of their founders ; — consulting reason in their 
doctrines, and indulging enthusiasm only in 
their hopes and afTections.* Of the first who 
thus systt>matised, and perhaps insensiblv 
softened, their creed, was ]?arclay; whose 
Apology for the Quakers — a masterpiece of 
ingenious reasoning, and a moilel of argu- 
mentative compositron — extorted praise from 
Bayle, one of the most acute and least fana- 
tical of men.t 

But the most distinguished of their con- 
verts was William Pemi, whose father, Ad- 
miral Sir William Penn, had been a personal 
friend of the King, and one of his instructors 
in naval affairs. This admirable person had 
employeil his great abilities in support of 
civil as well as religious liberty, and had both 
acted and sutleriHl for them inuler Charles 
II. Even if he had not founded the common- 
wealth of Pennsylvania as an everlasting 
memorial of his love of freedom, his actions 
and writings in England would have been 
enough to absolve him from the charge of 
intending to betray the rights of his countrj-- 
meu. But though, as the friend of Algernon 
Sidney, he had never ceased to intercede, 
through his friends at Court, for the perse- 
cuted.!: still an absence of two years in 
America, and the consequent ilistraction of 
his mind, had juobably loosened his connec- 
tion with English politicians, and rendered 
him less acquainted with the principles of 
the government. On the accession of James 
he was received by that prince with favour; 
and hoj-yes of indulgence to his suflering bre- 
thren were early held out to him. He was 
soon admitted to terms or apparent intimacy, 
and was believed to possess such inlhience 
that two hundred suppliants were often seen 
at his gates, imploring his intercession with 
the King. That it regally was great, appears 
from his obtaining a promise of pardon for 
his friend ]Mr. Locke, which that illustrious 
man declined, because he thought that the 
acceptance of it would have been a confes- 
sion of criminality .§ Penu appears in 1679, 

• Mr. Swinton, a Scotch judge durinff the Pro- 
tectorate, was one of the earliest of these con- 
verts. 

t Nouvelles do !a Ropublique des Lettres, 
Avril, 1684. 

t Clarkson, Life of William Penn, vol. i. p. 248. 

^ Clarkson, vol. i. pp. 433, 438. Mr. Clarkson is 



through his influence with James when in 
Scotland, to have obtained the release of al; 
the Quakers who were imprisoned there.* 
and he subsequently obtained the release of 
many huuiired English oiies.t as wt^ll as pro- 
cured letters to be atldressed by Loril Sun- 
derland to the various Lord Lieutenants in 
England in favour of his persuasion,} several 
iminths before the Declaration of Imlnlgence. 
It was no wonder that he should have been 
g-ained over by this power of doing good. 
The very occupations in which lie was en- 
giiged brought daily before his mind the 
general evils of intolerance, and the sulTer- 
ingsof his own unfortunate brethren. Though 
well stored with useful and ornamental know- 
ledge, he was unpractised in the wiles of 
courts; and his education had not trained 
him to dread the violation of principle so 
much as lo pity the intiiction of sutl'ering. 
It cannot be doubted that he believed the 
King's object to be miiversal libertv in re- 
ligion, and nothing further : and as bis own 
sincere piety taught him lo consider religious 
liberty as unspeakably the highest of human 
privileges, he was too just not to be desirous 
of bestowing on all other men that which he 
most earnestly sought (or liimself. One who 
refused to employ force in the most just de- 
fence, must have felt a singular abhorrence 
of its exertion to prevent gootl men from 
following the dictates of their conscience. 
Such seem to have been the motives which 
induced this excellent mart to lend himself 
to the measures of the King. Compassion, 
friendship, liberality, and toleration, led him 
to support a system the success of which 
would have vuulone his country; and he 
atforded a remarkable proof that, in tht> com- 
plicated combinations of political morality, a 
virtue misplaced may produce as much im- 
mediate mischief as a vice. The Dutch 
minister represents '-the arch-quaker" as 
travelling over ihe kingdom to gain proselytes 
to the dispensing power ; ^ whde Duncombe, 
a banker in London, and (it must in justice, 
though in sorrow, be acKled) Penn, are stateu 
to have been the two Protestant counsellors 
of Lord Sunderland.il Henceforward, it be- 



nmons; the few writers from whom I should ven- 
ture to adopt a fact (or which the original authority 
is not nieiuioued. Rv his own exiraordinnry ser- 
vices to niatikind he 1ias deserved to be the bio- 
grapher of William Penn. 

* Address of Scotch Quakers, 1687, 

t George Fo.x, Journal, p. 550. 

t Slate Paper Ofilce, November and Decem- 
ber. 1686. 

^ Van Citters to the States General, 14th Oct. 
1687. 

II Johnstone. 25lh Nov. 1687. — MS. John- 
stone's connections afforded him considerable 
means of information. Mrs. Dawson, an attend- 
aiu of the Queen, was an intimate friend of hia 
sister, Mrs. Baillie of Jerviswood : another of his 
sisters was the wife of General Drummond, who 
was deeply engaged in the persecution of the 
Scotch Presbyterians, and the Earl of Melfort's 
son had married his niece. His letters were to of 
for Burnet, his cousin, and intended to be read by 
the Prince of Orange, to both of whom he had 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



335 



came necessary for the friends of liberty to 
deal with him as with an enemy, — to be 
resisted when his associates possessed, and 
watched altor they had lost power. 

Among th(; Picsbyterians, the Kiiif^'s chief 
agent was Alsop, a preacher at Westminster, 
■who was grateful to him for having spared 
the life of a son convicted of treason. Bax- 
ter, their venerable patriarch, and Howe, one 
of their most eminent divines, refused any 
active concurrence in the King's projects. 
But Lobb, one of the most able of the Inde- 
pendent divines, warmly supported the mea- 
sures of James: he was favourably received 
at Court, and is said to have been an adviser 
as well as an advocate of the King.* An 
elaborate defence of the disjjensing power, 
by Philip Nye, a still more eminent teacher 
of the same persuasion, who had been dis- 
abled from accepting office at the Restoration, 
written on occasion of Charles' Declaration 
of Indulgence in 1672, was now republished 
by his son, with a dedication to James.t 
Kiflin, the pastor of the chief congregation 
of the Baptists, and at the same time an opu- 
lent merchant in London, who, with his pas- 
toral office, had held civil and military stations 
under the Parliament, withstood the preva- 
lent disposition of his communion towards 
compliance. The few fragments of his life 
that have reached us illustrate the character 
of the calamitous times in which he lived. 
Soon after the Restoration, he had obtained 
a pardon for twelve persons of his persuasion, 
who were condemned to death at the same 
assize at Aylesbury, under the atrocious 
statute of the 3.5lh of Elizabeth, for refus- 
ing either to abjure the realm or to conform 
to the Church of England. t Attempts were 
made to ensnare him into treason by anony- 
mous letters, inviting him to take a share in 
Slots which had no existence ; and he was 
arassed by false accusations, some of which 
made him personally known to Charles II. 
and also to Clarendon. The King applied to 
him personally for the loan of 40,000L : this he 
declined, offering the gift of ]0,000L, and on 
its being accf pfed. congratulated himself on 
having saved 30.000L Two of his grandsons, 
although he had offered 3000L for their pre- 
servation, suffered death for being engaged 
in Monmouth's revolt; and Jeffreys, on the 
trial of one of them, had declared, that had 
their grandfather been also at the bar, he 
would have equally deserved death. James, 
at one of their interviews, persuaded him, 
partly through his fear of incurring a ruinous 
fine in case of refusal, in spite of his plead- 
ing his inability through age (he was then 

the strongest inducements to give accurate infor- 
maiion. He had frequent ana confideniial inter- 
course with Halifax, 'I'illotson, and .Stillingflcet. 

* Wilson, History and Antiquities of Dissent- 
ing Churches, &c. — (London, 1808), vol. iii. p. 
436. 

t Wilson, vol. iii. p. 71- The Lawfulness of 
the Oaih of Supremacy asserted, &c., by Philip 
Nye. (London, 1687.) 

t Orme, Life of KifJin, p. 120. Crosby, vol, ii. 
p. 181, &c. 



seventy years old, and could not speak of 
Ids grandsons without tears) to accept the 
oflice of an alderman under the protection 
of the dispensing and suspunling power. 

Every means were employed to excite 
the Nonconformists to thank the King for 
his Indulgence. He himself assured D'Adda 
that it would be of the utmost service to 
trade and population, b}' recalling the nu- 
merous emigrants "who had been driven 
from their country by the persecution of the 
Anglicans;''* and his corntnon conversation 
now turned on the cruelty of the Church of 
P'ngland towards the Dissenters, which he 
declared that he would have closed sooner, 
had he not been restrained by those who 
promised favour to his own r<;ligion, if they 
were still suffered to vex the latter. t Tliis 
last declaration was contradicted by the par- 
ties whom he named ; and their denial might 
be credited with less reserve, had not one of 
the principal leaders of the Episcopal party 
in Scotland owned that his lrien(ls woula 
have been contented if they could have been 
assured of retaining the power to persecute 
Presbyterians. t The King even oidered an 
inquiry to be instituted into the suits against 
Dissenters in ecclesiastical courts, and the 
compositions whicli they paid, in order to 
make a scandalous disclosure of the extortion 
and venality practised um'tr cover of the 
penal laws.§ — assuring (as did also Lord 
Sunderland) the Nuncio, that the Established 
clergy traded in such compopilions.il The 
most just principles of unbounded freedom 
in religion were now the received creed at 
St. James'. Even Sir Roger L'Estrange 
endeavoured to save his consistency by de- 
claring, that though he had for twenty years 
resisted religious liberty as a right of the 
people, he acquiesced in it as a boon from 
the King. 

On the other hand, exertions were made 
to warn the Dissenters of the snare which 
was laid for them ; while the Church began 
to make tardy efforts to conciliate them, 
especiallj' the Presbyterians. The King was 
agitated by this canvass, and frequently 
trusted the NuncioT with his alternate hopes 
and fears about it. Burnet, then at the 
Hague, published a letter of warning, in 
which he owns and deplores '■' the persecu- 
tion," acknowledging " ihe temptation under 
which the Nonconformists are to receive 
every thing which gives them present ease 
with a little too much kindness," blaming 
more severely the member? of the Church 
who applauded the Declaration, but entreat- 

* D'Adda, 11th April, 1687.— M.S. 

t Burnet, (Oxford, 1823), vol. iii. p. 175. 

i " If it had not been for the fears of encourag- 
ing by such a liberty (he fanatics, then almost en- 
tirely ruined, few would have refused to comply 
with all your Majesty's demands." — Balcarras, 
Account of the Affairs of Scotland, p. 8. 

■^ Rurnet, supra. 

II D'Adda, 18th April.— MS.— Ministri Aneli- 
cani che facevano niercanzia sopra ic leggi latti 
contro le NoncoTifbrmisti. 

T D'Adda, 2d May, 4ih April.— MS. 



336 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



ing the former not to promote the designs of 
the common enemy.* The residence and 
connectioiis of the writer bestowed on this 
publication the important character of an ad- 
monition from the Prince of Orange. He 
had been employed by some leaders of the 
Church party to procure the Prince's inter- 
ference with the Dissenting bodyjt and 
Dykveldt, the Dutch minister, assured both 
of his master's resolution to promote union 
between them, and to maintain the common 
interest of Protestants. Lord Halifax also 
published, on the same occasion, a Letter to 
a Dissenter, — the most perfect model, per- 
haps, of a political tract. — which, although 
its whole argument, unbroken by diversion 
to general topics, is brought exclusively to 
bear with concentrated force upon the ques- 
tion, the parties, and the moment, cannot be 
read, after an interval of a century and a 
half, without admiration at its acuteness, 
address, terseness, and poigaancy.t 

The Nonconformists were thus acted upon 
by powerful inducements and dissuasives. 
The preservation of civil liberty, the interest 
of the Protestant religion, the secure enjoy- 
ment of freedom in their own worship, were 
irresistible reasons against compliance. Gra- 
titude for present relief, remembrance of 
recent wrongs, and a strong sense of the obli- 
gation to prefer the exercise of religion to 
every other consideration, were very strong 
temptations to a different conduct. Many 
of them owed their lives to the King, and 
the lives of others were still in his hands. 
The remembrance of Jeffreys' campaign was 
so fresh as perhaps still rather to produce 
fear than the indignation and distrust which 
appear in a more advanced stage of recovery 
from the wounds inflicted by tyranny. The 
private relief granted to some of their minis- 
ters by the Court on former occasions afforded 
a facility for exercising adverse influence 
through these persons, — the more dangerous 
because it might be partly concealed from 
themselves under the disguise of gratitude. 
The result of the action of these conflicting 
motives seems to have been, that the far 
greater part of all denominations of Dissen- 
ters availed themselves of the Declaration so 
far as to resume their public worship ;§ that 
the most distinguished of their clergy, and 
the majority of the Presbyterians, resisted 
the solicitations of the Court to sanction the 
dispensing power by addresses of thanks for 
this exertion of it ; and that all the Quakers, 



* State Tracts from Restoration to Revolution 
(London, 1689), vol. ii. p. 289. 

+ Burnet. Reflections on a Book called "Rights, 
&c. of a Convocation," p. 16. 

t Halifax, Miscellanies, p. 233. 

^ Bates' Life of Philip Henry, in Wordsworth's 
Ecclesiastical Biography, vol. vi. p. 290. " They 
rejoiced with trem})li7i<r." Henry refused to give 
in a return of the money levied on him in his suf- 
ferings, having, as he said, " long since from his 
heart forgiven all the agents in that matter." 
" Mr. Bunyan clearly saw through the designs of 
the Court, though he accepted the Indulgence 
with a holy fear." — Iviraey, Life of Bunyan. p. 297. 



the greater part of the Baptist.s, and perhaps 
also of the Independents, did not scruple to 
give this perilous token of their misguided 
gratitude, though many of them confined 
themselves to thanks for toleration, and 
solemn assurances that they would not 
abuse it. 

About a hundred and eighty of these 
addresses were presented within a period 
of ten months, of which there are only 
seventy-seven exclusively and avowedly 
from Nonconformists. If to these be added 
a fair proportion of such as were at first 
secretly and at last openly corporators and 
grand jurors, and a larger share of those 
who addressed under very general descrip- 
tions, it seems probable that the numbers 
were almost equally divided between the 
Dissenting communions and the Established 
Church.* We have a specimen of these 
last mentioned by Evelyn, in the address of 
the Churchmen and dissenters of Coventry,! 
and of a small congregation in the Isle of 
Ely, called the "Family of Love." His 
complaintt that the Declaration had thinned 
his own parish church of Deptford, and had 
sent a great concourse of people to the meet- 
ing-house, throws light on the extent of the 
previous persecution, and the joyful eager- 
ness to profit by their deliverance. 

The Dissenters were led astray not only 
by the lights of the Church, but by the pre- 
tended gTtardiansof the laws. Five bishops, 
Crew, of Durham, with his chapter, Cart- 
wright of Chester, with his chapter. Barlow, 
of Lincoln, Wood, of Lichfield, and Watson, 
of St. David's, with the clergy of their dio- 
ceses, together with the Dean and Chapter 
of Ripon, addressed the King, in terms 
which were indeed limited to his assurance 
of continued protection to the Church, but 
at a time which rendered their addresses a 
sanction of the dispensing power; Croft, of 
Hereford, though not an addresser, was a 
zealous partisan of the measures of the 
Court ; while the profligate Parker was un- 
able to prevail on the Chapter or clergy of 
Oxford to join him, and the accomplished 
Sprat was still a member of the Ecclesiasti- 



* The addresses from bishops and their clergy 
were seven ; those from corporations and grand 
juries seventy-five ; those from inhabitants, &c., 
fourteen ; two from Catholics, and two from the 
Middle and Inner Temple. If six addresses from 
Presbyterians and Quakers in Scotland, Ireland, 
and New England be deducted, as it seems that 
they ought to be, the proportion of Dissenting 
addresses was certainly less than one half. Some 
of them, we know, were the produce of a sort of 
personal canvass, when the King made his pro- 
gress in the autumn of 1687, "to court the com- 
pliments of the people;" and one of them, in 
which Philip Henry joined, " was not to offer 
lives and fortunes to him, but to thank him for 
the liberty, and to promise to demean themselves 
quietly in the use of it" — Wordsworth, vol. v!. 
p. 292. Address of Dissenters of Nantwich, 
Wem, and Whitchurch. London Gazette, 29ih 
August. 

t Evelyn, vol. i. Diary, l^th June. 

t Ibid. lOlh April. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OP 1688. 



ssr 



cal Commission, in which character he held 
a high commaiid in the adverse ranks: — so 
that a third of the episcopal order refused to 
concur in the coalition which the Church 
was about to form with public liberty. A 
bold attempt was made to obtain the appear- 
ance of a general concurrence of lawyers 
also in approving the usurpations of the 
Crown. From two of the four societies, 
called "Inns of Court," who have the exclu- 
sive privilege of admitting advocates to prac- 
tise at the bar, the Middle and Inner Temple, 
addresses of approbation w-ere published ; 
though, from recent examination of the re- 
cords of these bodies, they do not appear to 
have been ever voted by either. That of the 
former, eminent above tne others for fulsome 
servility, is traditionally said to have been 
the clandestine production of three of the 
benchers, of whom Chauncy, .the historian 
of Hertfordshire, was one. That of the 
Inner Temple purports to have been the act 
of certain students and the "comptroller," — 
an office of whose existence no traces are 
discoverable. As Roger North had been 
Treasurer of the Middle Temple three years 
before, and as the crown lawyers were mem- 
bers of these societies, it is scarcely possible 
that the Government should not have been 
apprised of the imposture which they coun- 
tenanced by their official publication of these 
addresses.* The necessity of recurring to 
fiuch a fraud, and the silence of the other 
law soci^eties, may be allowed to afford some 
proof that the independence of the Bar was 
not yet utterly extinguished. The subservi- 
ency of the Bench was so abject as to tempt 
the Government to interfere with private 
suits, which is one of the l^st and rarest 
errors of statesmen under absolute mo- 
narchies'. An official letter is still extantt 
from Lord Sunderland, as Secretary of State. 
to Sir Francis Watkins, a judge of assize, 
recommending him to show all the favour to 
Lady Shaftesbury, in the despatch of her 
suit, to be tried at Salisbur)^, which the jus- 
tice of her cause should deserve: — so deeply 
degraded were the judges in the eyes of the 
ministers themselves. 



CHAPTER VI. 

D^Adda puUiclyrecewed as the Nuncio. — Dis- 
solution of Parliament. — Final breach. — 
Preparalions for a neiu Parliament. — Nciv 
charters. — Removal of Lord Lieutenants. — 
Patronage of the Crown. — Moderate views 
of Sunderland. — House of Lords. — Royal 
prosrcss. — Pregnancy of the Queen. — Lon- 
don has the appearance of a Catholic city. 

The war' between Religious parties had 
not yet so far subsided as to allow the 
avowed intercourse of Princes of Protestant 
communions with the See of Rome. In the 

* London Gazette, June 9th. 
+ 24th February. — State Paper Office. 
43 



first violence of hostility, indeed, laws were 
passed in England forbidding, under pain of 
death, the indispensable correspondence of 
Catholics with the head of their Church, and 
even the bare residen(?e of their priests 
within the realm.* These laws, nevtr to be 
palliated except as measures of retaliation 
in a warfare of extermination, had been often 
executed without necessity and with slight 
provocation. It was most desirable to pre- 
vent their execution and to procure their re- 
peal. But the object of the King in his 
embassy to Rome was to select these odious 
enacttnents, as the most specious case, in 
which he rnight set an e.xample of the osten- 
tatious contempt with which he was resolved 
to trample on every law which stood in the 
way of his designs. A nearer and more 
signal instance than that embassy was re- 
quired by his zeal or his political projects. 
D'Adda was accordingly obliged to undergo 
a public introduction to the King at Windsor 
as Apostolic Nuncio from the Pope ; and his 
reception, — being an overt act of high trea- 
son, — was conducted with more than ordi- 
nary state, and announced to the pvrblic like 
that of an}' other foreign minister.t The 
Bishops of Durham and Chester were per- 
haps the most remarkable attendants at the 
ceremonial. The Duke of Somerset, the 
second Peer of the kingdom, was chosen 
from the Lords of the Bedchamber as the 
introducer; and his attendance in that cha- 
racter had been previously notified to the 
Nuncio by the Earl of Mulgrave, Lord 
Chamberlain : but, on the morning of the 
ceremony, the Duke besought his Majesty 
to excuse him from the perfoiTnance of an 
act which might expose him to the most 
severe animadversion of the law.t The 
King answered, that he intended to confer 
an honour upon him, by appointing him to 
ntroduce the representative of so venerable 
a potentate ; and that the royal power of 
dispensation had been solemnly determined 
to be a sufficient warrant for such acts. — 
The King is said to have angrily asked, " Do 
you not know that I am above the law ?"§ 
to which the Duke is represented by the 
same authorities to have replied, " Your 
Majesty is so, but I am not ;" — an answer 
which was perfectly correct, if it be under- 
stood as above punishment by the law. The 
Duke of Grafton introduced the Nuncio : and 
it vi-as observed, that while the ambassadors 
of the Emperor, and of the crowns of France 
and Spain, were presented by Earls, persons 
of superior dignity were appointed to do 
the same ofiice to the Papal minister; — 
a singularity rather rendered alarming than 
acceptable by the e.vample of the Court 
of France, which was appealed to by the 
courtiers on this occasion. The same cere- 

* 13 Eliz. c. 2.-35 Eliz. c. 1. 

t D'Adda, 11th July.— MS. London Gazette, 
4th to 7ih July. 

t Van Citters, 15th July.— MS. . 

i Perhaps saying, or meaning to say, " m thw 
respect." 

2D 



338 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



monions introduction to the Queen Dowager 
immediately followed. The King was very 
desirous of the like presentation being made 
to the Princess Anne, to whom it was cus- 
tomary to present foreign ministers; but the 
Nuncio declined a public audience of an 
heretical princess:* and though we learn that, 
a few days after, he was admitted by her to 
what is called "a public audience,"t yet, as 
it was neither published in the Gazette, nor 
adverted to in his own letter, it seems pro- 
bable that she only received him openly as 
a Roman prelate, who was to be treated 
with the respect due to his rank, and with 
whom it was equally politic to avoid the ap- 
pearance of clandestine intercourse and of 
formal recognition. The King said to the 
Duke of Somerset, "As you have not chosen 
to obey my commands in this case, I shall 
not trouble you with any other;" and imme- 
diately removed him from his place in the 
Houstdrold, from his regiment of dragoons, 
and the Lord-lieutenancy of his county,—^ 
continuing for some time to speak with indig- 
nation of this act of contumacy, and telling 
the Nuncio, that the Duke's nearest relations 
had thrown themselves at his feet, and as- 
sured him, that they detested the disobe- 
dience of their kinsman.}: The importance 
of the transaction consisted in its being a 
decisive proof of how little estimation were 
the judicial decisions in favour of the dis- 
pensing power in the eyes of the most loyal 
and opulent of the nobility .§ 

The most petty inciilents in the treatment 
of the Nuncio were at this time jealously 
watched by the public. By the influence 
of the new members placed by James in the 
corporation, he had been invited to a festival 
annually given by the city of London, at 
which the diplomatic body were then, as 
now, accustomed to be present. Fearful of 
insult, and jealous of his precedence, he con- 
sulted Lord Sunderland, and afterwards the 
King, on the prudence of accepting the in- 
vitation. II The King pressed him to go, 
also signifying to all the other foreign min- 
isters that their attendance at the "festival 
would be agreeable to him. The DutchT 
and Swedish ministers were absent. The 
Nuncio was received unexpectedly well by 
the populace, and treated with becoming 
courtesy by the magistrates. But though 
the King honoured the festival with his pre- 
sence, he could not prevail even on the alder- 
men of his own nomination to forbear from 
the thanksgiving, on the 5th of November, 
for deliverance from the Gunpowder Plot.** 
On the contrary, Sir John Shorter, the Pres- 
byterian mayor, made haste to atone for the 
invitation of D'Adda, by publicly receiving 

• D'Adda, 16th July.— MS. 

t Van Citters, 22d July.— MS. 

t D'Adda, supra. 

$ Rarillon, 21st July.— Fo.\ MSS. 

II D'Adda, 7th— 14th Nov.— MS. 

IT According to the previous instructions of the 
States General, and the practice of their ministers 
gt ttie Conijresses of Munster and Nimepuen. ^ 

** Narcissus Luttrell, Nov. 1687.— MS. 



the communion accordhig to the rites of the 
Church of England ;* — a strong mark of dis- 
trust in the dispensing power, and of the de- 
termination of the Presbyterians to adhere to 
the coinmon cause of Protestants. t 

Another occasion offered itself, then es- 
teemed a solemn one, for tlie King, in his 
royal capacity, to declare publicly against 
the Established Church. The kings of Eng- 
land had, from very ancient times, pretend- 
ed to a power of curing scrofula by touching 
those who were afHicted by that malady; 
and the Church had retained, after the Refor- 
mation, a service for the occasion, in which 
her ministers officiated. James, naturally 
enough, employed the mass book, and the 
aid of the Roman Catholic clergy, in the 
exeicise of this pretended power of his 
crown, according to the precedents in the 
reign of INIary.l As we lind no complaint 
from the Established clergy of the perver- 
sion of this miraculous prerogative, we are 
compelled to suspect that they had no firm 
faith in the efficacy of a ceremony which 
they solemnly sanctioned by their prayers. § 

On the day before the public reception of 
the Nuncio, the dissolution of Parliament had 
announced a final breach between the Crown 
and the Church. All means had been tried 
to gain a majority in the House of Commons : 
persuasion, influence, corruption, were in- 
adequate ; the example of di.smis.siil failed 
to intimidate, — the hope of preferment to 
allure. Neither the command obtained by 
the Crown over the corporations, nor the 
division among Protestants excited by the 
Toleration, had sufficiently weakened the 
opposition to the measures of the Court. It 
was useless to attempt the execution of pro- 
jects to subdue the resistance of the Peers 
by new creations, till the other House was 
either gained or removed. The unyielding 
temper manifested by an assembly formerly 
so submissive, seems, at first sight, unac- 
countable. It must, however, be borne in 
mind, that the elections had taken place 
under the influence of the Church party ; 
that the interest of the Church had defeated 
the ecclesiastical measures of the King in 
the two former sessions; and that the im- 



* Van Citters,.24th Nov.— MS. 

t Catharine Shorter, the daughter and heiress 
of this Presbyterian mayor, became, long after, 
the wife of Sir Robert Walpole. 

t Van Citters, 7ih June, 1686.— MS. 

^ It is well known that Dr. Samuel Johnson 
was, when a child, touched for the scrofula by 
Queen Anne. The princes of the House of Bruns- 
wick relinquished the practice. Carte, the his- 
torian, was so blinded by his zeal for the House 
of Stuart as to assure the public that one Lovel, a 
native of Bristol, who had gone to Avignon to be 
touched by the son of James II. in 1716, was 
really cured by that prince. A small piece of gold 
was tied round the patient's neck, which explains 
the number of applications. The gold sometimes 
amounted to 3000Z. a year. Louis XIV. touched 
sixteen hundred patients on Easter Sunday, 168&. 
— See Barrinoion's Observations on Ancient 
Siatuies, pp. 108, 109. Lovel relapsed after Carte 
had seen liim. — General Biographical Dictionary, 
article " Carte." 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 168S. 



339 



luense influence of the clergy over general 
opinion, now seconded by the zealous ex- 
ertions of the friends of liberty, was little 
weakened by the servile ambition of a few 
of their number, who, being within the reach 
of preferment, and intensely acted upon by 
its attraction, too eagerly sought their own 
advancement to regard the dishonour of de- 
serting their body. England was then fast 
approaching to that state in which an opinion 
is so widely spread, and the feelings arising 
from it are so ardent, that dissent is account- 
ed infamous, and considered by many as 
unsafe. It is happy when such opinions 
(how.ever inevitably alloyed by base ingre- 
dients, and productive of partial injustice) 
are not founded in delusion, but on princi- 
ples, on the whole, beneficial to the commu- 
nity. The mere influence of shame, of fear, 
of imitation, or of sympathy, is, at such mo- 
ments, sufficient to give to many men the 
appearance of an integrity and courage little 
to be hoped from their ordinary conduct. 

The King had, early in the summer, as- 
certained the impo.ssibility of obtaining the 
consent of a majority of the House of Com- 
mons to a repeal of the Test and penal laws, 
and appears to have shown a disposition to 
try a new Parliament.* His more moderate 
counsellors,! however, headed, as it appears, 
by the Earl of Sunderland, t did not fail to 
represent to him the mischiefs and dangers 
of that irrevocable measure. " It was," they 
said, '-'a perilous experiment to dissolve the 
union of the Crown with the Church, and 
to convert into enemies an order which 
had hitherto supported unlimited autho- 
rity, and inculcated unbounded submission. 
The submission of the Parliament had no 
bounds except the rights or interests of 
the Church. The expense of an increas- 
ing army would speedily require parliamen- 
taay aid ; the possible event of the death of 
the King of Spain without issue might in- 
v«lve all Europe in war :§ for these purposes, 

* Van Citters, 13th June.— MS. 

tBarillon, 12th June.— Fox MSS. 

J D'Adda, 7tli— 22d August.— MS. 

§ The exact coincidence, in this respect, of Sun- 
derland's public defence, nearly two years after- 
wards, with the Nuncio's secret despatches of the 
moment, is worthy of consideration : — 

"I hindered the dissolu- 
tion several weeks, by tell- " Dall' altra parte 
iiig the King that the Parlia- si poteva proniettere 
ment would do every thing he S. M. del medesimo 
could desire bat rtie taking off parlamento ogni as- 
tlie tests ; that another I'arlia- sistenza magpiore de 
■inent would probably not re- denaro, si S. M. fosse 
peal these laws : and, if they obligato di entrare in 
did, would do nothing else for una guerra straniera, 
llie support of government. I ponderando il caso 
said often, if the King of Spain possibile delta morte 
died, his Majesty could not pre- det Re di fSpagna sen- 
Berve the peace of Europe; zasuccessione. Ques- 
that he might be sure of all ti e siniili vantaggi 
the help and service he could non doverse altendere 
wish from the present Parlia- d'u-n nuovo parlamen- 
metit, but if he dissolved it he to composto di Non- 
must give up all thoughts of conformisii, nutreiido, 
foreicn affairs, for no other per li principi, senti- 
woiild ever assist him bat on 
such terms as would ruin the 
monarcny.'" — I.ord Sunder- 
land's Letter, licensed 23d 
Maicta, 1689. 



inenii lotalmente con- 
trarii alia monarchia. 
"D'Adda." 



and for every other that concerned the 
honour of the Crown, this loyal Parliament 
were ready to grant the most liberal sup- 
plies. Even in ecclesiastical matters, though 
they would not at once yield all, they would 
in time grant much : when the King had 
quieted the alarm and irritation of the mo- 
ment, they would, without difficulty, repeal 
all the laws commonly called "penal." The 
King's dispensations, sanctioned by the de- 
cisions of the highest authority of the law, 
obviated the evil of the laws of disability; 
and it would be wiser for the Catholics to 
leave the rest to time and circumstanceB, 
than to provoke severe retaliation by the 
support of measures which the immense 
majority of the people dreaded as subversive 
of their religion and liberty. What hope of 
ample supply or steady support could the 
King entertain from a Parliament of Non- 
conformists, the natural enemies of kingly 
power ? What faiih could the Catholics place 
in these sectaries, the most Protestant of 
Protestant communions, of whom the larger 
part looked on relief from persecution, when 
tendered by Catholic hands, with distrust 
and fear; and who believed that the friend- 
ship of the Church of Rome for them would 
last no longer than her inability to destroy 
them"?" To this it was answered, " that it was 
now too late to inquire whether a more wary 
policy might not have been at first more ad- 
visable; that the King could not stand where 
he M as ; that he would soon be compelled to 
assemble a Parliament : and that, if he pre- 
served the present, their first act would be 
to impeach the judges, who had determined 
in favour of the dispensing power. To call 
them together, would be to abandon to their 
rage all the Catholics who had accepted office 
on the faith of the royal prerogative. If the 
Parliament were not to be assembled, they 
were at least useless; and their known dis- 
position would, as long as they existed, keep 
up the spirit of audacious disaffection: if 
they were assembled, they would, even 
during the King's life, tear away the shield 
of the dispensing power, which, at all events, 
never would be stretched out to cover Catho- 
lics by the hand of the Protestant successor. 
All the power gained by the monarchy over 
corporations having been used in the last 
election by Protestant Tories, was now acting 
against the Crown : by extensive changes in 
the government of counties and corporations. 
a more favourable House of Commone, and 
if an entire abrogation should prove imprac- 
ticable, a better compromise, might be ob- 
tained." 

Sunderland informed the Nuncio that tne 
King closed these discussions by a declara- 
tion that, having ascertained the determina- 
tion of the present Parliament not to concur 
in his holy designs, and having weighed all 
the advantages of preserving it, he consider- 
ed them as far inferior to his great object, 
which was the advancement of the Catholic 
religion. Perhaps, indeed, this determina 
tion, thus apparently dictated by religious 
I zeal, was coTiformable to the maxims of civW 



340 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



prudence, unless the King was prepared to 
renounce his encroachments, and content 
himself with that measure of toleration for 
his religion which the most tolerant states 
then dealt out to their dissenting subjects. 

The next object was so to influence the 
elections as to obtain a more yielding ma- 
jority. At an early period Sunderland had 
represented two hundred members of the 
late House "as necessarily dependent on the 
Crown ;"* — probably not so much a sanguine 
hope as a political exaggeration, which, if 
believed, might realise itself. He was soon 
either undeceived or contradicted : the King 
desired all bound to him^ either by interest 
or attachment, to come singly to private au- 
diences in his closetjt that he might ask their 
support to his measures; and the answers 
which he received were regarded by by- 
standers as equivalent to a general refusal.! 
This practice, then called ^^ closeting,^' was, 
it must be owned, a very unskilful species 
of canvass, where the dignity of the King 
left little room for more than a single ques- 
tion and answer, and where other parties 
were necessarily forewarned of the subject 
of the interview, which must have soon be- 
come so generally known as to expose the 
more yielding part of them to the admoni- 
tions of their more courageous friends. It 
was easy for an eager monarch, on an occa- 
sion which allowed so little explanation, to 
mistake evasion, delay, and mere courtesy, 
for an assent to his proposal. But the new 
influence, and, indeed, power, which had 
been already gained by the Crown over the 
elective body seemed to be so great as to 
afford the strongest motives for assembling a 
new Parliament. 

In the six years which followed the first 
judgments of forfeiture, two hundred and 
forty-two new charters of incorporation had 

Eassed the seals to replace those which had 
een thus judicially annulled or voluntarily 
resigned. § From this number, however, 
must be deducted those of the plantations 
on the continent and islands of America, 
some new incorporations on grounds of gene- 
ral policy, II and several subordinate corpora- 
tions in cities and towns, — though these last 
materially affected parliamentary elections. 
The House then consisted of five hundred 
and five members, of whom two hundred 
and forty-four were returned on rights of 
election altogether or in part corporate ; this 
required only a hundred and twenty-two 
new charters. But to many corporations more 
than one charter had been issued, after the 
extorted surrenders of others, to rivet them 
more firmly in their dependency ; and if any 
were spared, it can only have been because 

• D'Adda, lOih Oct. 1686.— 7ih Feb. 1687.— 
MS. 

t Id. 24th Jan.— MS. 

t Van Citters, 24th Jan.— MS. 

i Lords' Journals, 20ih Dec. 1689. 

II Of these, those of the College of Physicians 
tnd the town of Bombay, are mentioned by Nar- 
tisaiis Luttrell. 



they were considered as sufficiently enslaved, 
and some show of discrimination was con- 
sidered as politic. In six years, therefore, it 
is evident, that by a few determinations of 
servile judges, the Crown had acquired thf» 
direct, uncontrolled, and perpetual nomina- 
tion'of nearly one half of the House of Com- 
mons : and when we recollect the hidepend- 
ent and ungovernable spirit manifested by 
that assembly in the last fifteen years of 
Charles II., we may be disposed to conclude 
that there is no other instance in history of 
so great a revolution effected in so short a 
time by the mere exercise of judicial au- 
thority. These charters, originally contrived 
so as to vest the utmost power in the Crown, 
might, in any instance where experience 
showed them to be inadequate, be rendered 
still more effectual, as a power of substituting 
others was expressly reserved in each.* In 
order to facilitate the effective exercise of 
this power, commissioners were appointed to 
be " regulators" of corporations. Avith full 
authority to remove and appoint freemen and 
corporate officers at their discretion. The 
Chancellor, the Lords PowLs, Sunderland, 
Arundel, and Castlemaine, with Sir Nicholas 
Butler and Father Petre, were regulators of 
the first class, who superintended the v hole 
operation. t Sir Nicholas Butler and Dun- 
combe, a banker, " regulated'' the corpora- 
tion of London, from which they removed 
nineteen hundred freemen; and yet Jeffreys 
incurred a reprimand, from his impatient 
ma.sler, for want of vigour in changing the 
corporate bodies, and humbly promised to 
repair his fault : for " every Englishman who 
becomes rich," said Barillon, "is more dis- 

Sosed to favour the popular party than the 
esigns of the King."t These regulators 
were sent to every part of the country, and 
were fumished with letters from the Secre- 
tary of State, recommending them to the aid 
of the Lord lieutenants of counties. § 

When the election was supposed to be 
near, circular letters were sent "to the Lord 
heutenants, and other men of influence, in- 
cluding even the Chief Justice of the King's 
Bench, recommending them to procure the 
election of persons mentioned therein by 
name, to the number of more than a hun- 
dred. Among them were eighteen members 
for comities, and many for those towns which, 
as their rights of election were not corporate, 
were not yet subjected to the Crown by le- 
gal judgments.il In this list we find the un- 
expected name of John Somers, probably se- 
lected from a hope that his zeal for religious 
liberty might induce him to support a Go- 



* Reign of James IT. p. 21. — Parliamentum 
Pacificum, (London, 1688,) p. 29. The latter 
pamphlet boasts of these provisions. The Pro- 
tesiant Tories, says the writer, cannot question a 
power by which many of themselves were brought 
into the House. 

t Lords' Journals, supra. 

t Barillon, 8th Sept.— MS. 

^ Dated 21st July. — State Paper Office. 

II Lord Sunderland's Letters, Sept. — Ibid»; 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



341 



vernment which professed so comprehensive 
a toleration: but it was quickly discovered 
that he was too wise to be ensnared, and the 
clerk of the Privy Council was six days alter 
judiciously substituted in his stead. It is 
due to James and his minister to remark, 
that these letters are conceived in that official 
form which appears to indicate established 
practice : and, indeed, most of these prac- 
tices were not only avowed, but somewhat 
ostentatiously displayed as proofs of the 
King's confidence in the legitimacy and suc- 
cess of his measures. Official letters* had 
also been sent to the Lord lieutenants, di- 
recting them to obtain answers from the de- 
puty-lieutenants and justices of the peace of 
' their respective counties, to the questions, — 
Whether, if any of them were chosen to 
serve in Parliament, they would vote for the 
repeal of the penal laws and the Test "? and 
Whether they vvould contribute to the elec- 
tion of other members of the like disposi- 
tion ? and also to ascertain what corporations 
in each county were well affected, what in- 
dividuals had influence enough to be elect- 
ed, and what Catholics and Dissenters were 
qualified to be deputy-lieutenants or justices 
of the peace. 

Several refused to obey so unconstitutional 
a command: their refusal had been fore- 
seen ; and so specious a pretext as that of 
disobedience was thus found for their re- 
moval from office. t Sixteen Lieutenancie8,t 
held by fourteen Lieutenants, were imme- 
diately changed ; the majority of whom 
were among the principal noblemen of the 
kingdom, to whom the government of the 
most important provinces had, according to 
ancient usage, been intrusted. The removal 
of Lord Scarsdale§ from his Lieutenancy of 
Derbyshire displayed the disposition of the 
Princess Anne, and furnished some scope 
for political dexterity on her part and on that 
of her father. Lord Scarsdale holding an 
office in the household of Prince George, the 
Princess sent Lord Churchill to the King 
from herself and her husband, humbly de- 
siring to know his Majesty's pleasure how 
they should deal with one of the,Prince's 
servants who had incurred the King's dis- 
favour. The King, perceiving that it was 
intended to throw Scarsdale's removal from 
their household upon him, and extremely 
Bolicitous that it should appear to be his 
daughter's spontaneous act, and thus seem 
a proof of her hearty concurrence in his 
measures, declared his reluctance to pre-, 
ecribe to them in the appointment or dis- 
missal of their officers. The Princess (for 
Prince George was a cipher) contented her- 
self with this superficial show of respect, 
and resolved that the sacrifice of Scarsdale, 
if ever made, should appear to be no more 

* Dated 5th Oct.— Stale Paper Office. Van 
CiMers' account exactly correisponda with the 
ori{;ina1 document. 

+ Barillon, 8th Dec. — MS. " II alloit faire cetie 
tentative pour avoir un pretexte de les clianger." 

t Id. 18ih Dec. $ Id. 15ih Dec 



than the bare obedience of a subject and a 
(laughter. James was soon worsted in this 
conflict of address, and was obliged to notify 
his pleasure that Scarsrlale should be re- 
moved, to avoid the humiliation of seeing 
his daughter's court become the refuge of 
those whom he had displaced.* The vacant 
Lieutenancies were bestowed on Catholics, 
with the exception of Mulgrave, (who had 
promised to embrace the King's faith, but 
who.se delays begot suspicions of his sin- 
cerity,) and of Jeffreys, Sunderland, and 
Preston ; who, though they continued to pro- 
fess the Piotestant religion, were no longer 
members of the Protestant party. Five co- 
lonels of cavalry, two of infantiy, and four 
governors of fortresses, (some of whom were 
also Lord lieutenants, and most of them of 
the same class of persons,) were removed 
from their commands. Of thirty-nine new 
sheriffs, thirteen were said to be Roman Ca- 
tholics.! Although the proportion of gentry 
among the Nonconformists was less, yet 
their numbers being much greater, it cannot 
be doubted that a considerable majoiity of 
these magistrates w-ere such as the King 
thought likely to serve his designs. 

Even the most obedient and zealous Lord 
lieutenants appear to have been generally 
unsuccessful: the Duke of Beaufort made 
an unfavourable report of the principality of 
Wales; arid neither the vehemence of Jef- 
freys, nor the extreme eagerness of Roches- 
ter, made any considerable impression in 
their respective counties. Lord Waldegrave, 
a Catholic, the King's son-in-law, found in- 
surmountable ob-stacles in Somersetshire ;t 
Lord Molyneux, also a Catholic, appointed 
to the Lieutenancy of Lancashire, made an 
unfavourable report even of that county, 
then the secluded abode of an ancJPnt Ca- 
tholic gentry; and Dr. Leyburn^ who had 
visited every part of England in the dis- 
charge of his episcopal duty, found little to 
encourage the hopes and prospects of the 
King. The most general answer appears to 
have been, that if chosen to serve in Parlia- 
ment, the individuals to whom the questions 
were put would vote according to their con- 
sciences, after hearing the reasons on both 
sides ; that they could not promise to vote 
in a manner which their own judgment after 
discussion might condemn; Inat if they en- 
tered into so unbecoming an engagement, 
they might incur the displeasure of the 
House of Commons for betraying its privi- 
leges; and that they would justly merit con- 
demnation from all good men for disabling 
themselves from perfcraiing the duty of 

* Barillon, 30ih August.— Fox MSS, 
t 'I'he names are marked in a handwriting ap- 
parently contemporary, on the margin of the list, 
in a copy of the London Gazette now before me. 
Van Cillers (14th Nov.) makes the sherifTs almost 
all either Roman Catholics or Dissenters, — pro 
baUly an exaggeration. In his despatch of 16lh 
Dec, he stales the sheriffs to be thirteen Catho- 
lics, thirteen Dissenters, and thirteen submissive 
Churchmen. 
t D'Adda, 12th Dec.- MS. 
2d2 



342 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAY'S. 



faithful subjects by the honest declaration 
of their judgment on those arduous affairs 
on which they were to advise and aid the 
King. The Court was incensed by these 
answers ; but to cover their defeat, and 
make their resolution more known, it was 
formally notified in the London Gazette.* 
that " His Majesty, being resolved to main- 
tain the Declaration of Liberty of Conscience, 
and to use the utmost endeavours that it may 
pass into a law, and become an established 
security for after ages, has thought fit to re- 
view the lists of deputy-lieutenants and jus- 
tices of the peace ; that those may continue 
who are willing to contribute to so good and 
necessary a work, and such others be added 
from whom he may reasonably expect the 
like concurrence." 

It is very difficult to determine in what 
degree the patronage of the Crown, military, 
civil and ecclesiastical, at that period, influ- 
enced parliamentary elections. The colonies 
then scarcely contributed to it.t No offices 
in Scotland and few in Ireland, were bestow- 
ed for English purposes. The revenue was 
small compared with that of after times, 
even after due allowance is made for the 
subsequent change in the value of money : 
but it was collected at such a needless ex- 
pense as to become, from the mere ignorance 
and negligence of the Government, a source 
of influence much more than proportioned 
to its arrtount. The Church was probably 
guarded for the moment by the zeal and 
honour of its members, against the usual 
effects of royal patronage ; and even the 
mitre lost much of its attractions, while the 
see of York was believed to be kept vacant 
for a Jesuit. A standing army of thirty 
thousand men presented new means of pro- 
vision, and objects of ambition to the young 
gentry, who then monopolized military ap- 
pointments. The revenue, small as it now 
seems, had increased in proportion to the 
national wealth, more in the preceding half 
century than in any equal time since • and 
the army had within that period come info 
existence. It is not easy to decide whether 
the novelty and rapid increase of these means 
of bestowing gratification increased at the 
same time their power over the mind, or 
whether it was not necessarily more feeble, 
until long experience had directed the eyes 
of the community habitually towards the 
Crown as the source of income and advance- 
ment. It seems reasonable to suppose that 
it might at first produce more violent move- 
ments, and in the sequel more uniform sup- 
port. All the oflices of provincial adminis- 
tration were then more coveted than they 
are now. Modern legislation and practice 
had not yet withdrawn any part of that ad- 
ministration from lieutenants, deputy-lieu- 
tents, sheriffs, coroners, which had been 
placed in their hands by the ancient laws. 



* Of the 11th Dec. 

+ Chnmberlayne, Present State of England. 
London, 1674.) 



A justice of the peace exercised a power over 
his inferior never controlled by public opinion, 
and for the exercise of which he could hardly 
be said to be practically amenable to law. 
The influence of Government has abated as 
the powers of these officers have been con- 
tracted, or their exercise more jealously 
watched. Its patronage cannot be justly 
estimated, unless it be compared with the 
advantage to be expected from other objects 
of pursuit. The professions called "learn- 
ed" had then fewer stations and smaller in- 
comes than in subsequent periods : in com- 
merce, the disproportion was immense ; there 
could hardly be said to be any manufactures; 
and agriculture was unskilful, and opulent 
farmers unheard of. Perhaps the whole 
amount of income and benefits at the dis- 
posal of the Crown bore a larger proportion 
to that which might be earned in all the 
other pursuits raised above mere manual 
labour than might at first sight be supposed : 
how far the proportion was less than at pre- 
sent it is hard to say. But patronage in the 
hands of James was the auxiliary of great 
leg-al power through the Lord lieutenants, 
and of the direct nomination of the members 
for the corporate towns. The grossest spe- 
cies of corruption had been practised among 
members;* and the complaints which were 
at that time prevalent of the expense of 
elections, render it very probable that bribery 
was spreading among the electors. Expen- 
sive elections have, indeed, no other neces- 
sary effect than that of throwing the choice 
into the hands of wealthy candidates ; bul 
they afford too specious pretexts for the 
purchase of votes, not to be employed in 
eager contests, as a disguise of that prac- 
tice. 

The rival, though sometimes auxiliary, influ- 
ence of great proprietors, seems to have been 
at that time, at least, as considerable as at any 
succeeding moment. The direct power of 
nominating members must have been veste J 
in many of them by the same state of suf- 
frage and property which confer it on them 
at presentjt while they were not rivalled in 
more popular elections by a monied interest. 
The power of landholders over their tenants 
was not circumscribed ; and in all country 
towns they were the only rich customers 
of tradesmen who had then only begun to 
emerge from indigence and dependence. The 
majority of these landholders were Tories, 
and now adhered to the Church; the mino- 
rity, consisting of the most opulent and noble, 
were the friends of liberty, who received 
with open arms their unwonted allies. 

From the naturally antagonist force of 
popular opinion little was probably dreaded 
by the Court. The Papal, the French, and 
the Dutch ministers, as well as the King and 
Lord Sunderland, in their unreserved confer- 
ences with the first two, seem to have point- 
ed all their expectations and solicitudes to- 
wards the uncertain conduct of powerful in- 



* Pension Parliament. 



t 1826— Ed. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



343 



dividuals. The body of the people could not 
read : one portion of them had little knowledge 
of the sentiments of another J no publication 
was tolerated, on a level with the information 
then possessed even by the middle classes ; 
and the only channel through which they 
eould be acted upon was the pulpit, which 
the King had vainly, though perfidiously, 
endeavoured to shut up. Considerable im- 
pediments stood in the way oi the King's 
direct power over elections, in the difficulty 
of finding candidates for Parliament not alto- 
gether disreputable, and corporators whose 
fidelity might be relied on. The moderate 
Catholics reluctantly concurred in the preci- 
pitate measures of the Court. They were 
disqualified, by long exclusion from business, 
for those offices to which their rank and for- 
tune gave them a natural claim ; and their 
whole number was so small, that they could 
contribute no adequate supply of fit persons 
for inferior stations.* The number of the 
Nonconformists were, on the other hand, 
considerable ; amounting, probably, to a six- 
teenth of the \\ hole people, without includ- 
ing the compulsory and occasional Conform- 
ists, whom the Declaration of Indulgence 
had now encouraged to avow their real sen- 
timents. t Many of them had acquired 
wealth by trade, which under the Republic 
and the Protectorate began to be generally 
adopted as a liberal pursuit; but they were 
confined to the great towns, and were chiefly 
of the Presbyterian persuasion, who were ill 
affected to the Court. Concerning the greater 
number, who were to form the corporations 
throughout the country, it was difficult to 
obtain accurate information, and hard to be- 
lieve that in the hour of contest, they could 
forget their enthusiastic animosity against 
the Church of Rome. As the project of in- 
troducing Catholics into the House of Com- 
mons by an exercise of the dispensing power 
had been abandoned, nothing could be ex- 
pected from them but aid in elections ; and 
if one eighth — a number so far surpassing 
their natural share — should be Nonconform- 
ists, they would still bear a small proportion 
to the whole body. These intractable diffi- 
culties, founded in the situation, habits, and 
opinions of men, over which measures of 
policy or legislation have no direct or sudden 
power, early suggested to the more wary of the 
king's counsellors the propriety of attempting 
some compromise, by which he might imme- 
diately gain more advantage and security for 
the Catholics than could have been obtained 

* By Sir William Petty's computation, which 
was the largest, the number of Catholics in Eng- 
land and Wales, about the accession of James, 
was thirty-two thousand. The survey of bishops 
in 1676, by order of Charles II., made ft twenty- 
seven thousand. Barlow (Bishop of Lincoln,) Ge- 
nuine Remains, (London, 1G93,) p. 312. " George 
Fox," said Petty, " made five litnes more Qua- 
kers in forty-four years than the Pope, with all 
bis greatness, has made Papists.'' 

t Barlow, supra. — About two hundred and fifty 
thousand, when the population was little more 
than ibar millions. 



from the Episcopalian Parliament, and open 
the way for further advances in a more fa- 
vourable season. 

Shortly after the dissolution, Lord Sunder- 
land communicated to the Nuncio his opin- 
ions on the various expedients by which the 
jealousies of the Nonconformists might be 
satisfied.* "As we have wounded the An- 
glican party," said he, '■ we must destroy it, 
and use every means to strengthen as well 
as conciliate the other, that the whole nation 
may not be alienated, and that the aimy may 
not discover the dangerous secret of the 
exclusive reliance of the Government upon 
its fidelity." "Among the Nonconformists 
were," he added, " three opinions relating 
to the Catholics : that of those who would re- 
peal all the penal laws against religious wor- 
ship, but maintain the disabilities for office 
and Parliament ; that of those who would 
admit the Catholics to office, but continue 
their exclusion from both Houses of Par- 
liament; and that of a still more indul- 
gent party, who would consent to remove 
the recent exclusion of the Catholic peers, 
trusting to the oath of supremacy in the 
reign of Elizabeth, as a legal, though it had 
not proved in practice a constant, bar against 
their entrance into the House of Commons: — 
to say nothing of a fourth project, entertained 
by zealous Catholics and thorough courtiers, 
that Catholic peers and commoners should 
claim their seats in both Houses by virtue 
of royal dispensations, which would relieve 
them from the oaths and declarations against 
their religion required by law, — an attempt 
which the King himself had felt to be too 
hazardous, as being likely to excite a general 
commotion on the first day of the session, to 
produce an immediate rupture with the new 
Parliament, and to forfeit all the advantage 
which had been already gained by a deter- 
mination of both Houses against the validity 
of the dispensations." He further addecl, 
that "he had not hitherto conferred on these 
weighty matters with any but the King, that 
he wished the Nuncio to consider them, and 
was desirous to govern his own conduct by 
that prelate's decision." At the same time 
he gave D'Adda to understand, that he was 
inclined to some of the above conciliatory 
expedients, observing, " that it was better to 
go on step by step, than obstinately to aim 
at all with the risk of gaining nothing;" and 
hinting, that this pertinacity was peculiarly 
dangerous, where all depended on the life 
of James. Sunderland's purpose was to in- 
sinuate his own opinions into the mind of the 
Nuncio, who was the person most likely to 
reconcile the King and his priests to only 
partial advantages. But a prelate of the 
Roman Court, however inferior to Sunder- 
land in other respects, was more than hia 
match in the art of evading the responsi- 
bility which attends advice in perilous Lon- 
juncturcs. With many commenda Jons ot 
his zeal; D'Adda professed "his incapacitj 

* D'Adda, 7th August.— MS. 



S44 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



of judging in a case which involved the 
opiaious and interests of so many individii- 
His and classes; but he declareti, that the 
fervent prayers of his Holiness, and his own 
feeble supplications, would be oifered to God, 
for liiiht and guidance to his Majesty and his 
ministers m the prosecution of their wise and 
pious ilesigns." 

William Penn proposed a plan different 
from any of the temperaments mentioned 
above; which consisted in the exclusion of 
Catholics from tlie House of Commons, and 
tlie division of all the public ollices into three 
equal jxirls, one of which should belong to 
the Church, another should be open to the 
Nonconformists, and a third to the Catho- 
lics;* — an extremely unequal distribution, 
if it implied the exclusion of the members 
of the Church from two thirds of the stations 
in the public service ; and not very mode- 
rate, if it should bo understooil only as pro- 
viding against the admission of the dissidents 
to more than two thirds of these otlices. 
Eligibility 10 one third would have been a 
more equitable proposition, and perhaps bet- 
ter than any but that which alone is perfect- 
ly reasonable, — that the appointment to ollice 
should be altogether independent of religious 
opinion. An equivalent for the Test was 
held out at the s;inie time, which had a very 
specious and alluring appearance. It was 
proposed that an Acf for tiie establishment 
of religious liberty should be passed ; that 
all men should be sworn to its observance; 
lliat it should be made a part of the corona- 
tion oath, and rank among the fundamental 
laws, as the it/dgoa Clunta of Conscience ; 
and that any attempt to repeal it should be 
declared to be a capital crime. t 

Tlie principal objections to all these miti- 
gated or attractive juoposals arose from dis- 
trust in the King's intention. It did not de- 
pend on the conditions oifered, and was as 
latal to moderate compromise as to undis- 
tinguishing surrender. The nation were now 
in a temper to consider every concession 
made to the King as an advantage gained by 
an enemy, which mortified tlieir pride, as 
well as lessened their s;it"ety : they reg-arded 
negotiation as an expedient of tlieir adver- 
saries tocircumventj disunite, and dishearten 
them. 

The state of the House of Lords was a very 
formidable obstacle. Two lists of the pro- 
bable votes in that assembly on the Test and 
penal laws were sent to Holland, and one to 
France, which are still extant. t These vary 
in some respects from each other, according 
to the information of the writers, and proba- 
bly according to the lluctuating disposition 
of some Peers. The greatest division ad- 
verse to the Court which they present, is 

• Johnstone, 13ih Jan. 1688 — MS. 

t " Good Advice." '• Pariiamentum Pocifi- 
cum." 

J 'the reports sent to Holland were coninnini- 
ca'.ed to nie by the Diike of Portland. One of 
them purports to he drawn by Lord Willoughby. 
That sent by Barillon is from the Depot dcs Af 
fairos Eirangeres at Paris. 



ninety-two against the repeal of ihe penal 
and disabling laws to thirty-live ibr it, be- 
sides twenty whose voles are called "doubt- 
ful," and twenty-three disabled as Catholics: 
the least is eighty-six to thirty-three, besides 
ten doubtful and twenty-one Catholic. Singu- 
lar as it may seem, Kocliester, the leader of 
the Church party, is represented in all the 
lists as being for the repeal. From this 
agreement, and from his ollicious zeal as 
Lord Lieutenant of Hertfordshire, it cannot 
be doubted that he had piomisrd his vote 
to the King: and though it is hard to say 
Avhether his promise was sincere, or whether 
treachery to his party or insincerity to his 
old master would be most deserving of 
blame, he cannot be acquitted of a grave 
ollence either ag-ainst political or personal 
morality. His brother Clarendon, a nu\n of 
less understanding and courage, is numbered 
in one list as doubtful, and represented by 
another as a supporter of the Court. Lord 
Churchill is stated to be for the repeal, — 
probably from the conlitlence of lh(> writers 
that gratitude would in him prevail over 
every other motive; for it appears that on 
this subject he had the merit of not having 
dissembled his sentiments to his royal bene- 
factor.* Lord Godolphin, eng-aged lather in 
ordinary business than in political councils, 
was numbered in the ranks of ollicial sup- 
porters. As Lonl Dartmouth, Lord Preston, 
and Lord Feversham never fluctuated on 
religion, they destMve the credit of being 
rather blinded by personal attachment, than 
tempted by interest or ambition, in their 
support of the repeal. t Howard of Escrick 
and Grey de VVerke, who had saved their 
own lives by contributing to take away those 
of their friends, ajipear in the minority as 
slaves of the Court. Of the bishops only 
four had gone so far as to be counted in all 
the lists as voters for the King.J: Wood of 
Lichlield appears to be with the four in one 
list, ami doubtful in another. The compli- 
ancy of Sprat had been such as to j-'lace him 
perhaps unjustly in the like situation. Old 
Harlow of Lincoln was thought doubttuL 
The other aced prelate, Crofts of Hereford, 
though he deemed himself bound to obey 
the King as a bishop, claimed the exercise 
of his own judgment as a lord of Parliament. 
Suiulerland, who is marked as a disabled 
Catholic in one of the lists, and as a doubtful 
voter in another, appears to have obtained 

* Co.\e, Memoirs, iSlc. vol. i. pp.23— C9, wliere 
the auihoriiies ate oolieclcd, to which may be ad- 
ded the tesiimonv of Johnstone : — " Lord Cluirc.h- 
ill swears he will not do wltat the Kit'c requires 
from him."— Letter 13ih Jan. KiPS.— .MS. 

t Johnstone, however, who knew them, did 
not ascribg their conduet to frailties so generous: 
"Lord Feversham and Lord Dartmoiiih are de- 
sirous of acting honourabiv : but tlie tirsl is mean- 
spirited ; and the second lias an empty pmse, yet 
aims at living grandly. Lord Preston desires to 
be an honest man ; but if he were not your friend 
and my relaiiivi, I should say that he is both Fe- 
versham and Dartmouiit." — Ibid. 

t Durham (Crew), Oxford (Parker), Chester 
1 (Carlwrighi), and St. David's (Watson). 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



345 



\he royal consent to a delay of his public 
profession of the Catholic religion, that he 
mif^ht retain his ability to serve it by his vole 
in Pailiameiit.* Miilgrave was probably in 
the f-ame predicament. If such a majority 
was to continue immovable, the counsels of 
the King must have become desperate, or he 
must have had recourse to open force : but 
this perseverance was improbable. Among 
the doubtful there might have been some 
who concealed a determined resolution under 
the exterior of silence or of hesitation. Such, 
though under a somewhat different disguise, 
was th^ Marquis of Winchester, who in- 
dulged and magnified the eccentricities of 
an extravagant character; counterfeited, or 
rather affected a disordered mind, as a secu- 
rity in dangerous times, like the elder Brutus 
in the legendary history of Rome; and tra- 
velling through England in the summer of 
1687, with a retinue of four coachfs and a 
hundred horsemen, slept during the day, 
gave splendid entertainments in the night, 
and by torch-light, or early dawn, pursued 
the sports of hunting and hawking. t But 
the majority of the doubtful must have been 
persons who assumed that character to en- 
hance their price, or who lay in wait for the 
turns of fortune, or watched for the safe 
moment of somewhat anticipating her deter- 
mination : of such men the powerful never 
despair. The example of a very few would 
be soon followed by the rest, and if they or 
many of them were gained, the accession of 
strength could not fail to affect the timid and 
mercenary who are to be found in all bodies, 
and whose long adherence to the Opposition 
was already wonderful. 

But the subtile genius of Lord Sunderlanri. 
not content with ordinary means of seduc- 
tion and with the natural progress of deser- 
tion, had long meditated an expedient for 
quickening the latter, and for supplying in 
some measure the place of both. He had 
long before communicated to thn Nuncio a 
plan for .subduing the obstinacy of the Upper 
House by the creation of the requisite num- 
ber of new Peenst devoted to his Majesty's 
measures. He proposed to call up by writ 
the elder sons of friendly Lords; which 
would increase his present strength, without 
the incumbrance of new peerages, whose 
future holders might be independent. Some 
of the Irish, 4 and probably of the Scotch no- 
bility, whose rank made their elevation to 
the English peerage specious, and whose 
fortunes dispo.sed them to dependency on 
royal bounty, attracted his attention, as they 
did that of those ministers who carried his 
project into execution twenty-five years after- 
wards. He was so enamoured of this plan, 

* " Ministers and others about the King, who 
have given him grounds to expect that they will 
tarn Papists, say, that if they change before the 
Parliament they cannot be useful to II. M. in 
Parliament, as the Test will exclude them." — 
Johnstone, 8lh Dec. 1687.— MS. 

+ Rcresby, p. 247. 

t D'Adda, lHh October, 1G86.— MS. 

; Johnstone, 27ih Feb. 1688.— MS. 
44 



that in a numerous company, where the re- 
sistance of the Upper House was said to be 
formidable, he cried out to Lord Churchill, 
"O silly ! why, your troop of guards shall be 
called to the House; of Lords !"* On another 
occasion (if it be not a different version of 
the same anecdote) he declared, tliat sooner 
than not gain a majority in the House of 
Lords, he would make all Lord Feversham's 
troop Peers. t The power of the Crown was 
in this case unquestionable. The constitu- 
tional purpose for which the prerogative of 
creating Peers exists, i.s, indeed, either to 
reward public service, or to give dignity to 
important offices, or to add ability andknow- 
leclge to a part of the legislature, or to repair 
the injuries of time, by the addition of new 
wealth to an aristocracy which may have 
decayed. But no law limits its exercise.! 
By the bold exercise of the prerogative of 
creating Peers, and of the then equally un- 
disputed right of gi an ting to towns the privi- 
lege of sending members to Parliament, it is 
evident tliat the King possessed the fullest 
means of subverting the constitution by law. 
The obstacles to the establishment of despo- 
tism consisted in his own irresfdution or un- 
skilfulness, in the difficulty of finding a suffi- 
cient number of trustworthy agents, and in 
such a determined hostility of the body of 
the people as led sagacious observers to for- 
bode an armed resistance. § The firmness 
of the Lords kts been a.'icribcd lo their fears 
of a resumption of the Church property con- 
fiscated at the Reformation: but at the dis- 
tance of a century and a half, and after the 
dispersion of much of that property by suc- 
cessive sales, such fears were too groundlc-ss 
to have had a considerable influence. But 
though they ceased to be distinctly felt, and 
to act separately, it cannot be doubted that 
the remains of apprehensions once so strong, 
still contributed to fortify that dread of Po- 
pery, which was an hereditary point of ho- 
nour among the great families aggrandized 
and enriched under the Tudors. 

At the same time the edge of religions 
animosity among the people at large was 



* Burnet, (Oxford, 1823), vol. iii. p. 249; Lord 
Dartmouth's note. 

t Halifax M.SS. The turn of expression would 
seem to indicate different conversations. At all 
events, Halifax affords a strong corroboration. 

t It is, perhaps, not easy to devise such a limi- 
tation, unless it should be provided tliat no newly 
created Peer should vote till a certain period after 
his creation ; which, in cases of sigiial service, 
would be ungracious, and in those of official dig- 
nity inconvenient. 

5 On euivra ici le projet d'avoir un parliament 
tant qu'il ne paroiira pas impraticable ; mais s'il 
ne reussit pas, le Roi d' Angleterrc preiendra lairo 
par son autoriie ce qu'il n'aura pas obtenu pai ia 
voie d'un parliament. C'cst en ce cas la qu'il 
aura besoin de ses amis au dedans et an dehors, et 
il recevra alors des oppositions qui approcheront 
fort d'une rebellion ouverte. On ne doit pas 
doutcr qu'elle ne soit souienuc par M. le Prince 
d'Orange, et que beaucoup de gens qui paroissent 
attaches au Roi d'Angleterre ne lui manquent aa 
besoin ; cette cpreuve sera fort prrilUiise." — Ba- 
rillon, Windsor, 9ih October, 1687.— MS. 



346 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



sharpened by the controversy then revived 
between the divines of the two Churches. 
A dispute about the truth of their rehgion 
was insensibly blended wilh contests con- 
cerning the safety of the Estabhshment ; and 
complete toleration brought with it that 
hatred which is often fiercer, and always 
more irreconcilable, against the opponents 
of our rehgious opinions than against the 
destioyers of our most important interests. 
The Protestant Establishment and the cause 
of liberty owed much, it must be owned, to 
this dangerous and odious auxiliary; while 
the fear, jealousy, and indignation of the peo- 
ple were more legitimately excited against a 
Roman Catholic Government by the barbar- 
ous persecution of the Protestants in France, 
and by the unprovoked invasion of the val- 
leys of Piedmont ; — both acts of a monarch 
of whom their own sovereign was then be- 
lieved to be, as he is now known to have 
been, the creature. 

The King had, in the preceding year, tried 
the efficacy of a progress through a part of 
the kingdom, to conciliate the nobility by 
personal intercourse, and to gratify the peo- 
ple by a royal visit to their remote abodes ; 
which had also afforded an opportunity of 
rewarding compliance by smiles, and of 
marking the contumacious. With these 
views he had again this autumn meditated a 
journey to Scotland, and a coronation in that 
kingdom : but he confined himself to an 
excursion through some southern and wes- 
tern counties, beginning at Portsmouth, and 
proceeding through Bath (at which place 
the Queen remained during his journey) 
to Chester, where he had that important 
interview with Tyrconnel. of which we 
have already spoken. James was easily 
led to consider the courtesies of the nobility 
due to his station, and the acclamations of 
the multitude naturally excited by his pre- 
sence, as symptoms of an inflexible attach- 
ment to his person, and of a general acqui- 
escence in his designs. These appearances, 
however, were not considered as of serious 
importance, either by the Dutch minister, 
v/ho dreaded the King's popularity, or by 
the French ambassador, who desired its in- 
crease, or by the Papal Nuncio, who was so 
friendly to the ecclesiastical policy of the 
Court, and so adverse to its foreign connec- 
tions as to render him in some measure an 
impartial observer. The journey was at- 
tended by no consequences more important 
than a few addresses extorted from Dissent- 
ers by the importunity of personal canvass, 
and the unseemly explosion of royal anger 
at Oxford against the fellows of Magdalen 
Colleg3.* Scarcely any of the King's mea- 



*"The King has returned from his progress so 
far as Oxford, on his way to the Bath, and we do 
not hear that his observations or his journey can 
give him any great encouragement. Besides 
the considerations of conscience and the public 
interest, it is grown into a point of honour uni- 
versally received by the nation not to change 
Ibeir opinions, which will make all attempts 



sures seem to have had less effect on general 
opinion, and appear less likely to have in- 
fluenced the election for which he was 
preparing. 

But the Royal Progress was speedily fol- 
lowed by an occurrence which strongly 
excited the hopes and fears of the public, 
and at length drove the opponents of the 
King to decisive resolutions. Soon after the 
return of the Court to Whitehall,* it began 
to be whispered that the Queen was preg- 
nant. This event in the case of a young 
princess, and of a husband still in thg vigour 
of life, might seem too natural to have ex- 
cited surprise. But five years had elapsed 
since her last childbirth, and out of eleven 
children who were born to James by both 
his wives, only two had outhved the years 
of infancy. Of these, the Princess of Orange 
was childless, and the Princess Anne, who 
had had six children, ]ost_ five within the 
first year of their lives, while the survivor 
only reached the age of eleven. Such an 
apparent peculiarity of constitution, already 
transmitted from parent to child, seemed to 
the credulous passions of the majority, un- 
acquainted as they were with the latitude 
and varieties of nature, to be a sufficient 
security against such an accession to the 
royal progeny as should disturb the order of 
succession to the crown. The rumour of the 
Queen's condition suddenly dispelled this 
security. The Catholics had long and fer- 
vently prayed for the birth of a child, who 
being educated in their communion, might 
prolong the blessings which they were begin- 
ning to enjoy. As devotion, like other warm 
emotions, is apt to convert wishes into hopes, 
they betrayed a confidence in the efficacy 
of their prayers, wliich early excited sus- 
picions among their opponents that less 
pure means might be employed for the at- 
tainment of the object. Though the whole 
importance of the pregnancy depended upon 
a contingency so utterly beyond the reach 
of human foresight as the sex of the child, 
the passions of both parlies were too much 
excited to calculate probabilities; and the 
fears of the Protestants as well as the hopes 
of the Catholics anticipated the birth of a 
male heir. The animosity of the former 
imputed to the Roman Catholic religion, that 
unscrupulous use of any means for the at- 
tainment of an object earnestly desired, 
which might more justly be ascribed to in- 
flamed zeal for any religious system, or with 
still greater reason to all those ardent pas- 
sions of human nature, which, when shared 
by multitudes, are released from the re- 
straints of fear or shame. In the latter end 
of November a rumour that the Queen had 



to the contrary ineffectual." — Halifax to the 
Prince of Orange, 1st Sept. Dalrymple, app. to 
book V. 

* James rejoined the Queen at Bath on the 6th 
September. On the 16th he returned to Windsor, 
where the Queen came on the 6th October. On 
the 11th of that month they went to Whitehall.— 
London Gazettes. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



347 



been pregnant for two months became gene- 
rally prevalent ;* and early in December, 
suiinises of impostm"e began to circulate at 
Court. t Time did not produce its usual 
effect of removing uncertainty, for, in the 
middle of the same month, the Queen's 
sjinptoms were represented by physicians 
as still ambiguous, in letters, which the care- 
ful balance of facts on both sides, and the 
cautious abstinence from a decisive opinion, 
seem to exempt from the suspicion of bad 
faith. t Oil the 23d of December, a general 
thanksgiving for the hope of increasing the 
royal family was ordered; but on the 15th 
of the next month, when that thanksgiving 
was observed in London, Lord Clarendon 
remarked with wonder,'" that not above two 
or three in the church brought the form of 
prayer with them ; and that it was strange 
to see how the Queen's pregnane}' was every 
where ridiculed, as if scarce any body be- 
lieved it to be true." The Nuncio early 
expressed his satisfaction at the pregnancy, 
as likely to contribute '-'to the re-establish- 
menl of the Catholic religion in these king- 
doms ;"§ and in the following month, he 
Pronounced to her Majesty the solemn bene- 
iction of the Sovereign Pontiff, on a preg- 
nancy so auspicious to the Church. II Of the 
other ministers most interested in this event, 
Barilion, a veteran diplomatist, too cool and 
experienced to be deluded by his wishes, 
informed his master, "that the pregnancy 
was not believed to be true in London ; and 
that in the country, those who spread the 
intelligence were laughed at ;"1 w'hile the 
Republican minister. Van Cilters, coldly 
communicated the report, with some of the 
grounds of it, to the States-General, without 
hazarding an opinion on a matter so delicate. 
The Princess Anne, in confidential letters** 
to her sister at the Hague, when she had no 
motive to dissemble, signified her unbelief, 
which continued even after the birth of the 
child, and was neither subdued by her 
father's solemn declarations, nor by the testi- 
mony which he produced.tt On the whole, 
the suspicion, though groundless and cruel, 
was too general to be dishonest : there is no 



* Narcissus Luttrell, 28th Nov. — MS. 

t Johnstone, 8ih Dec. — MS. 

t Johnstone, 16th Dec. — MS-, — containing a 
statement of the symptoms by Sir Charles Scar- 
borough, and another physician whose name I 
have been unable to decipher. 

§ D'Adda, 2d Dec— MS. 

II Id. 20ihFeb. 1688— MS. 

IT Barilion, llih Dec— MS. 

** March I4th— 20th, 1688.— Dalrymple, app. 
to book v. " Her being so positive it will be a 
son, and the principles of that religion being such 
that they will slide at nothing, be it ever so 
wicked, if it will promote their interest, gave 
some cause to fear that there is foul play intended." 
On the 18th June, she says, "Except they give 
very plain demonstration, which seems almost 
impossible now, I shall ever be of the number of 
unbelievers." Even the candid and loyal Evelyn 
Diary, 10th and 17ih of June) very intelligibly 
intimates his suspicions. 

tt Clarendon, Diary, Slat Oct. 



evidence that the rumour originated in the 
contrivance of any individuals; and it is for 
that reason more just, as well as perhaps ia 
itself more probable, to conclude that it arose 
spontaneously in the minds of many, influ- 
enced by the circumstances and prejudices 
of the time. The currency of the like ru- 
mours, on a similar occasion, five years 
before, favours the opinion that they arose 
from the obstinate prejudices of the people 
rather than from the invention of design- 
ing politicians.* The imprudent confidence 
of the Catholics materially contributed to 
strengthen suspicion. When the King and 
his friends ascribed the pregnancy to his 
own late prayers at St. Winifred's well,t or 
to the vows while living, and intercession 
after death of the Duchess of Modena, the 
Protestants suspected that effectual mea- 
sures would be taken to prevent the inter- 
position of Heaven from being of no avail 
to the Catholic cause; and their jealous appre- 
hensions were countenanced by the expecta- 
tion of a son, which was indicated in the pro- 
clamation for thanksgiving,! and unreserv- 
edly avowed in private conversation. As 
straws shows the direction of the wind, the 
writings of the lowest scribblers may some- 
times indicate the temper of a party; and 
one such writing, preserved by chance, may 
probably be a sample of the multitudes which 
have perished. Mrs. Behn, a loose and paltry 
poetastress of that age, was bold enough in 
the title page of what she calls "A Poem to 
their Majesties," to add, "on the hopes of 
all loyal persons for a Prince of Wales," and 
ventures in her miserable verses already to 
hail the child of unknown sex^ as " Royal 
Boy."§ The lampooners of the opposite 
party, in verses equally contemptible, show- 
ered down derision on the Romish imposture, 
and pointed the genera! abhorrence and alarm 
towards the new Perkin Waibeck whom the 
Jesuits were preparing to be the instrument 
of their designs. 

While these hopes and fears agitated the 
multitude of both parties, the ultimate ob- 
jects of the King became gradually more 
definite, while he at the same time delibe- 
rated, or perhaps, rather decided, about the 
choice of his means. His open policy as- 
sumed a more decisive tone : Castlemaine, 
who in his embassy had acted with the 
most ostentatious defiance of the laws, and 
Petre, the most obnoxious clergyman of the 
Church of Rome, were sworn of the Privy 

* "If it had pleased God to have given his 
Highness the blessing of a son, as it proved a 
daughter, you were prepared to make a Perkin 
of him." — L'Estrange, Observator, 23d August, 
1682. 

t Life of James II., vol. ii. p. 129. 

t The object of the thanksgiving was indicated 
more plainly in the Catholic form of prayer on that 
occasion : — " Concede propitjus ut famula tua re- 
gina nostra Maria partu felici prolem edat tibi 
fideliter servituram." 

^ State Poems, vol. iii. and iv.; a collection a! 
once the most indecent and unpoelical probably 
extant in any language. 



34S 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Council.* The latter was even promoted to 
an ecclosiasiical oUice in the honsehold of a 
piiiiC(>, who sIiU o\eix'isi\l all ihe powers ot" 
tlie siipnuno lu\ul >yii a I'rotostaiit Church. 
Corker, an Kiiglish InMioilietine, the superior 
oi" a nioiiaslery of that order in London, had 
an audience ot the King in his ecclesiastical 
habits, as envoy ironi the Elector of Colo<;ue.t 
doubtless by a secret understanding between 
Janu's and that prince; — an act, whicli Louis 
XIV. himself condeniued as unexampled in 
Catholic countries, and as likely to provoke 
heretics, whose prejudices oui^ht not to be 
wantoidy irritated. t As the animosity of 
the people towards the Catholic reliiiion in- 
creased, the designs of James for its re-es- 
tablislnnent became bolder and more open. 
The monastic orders, clad in garnuMits long 
etranye and now alarming to the people, lilleil 
the streets; and iheKiug prematurely exulted 
that his capital had the appearance of a Ca- 
tholic city,§ — little aware of the indignation 
with which that obnoxious appearance in- 
spired the body of his Protestant subjects. 
He must now have felt that his contest had 
reached that point in which neither party 
would submit without a total defeat. 

The language used or acquiesced in by 
him in the most contidential intercourse, 
does not leave his intention to be gatherea 
by iidereuce. For though tlie words, "to 
establish the Catholic religion," may denote 
no more than to secure its free exercise, 
another expression is employed on this sub- 
ject for a long time, and by dilferent persons, 
in correspondence with him, which has no 
equivocal SiMise, and allows no such limita- 
tion. On the 12lh of ]\lay, 1CS7, Harillon 
had assured him, tliat tlie most Christian 
King ''had nothing so much at heart as to 
see the success of his exeitions to re-establish 
the Catholic religion." Far from limiting 
this important term, James adopted it in its 
full extent, answering, "You see that I omit 
nothing in my power;" and not content with 
thus accepting the congratulation in its ut- 
most latitude, he contimied.'' I hope the Kinsr 
jour master will aid me ; ami that we shall, 
m concert, do great things for religion." In 
a few months afterwards, when imitating 
another part of the ixilicy of Louis XIV., he 
hail established a tuutl for lev.arding converts 
to his religion, he solicited pecuniary aid 
from the Pope for that very ambiguous pur- 
pose. The Nuncio, in answer, declared the 
sorrow of his HoUness, at being dis;ibled by 
the impoverished state of his treasury from 
contributing money, notwithstanding "his 
paternal zeal for the promoting, in every 
way, the re-t>stablishment of the Catholic 
religion in these kingdoms ;"|| as he had 
shortly before expressed his hope, that the 



• London GazcHo, 2.5tli Sept. and lltlj Nov. 
ifiST; in llio last Pelre is styled " Clerk of the 
Closet." 

t Narcissus I-uttrell. Jan. 168S. — MS. 

t The Kinii lo Barillon, •2i\\h Feb.— MS. 

i D'Adda.'Dih March.— MS. 

Q Ibid. ?d Jan. 1(588.- MS. 



Queen's pregnancy would insure " the re» 
establishment of the true religion in these 
kingdoms."* Another teim in familiar use 
at Court ior the liiial object of the royal pni* 
suit was "the great work," — a phrase bor- 
rowed from the sujiposed transmutation of 
metals by the alchemists, which naturally 
signiliod a total change, and which never 
coidd have been applied to mere toleration 
by those who were in system, if not in prac- 
tice, tlie most intolerant of an intolerant age. 
Tlie King told the Nuncio, that Holland was 
the main obstacle to the establishment of the 
Catholic religion in these kingdoms; and 
D'Abberille declared, that without hmnbling 
the pride of that republic, there i-ould be no 
hope of the success "of the great work."t 
Two years afterwards, James, after review- 
ing lus whole policy and its consequences, 
deliberately and decisively avows the extent 
of his own ilesigns : — "Our subjects opposed 
our government, from the tear that we should 
introiluce the orthodox faith, which we were, 
indeed, labouring to accomplish when the 
storm began, and which we have done in 
our kingdom of Ireland."! Mary of Este, 
during the absence of her husbanil in Ireland, 
exhorts the Papal minister, "to earn the 
glorious title of restorer of the faith in the 
British kingdoms," and declares, that .she 
"hopesmuch from hisadministration for the 
re-establishment both of religion and the 
royal family. "■J Finally, the term "re-estab- 
lisn." whicn can refer to no time .-subsequent 
to tlie accession of Elizabeth, had so much 
become the apiuopriate teim, that Louis 
XIV., assured the Pope of his determination 
to aid "the King of England, and to re-estab- 
li.sh the Catholic religion in that island "II 

None of tlie most disceining friends or op- 
ponents of the King seem at this time to have 
doubted that he meditated no k.-^s than to 
transfer to his own religion the privileges of 
an f^slablished Church. Courville, one of 
the most stigiicious men of his age, being 
asked by the Duchess of Tyrcoimel, when 
about to make a journey to London, what 
she should s;iy to the King if he inquired 
about the ojiinion of his old friend Courville, 
of his nu'asures lor the "re-establishment" 
of the Catholic religion in England, begged 
her to answer, — "If I were Pope, I should 
have excommunicated him for exposing all 
the English Catholics to the risk of being 
hanged. I have no doubt, that what he sees 
done in France is his model ; but the circum- 
stances are very diHerent. In my opinion, 
he ought to be content with favouring the 
Catholics on every occasion, in onier to aug- 
ment their number, and he should leave to 
his successors the care of gradually subject- 
uig England altogether to the authority of 



* D'Adda, ed Dec. ICST.— MS. 

t- Ibid. 2-:d .Ausiis*. 1687.— MS. 

t Janus H. to Cardiita! Oiloboni. Dublin, 
15lh Feb. 16;iO— Papal MSS. 

^ Marv 10 l^itobiini. Si. Germain8, 4th — 15lh 
Dee. 11)89.- Papal MSS. 

II Louis to the Pipe, 17th Feb. 1680 —MS. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 16S8. 



349 



the Pope."* Bossuet, the most learned, 
vigorous, and eloquent of contiover.-^iali.stfi, 
ventureu at this critical time to foretel, that 
the pious eflbrts of James would speinlily bo 
rewaiiied by the reconciliation of the Hntish 
islands to the Universal Church, and their 
filial submission to the Apostolic See t 

If Gourvjile considered James an injudi- 
cious imitator of Louis XIV., it is easy to 
iinajijine what was thoujjht on the subject in 
England, at a time when one of the mildest, 
not to say most courtly, writers, in the quiet- 
ness and familiarity of his private diary, 
speaks of " the persecution r;ifi:ing in France," 
and so far forgets his own temper, and the 
style suitable to such writings, as to call 
Louis "the Freuch tyrant."]: Lord Halifax, 
Lord Nottingham, and Lord Danby, the three 
most important opponents of the King's mea- 
sures, disagreeing as th(!y did very consi- 
derably in opinion and character, evidently 
agreed in their apprehension of the extent 
ot his designs.^ They advert to them as 
too familiar to themselves and their corres- 
pondent to require proof, or even develop- 
ment j they speak of them as being far more 
extensive than the purposes avowed ; and 
they apply terms to them which might be 
reasonable in the present times, when many 
are willing to grant and to be contented with 
religious liberty, but which are entirely fo- 
reign to the conceptions o'f an age when 
toleration (a term then synonomous with 
connivance) was the ultimate object of no 
great party in religion, but was sometimes 
sought by Dissenters as a step towards es- 
tablishment, and sometimes yielded by the 
followers or an Established Church under 
the pressure of a stern necessity. Some 
even of those who, having been gained over 
by the King, were most interested in main- 
taining his sincerity, were compelled at length 
to yield to the general conviction. Colonel 
Titus, a veteran politician, who had been 
persuaded to concur in the repeal of the 
penal laws (a measure agreeable to his 
general principles^, declared " that he would 
liave no more to ao with him ; that his ob- 
ject was only the repeal of the penal laws; 
that his design was to bring in his religion 
right or wrong, — to model the army in order 
to effect that purpose; and, if that was not 
sufficient, to obtain assistance from France. "II 

* Mcmoires de Gourville, vol. ii. p. 254. 

t Hisloire des Variationa des Eglises Protest- 
ants, liv. vii. 

t Evelyn, vol. i. Diary, 3J Sept. 1687.— 23d 
Feb. 1688. 

^ Lord Halifax to the Prince of Orange, 7ili 
Dec. 1686— ISih Jan.— Slat May, 1687. " Though 
there appears the utmost vigour to pursue the 
object which has been so long laid, there seemcth 
to be no less firmness in liie nation and aversion 
to change." — " Every day will give more light to 
what is intended ; ihougli it is already no more a 
mystery." — I^ord Noinnghatn to the Prince, 2d 
Scot. 1687. " For though the end at which they 
aim IS very plain and visible, the methods of ar- 
riving at that end have been variable and uncer- 
tain." — Dalryniple, npp. to book v. 

H Johnstone 16ih Feb —MS. 



The converts to the religious or political 

Earty of the King were few and discreditable, 
ord Lorn, whose predecessors and succes- 
sors w(;re the lirrn(;st supporters of the reli- 
gion and liberty of his country, is said to 
have been reduced by the confiKcation of 
his patrimony to the sad necessity of pro- 
fessing a religion which he must have re- 
garded with feelings more hostile than those 
of mere unbelief.* Lord Salisbury, wliose 
father had bi'cn engaged with Russell and 
Sydney in the consultation called the "Rye- 
house Plot," and whose grandfather had sat 
in the House of Commons after the abolition 
of the monarchy and the peerage, embraced 
the Catholic religion, and adhered to it during 
his life. The oflices of Attorney and Solici- 
tor-general, which acquire a fatal importance 
in this country under Governments hostile to 
liberty, were newly filled. Sawyer, who had 
been engaged in the worst prosecutions of 
the preceding ten years, began to tremble 
for his wealth, and retired from a post of 
dishonourable danger. He was succeeded 
by Sir Thomas Powis, a lawyer of no known 
opinions or connections in politics, who acted 
on the unprincipled maxim, that, having had 
too little concern for liis country to show 
any preference for public men or measures, 
he might as lawfully accept office under any 
Government, as undertake the defence of any 
client. Sir William Williams, the confiden- 
tial adviser of Lord Russell, on whom a fine 
of 10,000/. had been inflicted, for having 
authorised, as Speaker of the House of Com- 
mons, a publication, though solemnly pledged 
both to men and measures in the face of the 
public, now accepted the office of Solicitor- 
general, without the sorry excuse of any of 
those maxims of professional ethics by which 
a powerful body countenance each other in 
their disregard of public duty. A project 
was also in agitation for depriving the Bishop 
of London by a sentence of the Ecclesiasti- 
cal Commissioners for perseverance in his 
contumacy ;t but Cartwright, of Chester, hia 
intended successor, having, in one of his 
drunken moments, declared the Chancellor 
and Lord Sunderland to be scoundrels who 
would betray the King (which he first de- 
nied by his sacred order, but was at last re- 
duced to beg pardon for in tearst), the plan 
of raising him to the see was abandoned. 
Crew, Bishop of Durham, was expected to be- 
come a Catholic, and Parker of Oxford, — the 
only prelate whose talents and learning, se- 
conded by a disregard of danger and disgrace, 
qualified him for breaking the spirit of the 
clergy of the capital, — though he had support- 
ed the Catholic party during his life, refused 
to conform to their religion on his death-bed ,i 
leaving it doubtful, by his habitual aliena- 
tion from religion and honour, to the linger- 



* Narcissus Luitrell,lsl April. — MS.: — "ar- 
rested for 3000Z. declares himself a Catholic." 

t Johnstone, 8ih Dec. 1687.— MS. 

t Johnstone, 27ih Feb.— MS. Narcissus Lut 
ircll, 11th Feb.— M.S. 

^ Evelyn, vol. i. Diary. 23d March; 
2£ 



350 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



ing remains or the faint revival of which of 
these principles the unwonted delicacy of 
his dying moments may be most probably 
ascribed. 



CHAPTER VII. 

Remarkable miet. — Its pccitliar causes. — Coa- 
lition of Nottingham and Halifax. — Fluc- 
tuating counsels of the Court. — ^' Parlia- 
mentum Pacijicum.'^ — Bill for liberty of 
conscience. — Conduct of Sunderland. — Je- 
suits. 

England perhaps never exhibited an ex- 
ternal appearance of more undisturbed and 
profound tranquillity than in the momentous 
seven months which elapsed from the end 
of the autumn of 1687 to the begirniing of 
the following summer. Not a speck in the 
heavens seemeil to the connnon eye to fore- 
bode a storm. None of the riots now oc- 
curred which were the forerunners of the 
civil war under Charles I. : nor were there 
any of those numerous assemblies of the 
people which aliVight by their force, when 
they do not disturb by their violence, and 
are sometimes as territic in disciplined in- 
action, as in tumultuous outrage. Even the 
ordinary marks of national disapprobation, 
which prepare and announce a legal resist- 
ance to power, were wanting. There is no 
trace of any public meetings having been 
held in counties or great towns where such 
demonstrations of public opinion could have 
been made. The current of flattering ad- 
dresses continued to flow towards the throne, 
uninterrupted by a single warning remon- 
strance of a more independent spirit, or 
even of a mere decent servility. It does not 
appear that in the pulpit, where alone the 
people could be freely addressed, political 
topics were discussed ; though it must be 
acknowledged that the controversial sermons 
against the opinions of the Church of Rome, 
which then abounded, proved in effect the 
most formidable obstacle to the progress of 
her ambition. 

Various considerations will serve to lessen 
our wonder at this singular state of silence 
and inactivity. Though it would be idle to 
speak gravely of the calm which precedes 
the storm, and thus to substitute a trite illus- 
.tration for a reason, it is nevertheless true, 
that there are natural causes which com- 
monly produce an interval, sometimes, in- 
deed, a very short one, of more than ordinary 
quiet between the complete operation of the 
measures which alienate a people, and the 
final resolution which precedes a great 
change. Amulst the hopes and fears which 
succeed each other in such a state, every 
man has much to conceal ; and it requires 
some time to acquire the boldness to disclose 
it. Distrust and suspicion, the parents of 
silence, which easily yield to sympathy in 
ordinary and legal opposition, are called "into 



full activity by the first secret conscioasn^^ 

of a disposition to more daring designs. It 
is natural for men in such circumstances to 
employ time in watching their opponents, as 
well as in ascertaining the integrity and 
courage of their friends. When human na- 
ture is stirred by such mighty agents, the 
understamliiig, indeed, rarely deliberates 3 
but the conflict and alternation of strong 
emotions, which assume the appearance and 
receive the name of deliberation, produce 
naturally a disposition to pause before irre- 
vocable action. The boldest must occasion- 
ally contemplate their own danger with ap- 
prehension ; the most sanguine must often 
doubt their success; those who are alive to 
honour must be visited by the sad reflection, 
that if they be unfortunate they may be hi- 
sulted by the multitude for whom they sacri- 
fice themselves; and good men will be fre- 
quently appalled by the inevitable calamities 
to which they expose their country tor the 
uncertain chance of deliverance. When the 
fluctuation of mind has terminated in bold 
resolution, a farther period of reserve must 
be employed in preparing the means of co- 
operation and maturing the plans of action. 

But there were some circuinstances pecu- 
liar to the events now under consideration, 
which strengthened and determined the ope- 
ration of general causes. In 1640, the gentry 
and the clergy had been devoted to the 
Court, while the higher nobility and the great 
towns adhercil to the Parliament. The people 
distrusted their divided superiors, and the 
tumultuous display of their force (the natural 
result of their angry suspicions) served to 
manifest their own inclinations, while it 
called forth their friends and intimidated" 
their enemies among the higher orders. In 
1688, the state of tlie country was reverstd. 
The clergy and gentry were for the flr.'^t time 
discontented with the Crown ; and the ma- 
jority of the nobility, and the growing strength 
of the commercial classes, reinforced by 
these unusual auxiliaries, and by all who 
either hated Popery or loved liberty, were 
fully as much disaffected to the King as the 
great body of the people. The nation trusted 
their natural leaders, who, perhaps, gave, 
more than they received, the impulse on this 
occasion. No popular chiefs were necess;iry, 
and none arose to supply the place of their 
authority with the people, who reposed in 
quiet and confidence till the signal for action 
was made. This important circumstance 
produced another effect : the whole guidance 
of the opposition feU gradually into fewer and 
fewer hands; it became every day easier to 
carry it on more calmly ; popular commotion 
could oifly have disturbed councils where 
the people did not suspect their chiefs of 
lukewarmness, and the chiefs were assured 
of the prompt and jealous support of the 
people. It was as important now to restrain 
the impetuosity of the multitude, as it might 
be necessary in other circumstances to in- 
ilnliie it. Hence arose the facility of caution 
and secrecy at one time, of energy and 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



351 



Hpeed at another, of concert and co-operation 
throughout, which are indispensable in en- 
terprises so perilous. It must not be for- 
gotten that a coalition of parties was neces- 
sary on this occasion. It was long before the 
Tories could be persuaded to oppose the 
monarch ; and there was always some rea- 
Bon to apprehend, that he might by timely 
concessions recal them to their ancient 
Rtan<lard : it was still longer before they 
could so far relinquish their avowed princi- 
ples as to contemplate, without horror, any 
resistancg by force, however strictly defen- 
sive. Two parties, who liad waged war 
against each other in the contest between 
monarchy and popular government, during 
half a century, even when common danger 
taught them the necessity of sacrificing their 
differences, had still more than common rea- 
son to e.vamine each other's puqwses before 
they at last determined on resolutely and 
heartily acting together; and it required 
some time after a mutual belief in sincerity, 
before Jtabitual distrust could be so much 
subdued as to allow reciprocal communica- 
tion of opinion. In these moments of hesi- 
tation, the friends of liberty must have been 
peculiarly desirous not to alarm the new- 
bom zeal of their important and unwonted 
confederates by turbulent scenes or violent 
councils. The state of the succession to the 
crown had also a considerable influence, as 
will afterwards more fully appear. Suffice 
it for the present to observe, that the expec- 
tation of a Protestant succes^ior restrained 
the impetuosity of the more impatient Ca- 
tholics, and di.sposed the more moderate 
Protestants to an acquiescence, however 
sullen, in evils which could only be tempo- 
rary. The rumour of the Queen's pregnancy 
had roused the passions of both parties ; but 
as sooji as the first shock had passed, the 
uncertain result produced an armi.stice, dis- 
tinguished by the silence of anxious expecta- 
tion, during which each eagerly but resolutely 
waited for the event, which might extinguish 
the ho|)es of one, and release the other from 
the restraint of fear. 

It must be added, that to fix the precise 
moment when a wary policy is to be ex- 
changed for bolder measures, is a problem 
80 important, that a slight mistake in the 
attempt to solve it may be fatal, and yet so 
difficult, that its solution must generally de- 
pend more on a just balance of firmness and 
caution in the composition of character, than 
on a superiority of any intellectual faculties. 
The two eminent persons who were now at 
the head of the coalition against the Court, 
afforded remarkable examples of this truth. 
Lord Nottingham, who occupied that leading 
station among the Tories, which the timidity 
if not treachery of Rochester had left vacant, 
was a man of firm and constant character, 
but solicitous to excess for the maintenance 
of that uniformity of measures and language 
which, indeed, is essential to the authority 
of a decorous and grave statesman. Lord 
Halifax, 6uffici<;ntly pliant, or perhaps fickle, 



though the boldest of politicians in specula- 
tion, became refined, sceptical, and irreso- 
lute, at the moment of action. Both hesi- 
tated on the brink of a great enterprise : Lord 
Nottingham pleaded conscientious scruples, 
and recoiled from the avowal of the prin- 
ciples of resistance which he had long re- 
probated ; Lord Halifax saw difficulty too 
clearly, and continued too long to advise 
delay. Those who knew the state of the 
latter's mind, observed "the war between 
his constitution and his judgment ;"* in 
which, as usual, the former gained ihe as- 
cendant for a longer period tlian, in the 
midst of the rapid progress of great events, 
was conducive to his reputation. 

Some of the same causes which restrained 
the manifestation of popular discontent, con- 
tributed also to render the counsels of the 
Government inconstant. The main subject 
of deliberation, regarding the internal afl^irs 
of the kingdom, continued to be the possibi- 
lity of obtaining the objects sought for by a 
compliant Parliament, or the pursuit of them 
by means of the prerogative and the army. 
On these questions a more than ordinary 
fluctuation prevailed . Early in the preceding 
September, Bonrepos, who, on landing, met 
the King at Portsmouth, had been surprised 
at the frankness with which he owned, that 
the repairs and enlargements of that import- 
ant fortress were intended to strengthen it 
against his subjects ;t and at several jjeriods 
the King and his most zealous advisers had 
spoken of the like projects with as httle re- 
serve. In October it was said, - tliat if no- 
thing could be done by parlimentary means, 
the King would do all by his prerogative ;" — 
an attempt from which BariUon expected that 
insurrection would ensue. j Three months 
after, the bigoted Romanists, whether more 
despairing of a Parliament or more confident 
in their own strength, and incensed at resist- 
ance, no longer concealed their contempt for 
the Protestants of the Royal Family, and the 
necessity of recurring to arras. § The same 
temper showed itself at the eve of the birth 
of a Prince. The King then declared, that, 
rather than de.sert, he should pursue his ob- 
jects without a Parliament, in spite of any 
laws which might stand in his way ; — a pro- 
ject which Louis XIV., less bigoted and more 
politic, considered "as equally difficult and 
dangerous. "il But the sea might as well cease 

* Johnstone, 4th April, — MS. 

t Bonrepos to Seign'elai, 4th Sept. — Fox MSS. 

X Barillon, lOih Oct. Bonrepos to Seignelai 
same date. — Fox MSS. 

5 Johnstone, 29th Jan.— M.S. Lady Melfort 
overheard the priests speak to her husband of 
" blood," probably with reference to foreign war, 
as well as to the suppression of the disaffected al 
home. — " Sidney vous fera savoir qu'apres deo 
grandes contestations on est enfin resolu de faire 
leurs affaires sans un parlement." 

II Barillon, 6ih May. The King to Barillon, 
14th May. — Fox MS.S. — " Le projet que fait la 
cour ou vous eies de renverser touiea les lois 
d'Angleierre pour parvenir au but qii'elle se pro- 
pose, me paroli d'une difficile et perilleuse execu- 
tion." 



S6.: 



MACKIMX^H'S MISCEI.IJVNF.0US V:SSA\*S. 



to obb auvi tUnv, ;»sa oounoil li> ivnuin (or fuy 
many iwoalhs m pr«v!S;<Iy l\w t<\n\o \xnul in 
ro4j;»i\l to suoh h;»7;u\ioiis tlosiijus. In th«» 
intorval botwiUMJ thos<» nhuis ot" viol<Muv, 
hojvs wiMv ^on>otin\os haioouivilolobtainiiiii' 
frxMn till' J.uiiiji- iVauil ot" rolnininii- olHoors, 
svu'h ;\ Mousi> ot' Coannons as oouKI not K> 
hojVvl tor t"i\M» tho lintlVajivs ot" any olootors ; 
Init tho pnulonoo ot" tho Oatholio j>tn\try, wlio 
woiv naniOil s^horitrs, appojirs to havo sjvoil- 
ily disippointovl thss o^^Hv^ation.* Noithor 
ilo tho Court anpoar to havo ovon aiihonsl 
tor a oiMisiiitMalMo tinio to tho bold iMx>joot 
of aooomplishiivji thoir purjx^sos without a 
l\ulianioiit. In nionionts ot" tsoorot tuisjiiv- 
iuji", whou ihov shrunk t"ixMn llioso ilosjv- 
nilt* oouns;*ls t^ioy jsooni f"roi|nontly to havo 
s<>Uijht rotu^jo in tho llallonns; hopo. that 
thoir nioa*uros to till a Honso of" Couinions 
witli thoir a.lhoronls, thouijli hithorto so ob- 
slinatolv rosistoil. wouUl in duo tinio pnno 
suooossVul. Tlio niootiuii ot" a l\irliamout 
wnsalwaxs hoKl out to tho publio, and was 
still sonioiijuos n»jrai\lovl as a pivniisiusj oxjv- 
iliout :t whilo a oonsiJorablo tinio tor sound- 
i'.iif and JuouKliuji tho publio tomj^or vot ro- 
mainod botoro tho thivo yoars within whioh 
tho Trionuial Aot n\pi;rod that assoniblv to 
bo oallod ti>irothor, would olapso ; anil it 
soeniod r.oodloss to out oil" all rotivat to lo- 
^al moans till that timo should oxpiiv. Tho 
Quoon's pivsinanoy alloottsl thoso oonsulta- 
tions in varinns nu>d«^s. Tho boldost oonsi- 
doivd it as likolv toinlimidato thoir onomios, 
auvl to atl"o!\l tlio happiost opjvirt\nnty lor 
imnvodiato aotion, A l\uliamont nujjht, thoy 
s;»ivl, bo assombloil, that wo\iKl oithor viold 
to tho iivuoral joy at tho appivaohinir birth 
ot" a prinoo, or l\v thoir sullon and mutinous 
spirit justity ihoomployniont ofniortvlooisivo 
moasuros. Tho moiv nu>dorato, on thoothor 
hand, thought, that it" tho birth of a prinoo 
was lolKnvod by a nioro'oautious jx^liov. and 
it" tho long duration ot" a Catholic liwornniont 
wort* soourt\l by tho jvulianuM\tary osta- 
blishmont of a n'livr.oy, thon> was a bottor 
ohanoo than bofoix» of gaining all imi-HJrtant 
objoots in no vory long tinio by tho lorms of 
law and without hazarvl to tho publio quiot. 
Ponu dosirt\l a rarliamout, as tho only modo 
of establishing toloration without subvorting 
tho laws, and labourod to ^v^-suado tho King 
to sjxin' tho Tosts, or to ofVor an oquivalont 
for suoh ivuts of thorn as ho wishod to tako 
awav.} Halifax s;Uvl to a friond, who arguod 
for tho oquiralont, ■• Lvx>k at my noso ; it is 
a vory usrly ono. but I would not tako one 
tivo hunorod timos bottor as an ov^uivalont, 
btvauso my own is fast to my faoo ;'H and 
mado a mor»" st^ious attack on thoso danger- 
ous and soduotiva oxporimonls, in his mas- 
terly tract, entitled -The Anatomy of an 



Kquivnlont." Ai\othor tract was published 
to proivue tho way tor what was oallod "A 
Healing IVrluuwont." which, in tho midst 
ot tolerant prx»lossi«»MS and ci>nciliatorv lan- 
guage, ohiolly attracti"d notice by in>ult and 
menace 
I 



• J.>UnMoiie. .•'ih Deo. — MS. " Many of tho 
Po|»i>h sheritTs hsve estates, nnd iK-claro thai 
whoever expects fnlso returns from them will be 
iliH'eive<l." 

f liml. -'Ist Feb.— MS. 
I IbiJ. 6;!i Fel>.— MS. 

* llwa. 12th .Miiivh.— MS. 



uenace. In this publication, which, boin^ 
leonsod by l.oivl Smuiorland.* was treated 
as tho act of tho (Ioveri\metit. the I'nittHl 
l*ixni noes were ivminded. that •• thoir eom« 
monwoalth was the result of an ab.>«t>lute 
rebellion, rt»voll. and vleteclion, fitmi thoir 
prince ;" and thoy wort* apprised of tho re- 
sjvet of tho Kii\g for the inviolability o( their 
territory, by a m<Miace thi\>wn out to Ihirnetj 
that he •• mijiht bo taken out of their country, 
and cut up alive ii\ Knglaiiil," in iiitilation 
of a supjM^stsl example in tho rtMgn of Kliza- 
both ;t — a llui\it the more alainiing because 
it was well known that tho lirst jxirt of such 
a projoot havl boon long entertained, and 
that attempts had already been made for its 
execution. Van Citters complained of this 
libel in vain : the King expivs,sed woitdor 
and indignation, that a complaint shouUl bo 
u\avle of the publication ot an univers;»lly 
acknowlodj;vd truth, — I'onfonnding tho l"aot 
of resistance with tho eondomnation pix)- 
nouncod nivn it by the opprobrious toiniSj 
which naturally imivrted aiivl woiv intended 
to allirm that the tvsistance was criminal. t 
Another |\unphlot, callovl '• A Now Tost of 
I tho Chnivh ot Knglauvl's Loyalty. ""^^ exjx^s- 
ed with-sinirrility tho inconsistency of the 
Chuivh's recent nidopendei\ce with her long 
! pivlos-sions auvl solemn decrees of noi\-rosist- 
; anoe, and hinted that ■• Mis Majesty \umld 
I withdraw his royal protection, which was 
! promisovl upon tho account of her constaitt 
' fidelity. ■" Such menaces wore very serious, 
' at a moment when P".\bbovilIo. .lames" mi- 
I ni.^ter at (he Hague. foKl tho rrince of Orange, 
' that "Upon some occasions princes must t'or- 
I get thoir piomisos ;"" and being '• reminded 
I bv William, that the Kingonuht to havotnoro 
! ivgai\l to the Church oi' Kiigland, which was 
' the n\niu Knly of the iration." answt-ivd, 
' " that tho Knly culli\l tho 'Church i>f Eng- 
, land' would noi havo a being in two years. "|| 
I The great charft^r yA' eonscience was now 
drawn ui\ in tho form of a bill, and prepared 
I to be laid before l\trliament. It was entitled 
I '-An .Vet f"or granting of Liberty oi Con- 
scionee, without innx^sing o( O.iths and 
j Tests." Thepnwmblo thanks tho King for 
the e.voreise of his disjXMising jxnvor, and 
i ivciurnist^s it as legally w"arranting liis snb- 
I jeots to enjov their religion and thoir otHces 
I during his itMgn : but, in oi\lor to ix^rpctnato 
his pious and Christian bounty to nis people, 
tho bill prtveovls to enact, tliat all jxMsons 
pivfo.^sing Christ may assemble publicly or 
privately, without any licence, lor tho exer- 
cise of thoir religious worship, and that all 
laws against nonconformity and recusmcy 

• .lolinstoiie. l.""!!! Feb. 

t rsrlinnientuni Paeiticnm. (v .^7. 
} n;»rillon. ]\K\\ April.— MS. 

* Soinors' Trjii-is, vol. i.x. |>. 195. 
U Burnet, vol. iu. p. 'iOT. 



HEVIEW Of 'lilK CAUSES OF TIJK ilKVO/J/HON' OF K.HH. 



352 



pr exacting oathx, de«laratiori«, or tnxtfi, or 
imj)OKif);( (ilmiljiUUcKOT j<<jfial(i<;« on r/rli^ion, 
(»)i;tll br; r<:f)i-ui(u\ ; anil inunt <:*f>*:<;niMy in 
Of(U:T " thut hi/t Maj*f»ly rnay not b'; lU-Amrr'ul 
of th<j Hcrvic<; of hiH hubjcctM, which by lh<j 
law of ruiliiro irt i/iwij^trably ano'-x'-'l to hi* 
j>/!rw»ri, aii'l ov;; which no Act of l'ar)i;«,rn<;nt 
ran have any control, any lurl.h';r llian lu; in 
plcancd to allow of ihc harnc,"* (t lak«;«away 
ihe oath« of :i\li:!/i;iuct! and cu{)rffn;w;yj arxl 
the tcKt» and declarations required by the 
2.'5lh and .'iOth of tfi/j Jate kintf, an rjijabfica- 
lion« to hold offir^f, or to hit in either llouwj 
of Parliament. It wa«, inoreov* r. provirled 
t}iat mi;i:Uiii^<i for TnWiimtti worship chould 
be open and [)r-aceabl<! ; that iioUt:*s of the 
plaf;<j of iinM-rnlAy Hhould be ylren to a jus- 
tice of the peace : that no w;<litiou« »w;rrnon>» 
Mh/^Ufd be preacn';d in thern ; and tliat in 
cathedral and wdlejMate citurchcH, i/Jtri>»h 
churchcH, and chapeTM, no pe-rH/^na Khali offi- 
ciate but »uch a« are duly aijlhoiixed ',u-A-jiti\- 
ing to the Act of Uniformity, and no worship 
be UHCfl but whati« c^^nforrrmble fo the Jjoolc 
of Common i'rayer therein eatitbli^hrid ; for 
the obwirvanc; of which provision, — the only 
conce««ion rnarle by the bill to the fear« of 
the Kntiiblinhrrjent, — it waH liirth/;r enJw;t«d, 
that the penaltieH of the Act of Uniformity 
should be maintained afrninHt the contraven- 
tion of that Htatufe in the above re«;>ect:t. IIjuJ 
llu» bill [KtH«ed into a law, arcl h;i/l «uch a 
law been peimanently and honently cAecu- 
ted^ Great Britain would have enjoyed the 
ble»itirig» of TiA'it/hun liberty in a dej^ree un- 
imagined b^ the Btateamen of tbit agr;, and 
far «urjni»«)r.g all tliat Hhe ha>iher»<ilf gain'«J 
during the century and a luxlf of the kuLm/- 
rjuent progrewi of alrnoHt all Knrope toward* 
tolerant principles. But «»ch projects were 
examined by the nation v/ith a vjcw to the 
intention of^ their authors^ and to tli/j ten- 
dency of their provinionH m the actual cir- 
curnfstanc<;« of the time and country ; and lb'; 
practical question v,a«, whellwr »uch intcn- 
tifrti and tendency were not to r^h'eve the 
minority from intolerance;, but to le,«jw;n tfi/j 
security of the ifreat majority against it. Tlie 
Bp<;ciou»ne»H of tlie kn^oage, anrl t.V; libe- 
rfUitv of the utinclrtKnitK, in which it rivalled ' 
the uolde«t Kj>f;culation» at that time lia»trd- , 
ed by philoj/^pherw, were ly^ contrary to the ' 
opinioiia, and ho far beyond the nyu:\M,i\iy, \ 
or the multitude, tliat none of the gr<«i,t divi- 1 
>»iorj« of Chri«lian«cr)uld h'^artily llntmiu^lvHH i 
ad/;pt, or could prudently trust each otlier's 

* Trilu laneuaac iwerni (o have bcf;n irirenu/»n- ' 
ally Cf|!iivof;3f. 'i'Ji': wor'Ji " allow of di'; ••arno," I 
may in th«;rri»«Ive)i rri<;an till he ^{ivftd hii royrd I 
amutrit lo th<! Act. Uul in tfiix r.ounirwyum the 
para((riipti wotjUl b« an nnm';afii'i({ l.oq;)(, wnc« no ^ 
bill can b*;/y>rn'j an Act of FarJiarncnf till it r'r- 
ccirci llic royal AMfU'.nl ; an'i, m-.cui'Wy, k would 
be incon«rii(t(?rif v.idi the prcvioiw r(:C)'4'ihu>n of 
»he lc£(ality of 'h« Kn<i>'n txercivj of th'; di*pen8' 
ing power ; f'A,^Th:n if. having given hi« MKenl ] 
to ihft Actx A'iopf.nm^ with. It nnwt therefore be 
underoiood fo d'rclare, thai Ac'i of Parliarnerif ' 
(iioabling iri'livi'Jij^iU from H'lrvifijj tbe jxiblic, re- [ 
btrain the King only till be »ii«;/en»ee witti thern. I 
45 



viricerity in Iwlding ibem forth ; they were 
regarded not a« a ly^or/, but a» a fimn:. From 
the ally of Louih XIV., three y«^.f« ;){fer the 
per»eculion of the J'rote«»tant«, tlury ha/l tlu> 
aopearance of an innulting niinM*;ty ; even 
ttioiigfi it wan not then known that Jmucn 
liiui during hm whole reign %t:<:tt:\\y r^/ngratu- 
lated that monarch on his hsti\Mi<mn ttmit' 

'Dvt ^^^•.t\c,ra^ distrust of the King's designs 
arOK<; from many <'/n<;i)rim\i>.n(u-n, separately 
to<j f-mall to r<;.'M;h j^^/slerity, but. t;>ken to- 
gether, sufficient to entitle turAT (itjM'.rvtrrn to 
form an estimate of his charact^sr. When, 
about H>70, he ha/1 visited Amsterdam, ho 
declared to the magistrates of that hberal and 
tolerant city, that he *' never was for of>iire»- 
sing tender con«;ienc<;»."* 'J'he niucAirily 
of thew! tolerant [professions was s/^/^n aftfci 
tried when holding a Parliament as I>*rd 
High fjornrnixsioner at f>iird>urgfi, in 1681, 
he exhorted that asse^rmbly to suppress the 
tujiiV(;iiii<;U:H^ or, in other words, thereligioas 
worship of the majority of the Sc<;tfish f>eo- 
ple.f It being difficult for the ficrCyCM z/ralotn 
to devise any new rrir><le of fxjrs<;cution which 
tluj Parliam/;nthayl not airea/ly tried, he wa» 
content to give the royal HfMHiit to an act 
c^Mi/irrnatory of all thos*; e^licts of blf^ 
alresi/ly in mrec against tlie pTfm',r\\/<:'\ ytn*- 
byt/rriiins.t JJut very sli/^rtly after, when the 
J-^irl of Argyle. acting evidently from tlic 
mere dictates of f;i;(i!'ci/;nce, a/hled a rofxlcst 
and reau^inable explanation lo an '/^ith re- 
quired of him, which witli/^ut it wmjid liave 
been tioulrMiicUny, tlie Ixjrd C/;rnmi*sioner 
caused that nobleman t/j be \>tinn:cMU'A\ for 
high UffAmu, and to Uj condemned t/j (b;ath 
on HCAioaut of his c<«isci/;ntious sciwoles,4 
To comj»le'te the evidence of his tolerant 
spirit, it i*« only nec<^»«ary t/i qur/te one [la*- 
sag'! which fi/; hirnwdf lias fortunately pre- 
wrv'-A. He ■AnnnTt-a us that, in his confi- 
dential communication with nis httiXUtrt, he 
mjHtiH'stiU-A it as an act of "imprudence to 
have \)fi>iX)i"'A in PailiJimenl the i<',^)f.'a.\ of 
til/; 3.Sth of Elizabeth,"y — a sUitute; almost 
as wtngainary as those Sc^^ttish ae;f» which 
he had sJinctioned. The folly of Ixdieving 
his a»»uranc';s of equal ^deration was at the 
time evinced by his ar>f)eal to tlir^iK; solemn 
declarations of a rejy^lution lo maintain th« 
Jvlict of iN'antz, with which I>juisXIV. lia/J 
iiccfjmpauied each of hi»eucroachmerittfon it. 

* Account of Jarnex If.'s rtwt to Amsterdam, 
by Wibiarn Carr, tben Krijfli»h (■j>xt%u\ (>.-aiii by 
mitisiki: u> be in K,^,!,. — GentUrnan'a M-<iga/.ine, 
vol, lix. part a. p. Wi. 

t Life of Jamen II., vol. i. p. fi94. The words 
of hi* «peech are o/pied from bis own M8. Me- 
tnoir». 

t AcH of Parliament, toI. yiti, p. 242. 

'> Hfa'e 'Vihth, vol. viii. p. 843. Wr>drow, vol. 
i. pp. 2')^ — <JI7, — a narrative full of in'ere*', and 
obvi^rasly written with a f;are(ul I'-.gHni to injih. 
Ijning, vol. iv. p. 125, — where tlie moral feelin({» 
of that upright and aagaciooji historian are </,»n- 
(fpidioii*. 

H Life of Jamea II , vol. ri. p. 656, verbatim 
from the King'a Mcmoirt. 
2b3 



354 



MACKINTOSH'S mSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Where a belief prevailed that a law was 
passed without an intention to observe it, all 
scrutiny of its specific provisions became 
needless : — yet it ought to be remarked, that 
though it might be fair to indemnify those 
who acted under the dispensing power, the 
recognition of its legality was at least a wan- 
ton insult to the Constitution, and appeared 
to betray a wish to reserve that power for 
further and more fatal measures. The dis- 
pensation which had been granted to the 
incumbent of Putney showed the facility 
with which such a prerogative might be 
employed to elude the whole proviso of the 
proposed bill in favour of the Established 
Church. It contained no confirmation of the 
King's promises to protect the endowments 
of the Protestant clergy : and instead of com- 
prehending, as all wise laws should do, the 
means of its own e.xecution, it would have 
facilitated the breach of its own most im- 
portant enactments. If it had been adopted 
by the next Parliament, another still more 
compliant would have found it easier, instead 
of more difficult, to establish the Catholic 
religion, and to abolish toleration. This 
essential defect was confessed rather than 
obviated by the impracticable remedies re- 
commended in a tract,* which, for the secu- 
rity of the great charter of religious liberty 
about to be passed, proposed " that every 
man in the kingdom should, on obtaining the 
age of twenty-one, swear to observe it; that 
no Peer or Commoner should take his seat 
in either House of Parliament till he had 
taken the like oath ; and that all sheriffs, or 
others, making false returns, or Peers or 
Commoners, presuming to sit in either House 
without taking the oath, or who should move 
or mention any thing in or out of Parliament 
that might tend to the violating or altering 
the liberty of conscience, should be hanged 
on a gallows made out of the timber of his 
own house, which was for that purpose to 
be demolished. "t It seems not to have 
occurred to this writer that the Parliament 
whom he thus proposes to restrain, might 
have begun their operations by repealing his 
oenal laws. 

Notwithstanding the preparations for con- 
vening a Parliament, it was not believed, by 
the most discerning and well-informed, that 
any determination was yet adopted on the 
subject. Lord Nottingham early thousjht 
that, in case of a general election, " few Dis- 
senters would be chosen, and that such as 
v/ere, would not, in present circumstances, 
concur in the repeal of so much as the penal 
laws; because to do it might encourage the 
Papists to greater attempts."!: Lord Halifax, 



* A New Test instead of the Old One. By 
G. S. Licensed 24ih March, 1688. 

t The precedent alleged for this provision is the 
decree of Darius, for rebuilding the temple of 
Jerusalem : — " And I have made a decree that 
whoever shall alter this word, let timber be pulled 
down from his house, and being set up, let him 
be hanged thereon." — Ezra, chap. vi. v. 11. 

X Lord Nottingham to the Prince of Orange, 
2d Sept. 1687. — Dalrymple, app. to book v. 



at a later period, observes, " that the mode- 
rate Catholics acted reluctantly; that the 
Court, finding their expectations not answer- 
ed by the Dissenters, had thoughts of return- 
ing to their old friends the High Churchmen; 
and that he thought a meeting of Parliament 
impracticable, and continued as much an 
unbeliever for October, as he had before been 
for April."* In private, he mentioned, as 
one of the reasons of his opinion, that some 
of the courtiers had declined to take up a 
bet for five hundred pounds, which he had 
offered, that the Parliament would not meet 
in October ; and that, though they liked him ' 
very little, they liked his money as well as 
any other man's.! 

The perplexities and variations of the 
Court were multiplied by the subtile and 
crooked policy of Sunderland, who, though 
willing to purchase his continuance in office 
by unbounded compliance, was yet extreme- 
ly solicitous, by a succession of various pro- 
jects and reasonings adapted to the circum- 
stances of each moment, to divert the mind 
of James as long as possible from assembling 
Parliament, or entering on a foreign war, or 
committing any acts of unusual severity or 
needless insult to the Constitution, or under 
taking any of those bold or even decisive 
measures, the consequences of which to his 
own power, or to the throne of his sove- 
reign, no man could foresee. Sunderland 
had gained every object of ambition : he 
could only lose by change, and instead of 
betraying James by violent counsels, he ap- 
pears to have better consulted his own inte- 
rest, by offering as prudent advice to him as 
he could venture without the risk of incur- 
ring the royal displeasure. He might lose 
his greatness by hazarding too good counsel, 
and he must lose it if his master was ruined. 
Thus placed between two precipices, and 
winding his course between them, he could 
find safety only by sometimes approaching 
one, and sometimes the other. Another cir- 
cumstance contributed to augment the seem- 
ing inconsistencies of the minister : — he was 
sometimes tempted to deviate from his own 
path by the pecuniary gvatificafions which, 
after the example of Charles and James, he 
clandestinely received from France; — an in- 
famous practice, in that age very prevalent 
among European statesmen, and regarded 
by many of them as little more than forming 
part of the perquisites of office. t It will ap- 
pear in the sequel that, like his master, he 
received French money only for doing what 
he otherwise desired to do ; and that it rather 
induced him to quicken or retard, to enlarge 
or contract, than substantially to alter his 
measures. But though he was too prudent 
to hazard the power which produced all his 
emolument for a single gratuity, yet this 
dangerous practice must have multiplied the 

* Lord Halifax to the Prince of Orange, 12th 
April, 1688. — Dalrymple, app. to book v. 

t Johnstone, 27th Feb.— MS. 

t D'Avaux, passim. See Lettres de De Wkt, 
vol. iv., and Ellis, History of the Iron Mask. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



355 



windings of his course ; and from these de- 
viations arose, in some measure, the fluc- 
tuating counsels and varying language of 
the Government of which he was the chief. 
The divisions of the Court, and the variety 
of tempers and opinions by which he was 
surrounded, added new difficulties to the 
game which he played. This was a more 
simple one at first, while he coalesced with 
the Queen and the then united Catholic 
party, and professed moderation as his sole 
defence against Rochester and the Protestant 
Tories; but after the defeat of the latter, and 
the dismissal of their chief, divisions began 
to show themselves among the victorious 
Catholics, which gradually widened as the 
moment of decisive action seemed to ap- 
proach. It was then* that he made an effort 
to strengthen himself by the revival of the 
office of Lord Treasurer in his own person; 
— a project in which he endeavoured to en- 
gage Father Petre by proposing that Jesuit 
to be his successor as Secretary of State, and 
in which he obtained the co-operation of Sir 
Nicholas Butler, a new convert, by suggest- 
ing that he should be Chancellor of the Ex- 
chequer. The King, however, adhered to 
his determination that the treasury should 
be in commission notwithstanding the ad- 
vice of Butler, and the Queen declined to 
interfere in a matter where her husband ap- 
peared to be resolute. It should seem, from 
the account of this intrigue by James him- 
self, that Petre neither discouraged Sunder- 
land in his plan, nor supported it by the ex- 
ercise of his own ascendency over the mind 
of the King. 

In the springof 1688, the Catholics formed 
three separate and unfriendly parties, whose 
favour it was not easy for a minister to pre- 
serve at the same time. The nobility and 
gentry of England were, as they continued 
to the last, atl verse to those rash courses 
which honour obliged them apparently to 
support, but which they had always dreaded 
as dangerous to their sovereign and their re- 
ligion. Lords Powis, Bellasis, and Arundel, 
vainly laboured to inculcate their wise max- 
ims on the mind of James ; while the remains 
of the Spanish influence, formerly so power- 
ful among British Catholics, were employed 
by the ambassador, Don Pedro Ronquillo, in 
support of this respectable party. Sunder- 
land, though he began, soon after his victory 
over Rochester, to moderate and temper the 
royal measures, was afraid of displeasing his 
impatient master by openl)' supporting them. 
The second party, which may be called the 
Papal, was that of the Nuncio, who had at 
first considered the Catholic aristocracy as 
lukewarm in the cause of their religion, but 
who, though he continued outwardly to coun- 
tenance all domestic efforts for the advance- 

* " A little tiefore Christmas." — Life of James 
IL vol. ii. p. 131 ; passages quoted from James' 
Memoirs. The King's own Memoirs are always 
deserving of great consideration, and in unmixed 
cases of fact are, 1 am willing to hope, generally 
conclusive. , 



ment of the faith, became at length more 
hostile to the connection of James with 
France, than zealous for the speedy accom- 
plishment of that Prince's ecclesiastical po- 
licy in England. To him the Queen seems 
to have adhered, both from devotion to Rome, 
and from that habitual apprehension of the 
displeasure of the House of Austria which 
an Italian princess naturally entertained to- 
wards the masters of Lombardy and Na- 
ples.* When hostility towards Holland was 
more openly avowed, and when Louis XIV., 
no longer content with acquiescence, beg-an 
to require from England the aid of arma- 
ments and threats, if not co-operation in war, 
Sunderland and the Nuncio became more 
closely united, and both drew nearer to the 
more moderate party. The third, kno\^ by 
the name of the French or Jesuit party, sup- 
ported by Ireland and the clergy, and pos- 
sessing the personal favour and confidence 
of the King, considered all delay in the ad- 
vancement of their religion as dangerous, 
and were devoted to Fiance as the only ally 
able and willing to insure the success of 
their designs. Emboldened by the preg- 
nancy of the Queen, and by so signal a mark 
of favour as the introduction of Father Petre 
into the Council, — an act of folly which the 
moderate Catholics would have resisted, if 
the secret had not been kept from them till 
the appointment,! — they became impatient 
of Sunderland's evasion and procrastination, 
especially of his disinclination to all hostile 
demonstrations against Holland. Their agent, 
Skelton, the British minister at Paris, repre- 
sented the minister's policy to the French 
Government, as '' a secret opposition to all 
measures against the interest of the Prince 
of Orange ;"t and though Barillon acquits 
him of such treachery,^ it would seem that 
from that moment he ceased to enjoy the 
full confidence of the French party. 

It was with difficulty that at the beginning 
of the year Sunderland had prevailed on the 
majority of the Council to postpone the call- 
ing a Parliament till they should be strength- 
ened by the recall of the English troops from 
the Dutch service :l|. and when, two months 
later, just before the delivery of the Queen, 
(in which they would have the advantage of 
the expectation of a Prince of Wales,) the 
King and the majority of the Council declared 
for this measure, conformably to his policy of 
delaying decisive, and perhaps irretrievable 

* The King to Barillon, 2d June.— MS. Louis 
heard of this partiality from his ministers at Ma 
drid and Vienna, and desired Barillon to insinuate 
to her that neither she nor her husband had any 
thing to hope from Spain. 

t The account of Petre's advancement by Dodd 
is a specimen of the opinion entertained by the 
secular clergy of the regulars, but especially of 
ln6 Jesuits. 

t The King to Barillon, 11th Dec 1687.— MS. 

^ Barillon to the King, 5th Jan. 1688.— MS. 

II Johnstone, 16th Jan. — MS. " Sidney believes 
that Sunderland has prevailed, after a great sirug- 

Ele, to dissuade the Council from a war or a Par* 
ament." 



356 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



steps, he ap^ain resisted it with success, on 
the gioiind that matters were not ripe, that 
it required much longer time to prepare the 
corporations, and that, if the Nonconformists 
in the Parliament should prove mutinous, an 
opposition so national would render the em- 
ployment of any other means more hazard- 
ous.* Sunderland owed his support to the 
Queen, who, together with the Nuncio, pro- 
tected him from the attack of Father Petre, 
who, after g, considerable period of increasing 
estrangement, had now declared against him 
with violence. t In the meantime the French 
Government, which had liitherto affected 
impartiality in the divisions of the British 
Catholics, had made advances to Petre as he 
receded from Sunderland ; while the former 
had; as long ago as January, declared in 
Couiftil, that the King ought to be solicitous 
only for the friendship of France. t James 
now desired Barillon to convey the assurances 
of his high esteem for the Jesuit ;§ and the 
ambassador undertook to consider of some 
more ethcacious proof of respect to him, 
agreeably to the King's commands. II 

Henceforward the power of Sunderland 
was seen to totter. It was thought that he 
himself saw that it could not, even with the 
friendship of the Queen, stand long, since 
the French ambassador had begun to trim, 
and tile whole French party leant against 
him. IT Petre, through whom Sunderland for- 
merly had a hold on the Ji>suit party, became 
now himself a formidable rival for power, 
and was believed to be so infatuated by am- 
bition as to pursue the dignity of a cardinal, 
that he might more easily become prime 
minister of England.** At a later period, 
Barclay, the celebrated Quaker, boasted of 
having reconciled Sunderland to Melfort, 
trusting that it would be the ruin of Petre ;tt 
and Sunderland then told the Nuncio that he 
con.sidered it as the first principle of the 
King's policy to frame all his measures with 
a view to their reception by Parliament jtt — 
a strong proof of the aversion to extreme 
measures, to which he afterwards adhered. 
A fitter opportunity will present itself here- 
after for relating the circumstances in which 
he demanded a secret gratuity from France, 
in addition to his pension from that Court of 
60,000 livres yearly (2500L) ; of the skill 
with which Barillon beat down his demands, 

• D'Addii, 12th March.— MS. "II y avaient 
bcaucoup d'intri^ues et de calialcs de conrsur cola 
dirigt'es conire mi Lord Sunderland : la reine Ic 
soutient, et il a einporie." — Barillon, Mazure, His- 
toire de la Revoliuion, vol. ii. p. 399. Shrewsbury 
to the Prince of Orange (communicating the dis- 
anion), 14th March, 1688. Dalrymple, app. to 
hooks v. and vi. 

t Van Citters, 9th April.— MS. 

X Barillon, 2d Feb.— MS. 

^ The King to Barillon, 19th March.— MS. 

II Barillon, 29th March.— MS. 

IT Johnstone, 12th March and 2d April. — MS. 

** Lettre au Roi, 1 Aoin, 1687, in the Depot des 
Affaires Etrangeres at Paris, not signed, but pro- 
l>al)ly from Bonrepos. 

*t Clarendon, Diary, 23d June. 

U D'Adda, 4th June. MS. 



and made a bargain less expensive to his 
Government ; and of the address with which 
Sunderland claimed the bribe for measures 
on which he had before determined, — so thai 
he might seem rather to have obtained it 
under false pretences, than to have been 
tliverted by it from liis own policy. It is 
impossible to trace clearly the serpentine 
course of an intriguing minister, whose opi- 
nions were at variance with his language, 
and whose craving passions often led him 
astray from his interest ; but an attempt to 
discover it is necessary to the illustration of 
the government of James. In general, then, 
it seems to be clear tlrat, from the beginning 
of 1687, Sunderland had struggled in secret 
to moderate the measures of the Govern- 
ment; and that it was not till the spring of 
16S8, when he carried that system to the 
utmost, that the decay of his power became 
apparent. As Halifax had lost his ollice by 
liberal principles, and Sunderland hatl out- 
bidden Rochester for the King's favour, so 
Sunderland liimself was now on the eve of 
being overthrown by the influence of Petre, 
at a time when no successor of specious pre- 
tensions presented himself. He seems to 
have made one attempt to recover strength, 
by remodelling the Cabinet Council. P^or a 
considerable time the Catholic counsellors 
had been summoned separately, together 
with Sunderland himself, on all conlidential 
affairs, while the more ordinary business only 
was discussed in the presence of the Protest- 
ants: — thus foiTning two Cabinets; one os- 
tensible, the other secret. He now proposeil 
to form tliem into one, in order to remove the 
jealou.sy of the Protestant counsellors, and 
to encourage them to promote the King's 
designs. To this united Cabinet the affairs 
of Scotland and Ireland were to be commit- 
ted, which had been separately administered 
before, with manifest disadvantage to uni- 
formity and good order. Foreign affairs, and 
others requiring the greatest secrecy, were 
still to be reserved to a smaller number. 
The public pretences for this change were 
specious: but the object was to curb the 
power of Petre, who now ruled without con- 
trol in a secret cabal of his own communion 
and selection.* 

The party which had now the undisputed 
ascendant were denominated " Jesuits," as 
a teinr of reproacli, by the enemies of that 
famous society in the Church of Rome, as 
well as by those among the Protestant com- 
munions. A short account of their origin 
and character may facilitate a faint concep- 
tion of the admiration, jealousy, fear, and 
hatred, — the profound submission or tierce 
resistance, — which that formidable name 
once inspired. Their institution originated 
in pure zeal for rehgion, glowing in the breast 
of Loyola, a Spanish soldier,— ^a man full of 
imagmation and sensibility, — in a country 
where wars, rather civil than foreign, waged 
against unbelievers for ages, had rendered a 



* D'Adda, 23d April —MS. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF i688. 



357 



passion for spreading the Catholic faith a 
national point of honour, and blended it with 
the pursuit of glory as well as with the me- 
mory of past renown. The legislative fore- 
thought of his successors gave form and order 
to the product of enthusiasm, and bestowed 
laws and institutions on their society which 
were admirably fitted to its various ends.* 
Having arisen in the age of the Reformation, 
they naturally became the champions of the 
Church against her new enemies, — and in 
that also of the revival of letters, instead of 
following the example of the unlettered 
monks, who decried knowledge as the mo- 
ther of heresy, they joined in the general 
movement of mankind ; they cultivated poHte 
literature with splenffid success; they were 
the earliest and, perhaps, most extensive re- 
formers of European education, which, in 
their schools, made a larger stride than it has 
d9ne at any succeeding moment ;t and, by 
the just reputation of their learning, as well 
as by the weapons with which it armed them, 
they were enabled to carry on a vigorous 
contest against the most learned impugners 
of the authority of the Church. Peculiarly 
subjected to the See of Rome by their con- 
stitution, they became ardently devoted to 
its highest prelen.«ion.s, in order to maintain a 
monarchical power, the necessity of which 
they felt for concert, discipline, and energy 
in their th'^ological warfare. 

Wliile the nations of the Peninsula hasten- 
ed with barbaric chivalry to spread religion 
by the sword in the newly explored regions 
of the East and West, the Jesuits alone, the 
missionaries of that age, either repaired or 
atoned for the evils caused by the misguided 
zeal of their countrymen. In India, they 
suffered martyrdom with heroic constancy. t 
They penetrated through the barrier which 



* Originally consisting of seven men, ihe so- 
ciety possessed, at the end of the sixteenth cen- 
tury, one thousand five hundred colleges, mid con- 
tained twenty-two thousand avowed inemliers. 
Parts of their constitution were alldwed (Ijy Paul 
III ) to be kept and to be altered, without the 
privity of the Pope himself. 'I'he simple instil u- 
lion of lay brethren, corntiined with the privilege 
of secrecy, affjrded the means of enlistitiir power- 
ful individuals, among whom Louis XIV. and 
James II. are generally numbered. 

t " p'nr education," says B:icon, within fifty 
years of the institution of the Order, "consult the 
schools of the .leeuiis. Nothing hitherto tried in 
practice surpasses them.'' — De Augment, Sciont. 
lib. vi. cap. 4. " Education, that excellent part of 
ancient discipline, has been, in some sons, revived 
of laie times in the colleges of the Jesuits, ol 
whom, in regard of this and of some other points 
of human learning and moral matters, I may say, 
" Talis cum sis utiiiam noster esses." — Advance- 
orient of Iiearning, book i. Such is the disinter- 
ested testimony of the wisest of men to the merit 
of the Jesuits, to the unspeakable importance of 
reforming education, and to the infatuation of those 
who, in civilized nations, attempt to resist new 
opinions by mere power, without calling in aid 
6uch a show of reason, if not the whole substance 
of reason, a,s cannot be maintjuned without a part 
of tire substance. 

t See the Letires Edifiantee, &.c. 



Chinese policy opposed to the entrance of 
stratigers, — cultivating the most dilficult of 
languages with such success as to compose 
hundreds of volumes in itj and, by the pub- 
lic utility of their scientific acquiiements, 
obtaitied toleration, patronage, anil personal 
honouis, from that j(;a!ous government. The 
natives of America, who generally felt the 
com])aialive suj)eriority of the European race 
only in a more ra])id or a more gradual de- 
struction, and to whom even the excellent 
Quakers dealt out little more than penurious 
justice, were, under the paternal rule of the 
Jesuits, reclaimed from savage manners, 
and instructed in the arts and duties of civi- 
lized life. At the opposite j)oint of society, 
th(;y were fitted by their release from con- 
ventual life, and their allowed intercourse 
with the world, for the perilous office of 
secretly guitling the conscience of princes. 
They maintained the highest station as a 
religions body in the literature of Catholic 
countries. No other association ever sent 
forth so many disciples who reached such 
eminence in departments so various and un- 
like. While some of their nurnbtir ruled 
the royal penitents at Versailles or the Escu- 
rial, others wei-e teachitig the use of the 
spade and the shulllt; to the naked savages 
of Paraguay; a third body daily endangered 
their lives in an attempt to convert the Hin- 
dus to Christianity; a fourth carried on the 
controversy against the Reformeis : a portion 
were at liberty to cultivate polite lileiatuie; 
while the greater part continued to be em- 
ployed either in carrying on the education 
of Catholic Europe, or in the government of 
their society, and in ascertaining the ability 
and disposition of the junior members, so 
that well-qualified men might be selected 
for the extraordinary variety of offices in their 
immense commonwealth. Thr; most famous 
conf-titutionalists, the most skilful casuists, 
the ablest schoolmasters, the most celebrated 
professors, the best teachers oi the humblest 
mechanical arts, the missionaries who could 
most bravely encounter martyrdom, or who 
with most patient skill could infuse the rudi- 
ments of religion into the minds of ignorant 
tribt's or prejudiced nations, were the growth 
of their fertile schools. The prosperous ad- 
ministration of such a society for two cen- 
turies, is probably the strongest proof afford- 
ed from authentic history that an artificially- 
formed system of government and education 
is capable, under some ciicumstances. of 
accomplishing greater things than tlie gene- 
ral experience of it would warrant us in ex- 
pecting. 

Even here, however, the materials were 
supplied, and the first impulse given by en- 
thusiasm; and in this memorable insiance 
the defects of such a system are discover- 
able. The whole ability of the members 
being constantly; exclusively, and intensely 
directed to the various purposes of their 
Order, their minds had not the leisure, or 
liberty, necessary for woiks of genius, or 
even for discoveries in science, — to say nc« 



358 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



thing of tlio original speculations in philost)- 
pliv"\vhn.-h aro aitouliotoii by inipliiMl laith. 
Thai groat sooioty, whioh oovoivii iho woilil 
for two huiuhcil yoars, has no nanios whioh 
can bo op|>osoil io those of Pascal ami l\a- 
cinc, provtiu'cJ by the single coniinnnily of 
Tort Ixoyal, peisecntoil as it was dniing the 
greater part of its short existence. Hut tliis 
remarkable peculiarity aniounts perliaps to 
little more tlian that they were more emi- 
nent in active than in contemplative lite. 
A far more serious objection is tlie manifest 
tenilency of such a system, wliile it produces 
thejirecise excellences aimed at by its mode 
of cultivation, to raise up all the neighbour- 
ing evils with a certainty and abundance, — 
a si/.e and malignity, — unknown to the freer 
growth of nature. The mini! is narrow ed by 
the constant concentration o( the understand- 
ing ; and those w ho are habitually int(Mit on 
one object learn at last to pursue it at the 
e.vpense of others equally or more imjxntant. 
The Jesuit.-*, the reformers of education, 
sought to engross it, as well us to slop it at 
their own point. Placed in the front of the 
battle ag-ainst the Protestants, they caught a 
more than ordinary portion of that theolo- 
gical hatred ag-ainst their opponents wliich 
so naturally spring's np where the greatiu-ss 
of th(> community, tlu' fame o( the contro- 
versialist, and the salvation of mankind seem 
to be at stake. AtVecting more independence 
in their missions than other religions orders, 
they were tlie formidable enemies of ej>isco- 
pal jurisdiction, and thus armed ag-ainst them- 
selves the secular clergy, especially in Great 
Britain, wliere they were tlu- diief mission- 
aries. Intrusted with the irresponsible guid- 
ance of Kings, they were too often betrayed 
into a compliant morality, — e.vcused probably 
to themselves, by the great public beiu'lits 
which they might thus obtain, bv the nume- 
rous temptations which seemeil to palliate 
royal vices, and by the real dilliculties of 
determining, in many instances. whethtT 
there was more danger of ileterring such 
persons from virtue by unreasonable auste- 
rity, or of alluring tluMU into vice by unbe- 
coming relaxation. This ditliculty is indeed 
so great, that casuistry has, in general, vi- 
brated between these extremes, rather than 
rested near the centre. To t-xalt the Papal 
power they revived the scholastic doctrine 
of the popular origin of government, — lliat 
rulers might be subject to the people, while 
the peo['le themselves, on all questions i^o 
ditlicnlt as those which relate to the limits 
of obedience, were to listen with reverential 
submission to the judgment of the Sovereign 
Pontitl". the common pastor of sovereigns and 
subjects, and the unerring oracle of humble 
Cliristi;ins in all cases of perplexeil con- 
science.* The ancient practice of o.xcom- 

• It is true ihat Mariana (De Rosje el Regis In- 
stmuionc) only contt-nds f..r dio riiitu of iho people 
to depose sovereigns, wiilioui Iniildiiig ilie nu:lio- 
riiy ot ihe Pope on that prineiple. ns ilie sohool- 
nien have expves.*ly done ; bui his manilost appro- 
bation of the assassination of Henry 111. by Cle« 



mimication, which, in its original priucipit), 
was no more than the expulsion from a com- 
munity of an indiviilual who did not observe 
its rules, being stretched so far as to inter- 
dict iuteicourse with ollcnders, ;ind, by con- 
sequence, to suspiMul duty towards them, 
becanu>, in the middle ;ige, the nu'ans of ab- 
solving nations from obedience to exeonmm- 
nicatcil sovereigns.* Under those specioua 
colours both Popes and Councils had been 
guilty of alarming eneroachmenis on tho 
civil authority. The Church had, indeed, 
never solenuily adopted the principle of these 
usurixitions into her rule ot faith or of life, 
though many famous doctois gtive them a 
dangeious countenance ; but slu> had not 
condemned or even ilisavowed those tHiuaily 
ci^lebraled ilivim^s who resisted llu in : and 
though the Court of Komc inidoubledly pa- 
troni.-^ed opinions so favourable to its power, 
the Catholic Church, which had never pro- 
nounced a collective judgment on them, w as 
still at liberty to disclaim them, without 
abandoning her hauglity claint of exemption 
from fundamental error. t 

On the Jesuits, as the most staunch of the 
polemics w ho struggled to exalt the Chinch 
I iibove the State, iiiul who ascribed to Ihe 
Supreme Pontitf an absolute power over liie 
Church, the odium of these doctrines jiriiici- 
jnilly fell.t Among lu'formed nations, and 
especially in CJreat Hritain. the grttitest of 
them, the whole Order were reg-arded as in- 
cendiaries who were perpetually }>lottiiig tho 
overthrow of all Protestant governments, aiul 
as imnunal sophists who employeil their 
subtle casuistry to silence the renuiir.s of 
conscience in tyraitts of their own persua- 
sion. Nor was ihe detestation of Protestants 
rewarded by general popularity in Catholic 
countries: all other regulars tMivied their 
greatness; the universities dreaded their ac- 
quiring a n\onopo]y of education ; ^\hile mo- 
naiehs the most zealously Catholic, though 
ihev often favoured intiividual Jesuits, looked 
with fear and hatred on a society which 
would reduce them to the condition of vas- 
s;ils of the priesthood. In France, the ma- 
gistrates, who preserved llieir integrity and 
dignity in tlie midst of geiu>ral servility, 
maintained a more con.stant conliict with 
these formidable advers;iries of the inde- 
pendence of the State ami the Church. The 
Kings of Spain and Portugal envied their 
well-earned authority, in the missions of 



ment, a faualieal partisan of the League, siilH- 
eienily diseloses his purpose. !See l,a .Mennais, 
La Keligion eoiisideitH) dans ses Uapporis avec 
iH^rilre politique. (Paris. 18Ct>.) 

* Fleury. Disoours sur rilisioire Ccelesiaslique, 
No. iii. sect. 18. 

t " II t'st vrai que Grenoire VII. n'a jamais fiiit 
aueiine deeision sur ee point. Pifu tie /"ii tvi.< per- 
mit." — Ihid. li is evident thai it sueli a iletermi- 
naiioii Itad, in Kleurv's opinion, subst .]iienily been 
ptonouneed by the Church, the last words of this 
passage wouki have been unreasonable. 

t Hayle. Dieiionnaire llisiorique, &c., artiele 
" Rellarinine," — who is said by ihat unsuspeeted 
judge to have had tho best pen for controversy of 
any intin uf that age. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF J 088. 



3159 



Paraguay arid California, over diHlricts which 
they had connueicd fiom the wildcr/x.-hH. 
Thfj irrip(!iu!tnihl«; rnyHtuiy ia whi<;}i a part 
of ihciir (;oaHtitulio;i w.iH c;nv(dop<;d, tliouj^h 
it Blr<;iif(l.htai(;d th<;ir UH»0(;ialioii, and H<;cun;d 
Ihc obr;dif;nc<; of iln rricrnbciH, wan an iiro- 
Bihtiljlf; li;rnj)lati')n to ahnw! j;ow(;r, and juHli- 
fi<;d t}i<; aj)|ir(;h(;n8ionH of t<;;nporai w;v(;- 
nngriH, whili; it ojxincd an iJidjoijnd<;d hcojn! 
for h<;inouH aoci^salionH. Ev(;n in ihc (iif^li- 
tc(!nlh cfMitury, wh<;n many of th<;ir pcf^uli- 
arilioH liii/l b<;c;orn'j faint, and whoa they 
wc.ia ricrhaps littJo raor*; than tho rnoHt ac- 
cornphhhfid, oj)uii;nt, and powerful of roli^^i- 
ou« ord<MM, they wck; cliiiif^ed with B[)r<;ad- 
ing fii-.cri'A (M^<nfratr!rniti<;H over Franco.* The 
grrjatnoHH of the body became early nt) in- 
vidiouri as to be an obHtaele to the advance- 
ment of their rnernber«; and it was generally 
believed that if jjellarrnine had b<dongi;d to 
any oth'-r than tlie rnotil powerful Order in 
ChriKtendom, he* would have be(;n raised to 
the chair of I'eter.t The Court of R/jme 
itBcIf, for whom, they had Biicrificed all, 
drfjaded auxiliari<;.s fio [Xjtent that they might 
ea«ily become masterH; and thoKc cbim- 
pioriH of the Paj;al monarchy were regarded 
ivilh jealouHy by J'opt;s whoHC jndicy they 
a^pireil to dictate or control, lint temporary 
circumf-tanceH at tliJH time created a more 
than ordinary alienation between thern. 

In tlieir original character of a force rained 
for the defence of the Church agaiiiHt the 
Lutherans, the J(;ruit«alwayH devoted th<;m- 
wdves to the temporal Hovf.-reiga who was at 
the hearl of th'; CalholJc j^arty. They were 
attached to Fhjli|> II., at the time when Sex- 
tus V. dreaded his huccckh; and they now 

J)Iaced their hopeHon lyjuit* XIV., in spile of 
lis palronag*;, foi' a time, of the independent 
maxirnK of the Ctllican Church. t On the 
other hand, OdcHfdialchi, who governed tbe 
Churcli under the name of Innocent XI., 
feared thr; growing' power of France, resenl- 
fid the independencr! of tlie Gallican Church, 
and was, to the last degree, exasjjeratf.'d by 
the iriBults offere'l lo him in his capital by 
the command of I/onis. Ih; was bora ia the 
Spanish province of Lornbardy, and, as an 
Italian H<'jvereign, he *;*>uld not be indifferent 
to the bombardment of Genoa, and to the 
humiliation of that resprjctable re[)ublic, in 
the refjuirrjd public submission of the iJoge 
at Versailles. As soon th(7i as Jarnes be- 
came the p(;nsionerand creature of Houis, ihe 
resentments of OdescVialchi prevailed over 
his zeal for the extension of the Church. 



* MontloHJcr M<'rnoirc a conBul'er (ParJB, 1826), 
pp. 20, 22, — qiioird only lo prove that Buch accu- 
satioriH were mad';. 

t Baylc, article " B<'liarrninf?." 

t iJaylc. NoiiV(;ll<n rj<; la Rr'puMifjue des Let- 
tr(;«, April, 1680, " Aiij'jiird'hui pluH ailacheti a 
ia Franre riu'a T Re [lagrit-." — Il<id. Nov, 'I'lifty 
wcrft ch'irir,i:'i wiili jjiving hi-j-.rct \nU:]Vn>(;n(:(i lo 
LouIh XIV. of the n'a'e of the .Spanixh Neihcr- 
landH. The Fretidi JcHiiiis mispended for a year 
the cxeeijiiori o( the Fope'H order lo remove 
P'ather Mairnhoiirjf from their Roeiety, in confje- 
qaence of a direction from the King. 



The JesuitH liad treated him and those of hia 
predecessors who hesiUited between them 
an<l their opponents with off<;nsive liberty;* 
but while they bore sway at Versail]<!S and 
St. James', they were, on that account, less 
obnoxious lo tin; Roman (Imnl. JVl(;n of wit 
r(;maiked at Paris, that things would never 
go on well till the i'ope b(;camo a Catho- 
lic, and King .larnes a Huguenot. t Such 
w<;re the intricate and daik combinations of 
0(>inions, jiassions, and interests which placed 
Ihe Nuncio in oj)j>osition to the most potent 
Order of ihe Church, and complete-d the 
alienation of the British nation fiom Jame«. 
by bringing on the parly which now ruled 
his councils, the odious and terribJe aarno 
of Jesuits. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Declaration of Induljicrice renewed. — Order 
that it should be rewl in Churchex. — Jjelibe- 
ruHori.i of the (Jlergy. — Pelitvm of the 
Jii.shojjn to the Kiuf^. — Their examinati(jn 
before the Privy Council, Ci/inmitlal, Trial, 
and jlctpiillal.- — JleflectK/ns. — ('tmverxionoj 
Sundeiiaiid.— liirlh of the Prince of Wales. 
— Slate of AJj'utrs. 

WuK.v the changes in the secret councils 
of the King had tendered them most irre- 
concilable to the national sentiments, and 
when the general dis<^ontent produced by 
progn;»sive encroachment had (juietly grown 
into disaffection, nothing was wanting to the 
l<;ast unfortunate result of such an alienation, 
but llwt an infatuated Government should ex- 
hibit to th<j public thus dis(H^sed one of those 
tragic spectacles of justice violated, of reli- 
gion menaced, of innoceace opjjrrsii<;d, of 
uaarraed dignity outiagcrl, with all the con- 
spicuous solemnities of abusijd law, ia the 
perwjasof men of exalted rank and venerated 
fuactif^ns who encounter wrongs and indigni- 
ties with mild intrepidity. Such s<;enes, per- 
formed before a whole nation, revealed to 
each maa the hidd(;n thoughts of his fellow 
citizens, added the warmth of personal feel- 
ing to the strength of public principle, ani- 
mated patriotism by ihe pity and indignation 
which the Bufferings of good men call foith, 
and w armed every heart by the re/lectioa of 
the sJirne {lassions from the hearts of thou- 
sands; unlil at length the enthusiasm of a 
nation, springing up m the bowjms of the 
g«!nerouB and brave, breathed a momentary 
spirit into the most vulgar soulu, and dragged 



* Ibid., f)ct.and Nov. 

t " I/e chevalier de Hilleri, 

Kfi parlant d|LC« Pape-ci, 
Hoiihaitoit, pfwr la oaix puhli'^uo, 
Qii'il m; flit rendu Catlioiique, 
Et le r'/i Jacfjuen Iluguenoi," 

La Fontaine to the Due de Vendome. 

Racine (I'rolo/^iie to PJoiher) exprehneH the earn* 

seriiifneniB in a rnilder form : — 

" Kt I'enfer, coiivrarit tout de sen vapeufH furiehret, 

Sur Ic-B ycuz icB plus eaintsa jete le* tenebrcs.** 



360 



MACKINTCSirS MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



into its porvico iho herd (if llu» st^llisli, llic 
colli, tho uioiin, and llw rowiuitly. The coni- 
InistiliU's wcm lu-nuniilattMl ; a spark was 
only waiitinif to kitullt' the llanic. Acridtvils 
in thfuisflvcs trivial, sccni on this occasion, 
as in oilier tiinos and conntrit's, to liavo lilicii 
ni> tilt' nioasnro of iMovocation. In sncli a 
goviMhinont as that of James, foiined of ad- 
verse parties, niort^ intent on \vi>akenin<i' or 
Slipplantinjj^ each other than on securini'' their 
Connnon fonndalion, every measure was too 
much estimated by its bearin;j;' on these un- 
avowed objects, to allow a calm considera- 
tion of its etiect on the interest or oven on 
the temper of the public. 

On the 27th of April, tho Kinp republished 
his Declaration of the former year for Lib- 
erty of ('oiisi'ience , — a measure, apparently 
insii;iiilii"ant,* which was probably iiropostnl 
by Sniulerlaiu'., to indnltic his master in a 
harmli\ss show of tirmness, which mij^ht di- 
vert him from ra,sher councils.! To this 
Declaration ii supplement was annexed, de- 
clariiifi', that the Kiiij;- was conlirmed in his 

turpose by tlie numerous addresses which 
ad assured him of the national concurrence ; 
that he had removcvl all civil and military 
ofFuVrs who had refused to co-operate with 
him; and that ho trusted that th(> people 
would ilo their ]iart, by the choice of lit 
membtMs lo serve in rarliament, which he 
was resolvcil to assemble in November ''at 
farthest."' This last, and only important 
part of the Proclamation, was promoted by 
the contending parties in tlie Cabinet with 
opposite intentions. The moderate Catho- 
lics, and Pi'im, whoso fault was only an un- 
seasonable /ea I for a noble principle, deshrd 
a Parliament from a hoiie, that if its convo- 
cation were not too lon<:r delayed, it miiihl 
produce a compromise, in which the Kiiifi' 
might for the time be eonfenteil witli an 
universal toleration of worship. The .Tesuiti- 
cal party also desired a Parliament ; but it 
vi'as because they liopcvl that it would pro- 
duce a linal rupture, and a recurrence to 
those more viiiorous means which the age of 
the King now reipiired, and the safety of 
which live expected birtli of a Prince of 
Wales ajipeared to wan ant. f Sunderland 
acquiesced in the iii.^erlion of this pledge, 
because lie hoped to keep the violent in 
check by the fear of the Parliament, and 

Sartly, also, because he by no means had 
etermincil to redeem the pledge. "This 
language is held," said he to HariUou (who 
was alarmed at the si)uiul of a Parliament), 
"rather to show, that Parliament will not 
meet for six months, than that it will be then 
assembled, which must depeiul on the pub- 
lie temper at that time.''s^ For so far, it 



" Tlu> ncchiratioii. so liwc; spoken of. is pub- 
lished. As noihiiifj is siiid mort' timii last year, 
polilii'irtiis cannot inuii'rsiaiul tiie reason of so ill- 
\inu'(i a tuoasuro."— Van Citior8, llih May. (So- 
crtit n<'spatrli.) MS. 

t l?anllon, Cili May. — MS. 

) Hiirnctt, vol. iii. p. 211. 

4 BurilJon 13ih May.— MS. 



seems, did this ingenious statesman carry 
his system of liberal interpretalion, that ha 
employed words in the directly opjiosite 
sense lo that in wliich they were understood. 
So jarring were the motives from which ihia 
Dei'laralion proceedeil, ami so opposite iho 
constrnclioiis of which its aulluns lepicsent- 
ed it to bt! capable. Had no other step, 
however, been taken but the )inblication, it 
is not probable that it woiiTd liave been at- 
tended by serious consetjueiices. 

Hilt in .1 week afterwards, an Order was 
m;id(> by the King in Council, conimauding 
the Declaration to be read at the usual time 
of ilivine service, in all the clnuchcs in Lou- 
don on the 'JOlh and 27th of Way. and in all 
itiose ill tlie cuniitiy on the IU\ and lOlh of 
.lime.* Who was the ailviser of tliis Order, 
which lias acquired such imiiortance from its 
immediate eCI'ects, has not yet been ascer- 
tained. It was publicly disclaimed by Sun- 
derland, t but lit a time which would have 
left no value to his declaration, but what it 
might di'rive from being uncontiiidicted ; and 
it was agreeable to the general tenor of his 
policy, ft now appears, however, that ho 
and other counsellors disavoweil it at the 
tim(\; and th(\v seem to have been believed 
by keen and watchful observers. Though it 
was tluvi rumoured that Petie had aLsodisa- 
vow(\l this fatal advice, the concurrent tes- 
timony of all contt'iniiorary historians ascribe 
it to him ; and it accords well with the policy 
of that party, which reeeivetl in some ilegree 
from his ascendant over them the unpopular 
appellation of Jesuits. It must be owned, 
iiuleed, that it Avas one of the numeious 
cases in which the evil efFects of an impru- 
dent measure ]irov<'d far greater than any 
foresight could have apprelu-iuled. Tliere 
was considerable reastni for expecting sub- 
mission from the Church. 

The clergy liad very recently obeyed a 
similar oilier in two obnoxious instances. In 
compliance with an Order made in Council 
by Charles U. (olliciously snggosted to him. 
it is said, by Saiicroft liimself),} tliey had 
read from their pulnits that Prince's apology 
for the dissolution of his two last l^irliamen'ts, 
severally arraigning various Pailiamenlary 
jiroceeding.s, and among otliers a !\esohitioii 
of the HoiL-^e of Commons against llie per- 
secution of the Protestant Dis.-;eiiters.s^ 'i'ho 
comiiliaiice of tlie clergy on this occasion 
was cheerful, though ihey gave utrence by it 
to many of the people. II Now, this .seemed 
to be an open interference of the ecclesiasti- 
cal order in the liercest contests of political 

* Loiter from (ho Hague, 28th Mnrch, 1C89.— 
MS. 

t Johnstone, 23tl May.— MS. " Siuidrrland, 
Mcllont, renn, ami, (fxi/ .vnv. Pctrc, deny liavina 
advised this Deelnralioii." fiiil Van t'iucis. ('^51^ 
Mny). says that Peire is believed to have advised 
the order. 

t Burnet, vol. iii. p. 212. 

^ London Gjizetic, 7ih— llih April. 1681. 

II Keunit. History, vol. iii. p. 388. EcharA, 
History of Kiit<laiid, vol. iii. p. 623. 



REVIKW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1C88. 



361 



partiftfl, which tho fluty of iinfh"«tint,'uiHhiri{5 
obf!(li«!iif;('.'iloM(! could warninl.* 'J'ho MJirrifj 
principl'; !i|)|)(;arH Htill rnon; iicccRHary to juH- 
tify their rc.-.uliiiir llio l)(!c,lar;itioii ol (^liarlnH 
OM th(! Ky(! lloiiHf! I'lot,t |)ul)lirtfi(!il within 
a w(;(!k of \\\<: dfiath ol' Lord KummcI); v, hen 
it vvuH indrcriit (or t}i(! rniriiHtiirH td' ridii.'ioii 
to j)rorniil:(a,l(,' ihfir a[)proval ol hloodshcd, 
and iinjuHt l(j iidlarrio projiidin; a'j;airiHt tlios(! 
who rcrriaiiu'd to hr; trmd. 'J'liin Dcctlaiatiori 
had ])f(',n irnrrusdialfdy prrjcrtdcd by th'; 
famoiiH d('cr(!C ol' the (JmvorHity of 0x101(1, 
and liad been rollow<;d by a peiwrculioii ol 
lli'j Nf)ii('OMlorfriiHtH, on whom it reflf^clcd aw 
tho aiitbors ol' tho Biippowid conHpiracy.f 
Thc'Hf! cxanriplr-s of comj)liaM(!f; a|)j)<!ar<;d to 
De ^\()\\j\(\('.(i on tho undofiiifid anlhftrity 
claimed by I lie Kin^, as KUpreme ordinary, 
on th(i jndic-ial dctrMrriinaliotiH, which vc.co'^- 
nittod hitt ri^dit in that character to make or- 
diriarieH fi>r llie outward rule of theC-hnrch,^ 
and on th(! rubric of the IJook of (-'ommf)n 
Prayer (declared, by the Act of Unilormily,|| 
to be a part of that statutei which direclH, 
" that not liini( Hhali be [)ubliHhed in church 
Dy thio minister, but wfiat \h [)r(!W,ribed by 
this book, or (jnjoined by the Kinj(." These 
reaHoniri<.^H and cxam[)ii'H wen: at h^aHt Hulfi- 
cieiit to excuHO the confid(;nce with \vhi<di 
eome of the Koyai advisers anticipated the 
obedience either of the whole Church, or of 
80 lart.'e a majority as to make it salo and 
easy to jjuninh tlie disobedient. 

A variation from the f)recedenlsora SPom- 
ingly slij^ht and formal nature sefjrns to liave 
had »orne clfect on the success of th(! mea- 
sure. 'i"h'; bisho|)S were rir)w, for the first 
lime^ commaniJi*d by the Onhir |)nblish(!d in 
tho Gazette to distribute the Declaration in 
their dioceses, in order to its beinj^ read by 
tho clort^y. Whetfier tho insertion of this 
unusual clansr; was casual, or inlendird to 
humble tho bishops, it is now diflicult to 
conj(!Cturo: it was naturally rr-ceived and 
represented in the most offensive sense. If It 
fixed tho eyes of tho wliolo nation on tho 
prtdatf'S, r<;ndf!rin^tho conduct of their (df.Ti^y 
visibly deneiid(!ni wjlely on their (hsterrnina- 
lion, and thus concentrating, on a small num- 

• It wa« nrnompanicd by a IfMtcr from (ho King 
to HnticroO , which m-nrnn lo imply n prcvioiiH iiHap« 
in «iH;h caHcs. " Our will i<i, ihsit you givo Huch 
dirociiorm as \\nvi- liecn usual in hucIi cancn for die 
rcadinjf ol oiirHaid iJcdaraiiori." — K';nnct, mipra. 
Nolfi friiiM Larnt.cdi M.SH. iJ'Oyloy, Lif.j of 
Sancroft, vol. i. p. 2."/!. " Now," wayn Kalph, 
(vol. i. p. .'jW;, " die fry of Church and Kirii; waw 
echofid from onn nidc of dio kiiii{dr)tn lo the odicr." 
Immcdiaioly ndcr \u;atin ilic periodical IIIxjIh of 
L'F'JftlraiiKf!, mid ihc iiiveciivow againut I'arliarncnt, 
under tho form of loyal addroHHCH. 

t I.ondori Gazotio, 2d — <,\\\ Au!<iiHt, ]r,8:j. Ken- 
nel, vol. iii. p. 408. Kchard, vol. iii. [i. fiW. 

t 'I'liin fad is4 rtdiiciantly admillcd by Roger 
Norlh. Hxarnen. p. 'Mi'J. 

^ Cro. Jac. p. 87. 

II 14 Car. II. chap. 4. 

If Van Cittern, 15ih— S.^th Mnv. MS, One 
of tho ot)j(!ctionn was, dial. I he Order wno not 
transmitted in the uKiial and IcKnoHientaliouH nnati- 
tibt, through the I'rirnate, a<i in 1G81. 
46 



bcr, Iho dishonour of Bubmission which would 
have been lost by dispersion amonj^ tho 
whoh) body. So slion^ly did the brdief that 
insidt was intended j)r<!vail, tliat I'etic. to 
whom it was childly ascribed, was said to 
liave doidared it in tfie {i;ross and contum<di- 
oiis laii;(ua<^r! imed of (dd, by a baibarous in- 
vader, to the deputies rd' a besiei^ed city.* 
Hut Inoii^h the menace be irniiuted to him 
by most (d his contr!m[)oraries,T ycd, as they 
were all his luiernies, and as no ear-witness 
isfjiioled, wo must b(! contrmt lo bo doubtful 
wlielhor ho actually utter(;d the offensivo 
words, or was only so (,'eni;rally impiudont 
as to make it r^asily so boliovrjd. 

'J'lu! first fdfVrct of this Ordrjr was to place 
the ])relat(;K \\ ho were then in the <;apilal or 
its nei;.dibouiho')d in a silualion of no small 
peri)lexity. Tfiey must liave brien still more 
taketi by Bur[)ris<! than tho more modrjiato 
ministers; and, in that a^'o of slow convey- 
arico and ran; publication, they vveif; allowed 
only sixtfjon days from tho ()ider, and thir- 
tf!(!n fiorn itsoflicial jiublication,! to ascortain 
tlio sentimrMits of their brethren and of their 
clert,'y, without the knowh'd^e of which thrdr 
determinatirm, whatever it was, rnif/ht pro- 
mole that flivision which it was oin; of the 
main objects of their oncimies, by this mea- 
sure, to (rxcile. ]{f!.Kistailco could be lormida- 
bh; only if it were (jeiioral. It is one of tlio 
severest tr;sts of human saj.^acity to call for 
instantaneous jurl^ment from a few h-adrTS 
when they have not su[)f)ort enou;.'h to bo 
assurrrfl f)f the majority of th'dr adherenls. 
Had tho bisliops takf'n a sirif^li; step without 
concert, lh<;y would havo boi;ri as.sailed by 
char((eH of a pnd(;nsion to dir;tatoiship, — 
equally likrdy to provoke the proud to deser- 
tion, and to furnish tho cowardly with a 
prrstext for it. Their difficulti(;s were in- 
creased by tho charafdcT of tho most distin- 
^'uishr^d laymen whom it was fit lo consult. 
Ro(diester was no lon;^er trusted : CIar«!ndon 
was zealous, but of small jud^n'nent : and 
both Nottin^diarn, thf! chir;f of thtrir party, 
and Halifax, with whom they were nov^ 
comi)(dl(;d lo coalesce, hesitated at tho mo- 
ment of decision.^ 

Th«! first body whosr; jtHlf.'merit was to bo 
ascortainofl was the clorf,'y of London, among 
whom w(!ro, at tliat time, tho lights and 
ornaments of the Church. Tfiey at first 
ventured only to converse and (correspond 
prival(dy with each other. II A rn(;eting be- 



• Rabsbekah, the AsHyrian /jeneral, to iho ofli* 
cerK of (lezckiab, 2 K'tuffH, xvni. 27. 

t Hiirnet, Kebard, (^Idmixon, Ralph. The 
enrlicHt printed Hlatcment of tbix threat in proba- 
bly in a parnpbiet, called, " An AiiKwer from a 
Country Clergyman to the I^eiter of bi« I'rotber 
in the City" fOr. Sl^lortk], wbiftb rnuBi have 
been piibliMbed in June, IfJfiH. — Haldwin'a Farther 
Slate TractH, p. :n4. (fiOndon, 1G'J2.) 

t liondon (Gazette, 7th April. 

^ " Halifax and Nottingham wavered at first, 
which had alnioHl ruined the buxinesH." — John* 
motie, 27th May. MH. 

II Van CiiterB, 28ih May. (Hccr»l iJcBpalch.)— 
MH. 

2F 



362 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



came necessary, and was hazarded. A di- 
versity of opinions prevailed. It was urged 
on one side that a refusal was inconsistent 
with the professions and practice of the 
Church; that it would provoke the King to 
desperate extremities, expose the conntry to 
civil confusions, and be represented to the 
Dissenters as a proof of the incorrigible in- 
tolerance of the Establishment ; that the 
reading of a Proclamation implied no assent 
to its contents; and that it would be pre- 
sumption in the clergy to pronounce a judg- 
ment against the legality of the Dispensing 
Power, which the competent tribunal had 
already adjudged to be lawful. Those of 
better spirit answered, or might have an- 
swered, that the danger of former examples 
of obsequiousness was now so visible that 
they were to be considered as warnings 
rather tlian precedents ; ' that compliance 
would bring on them command after com- 
mand, till at last another religion would be 
established ; that the reading, unnecessary 
for the purpose of publication, would be un- 
derstood as an approval of the Declaration 
by the contrivers of the Order, and by the 
body of the people; that the Parliamentary 
condemnations of the Dispensing Power were 
a sufficient reason to excuse them from a 
doubtful and hazardous act ; that neither 
conscience nor the more worldly principle of 
honour would suffer them to dig the grave 
of the Protestant Church, and to desert the 
cause of the nobility, the gentry, and the 
whole nation ; and finally, that in the most 
unfavourable event, it was better to fall then 
under the King's displeasure, when support- 
ed by the consolation of having fearlessl}- 
{)erformed their duty, than to fall a little 
ater unpitied and despised, amid the curses 
of that people whom their compliance had 
ruined. From such a fall they would rise 
no more.* One of those middle courses 
was suggested which is very apt to captivate 
a perplexed assembly : — it was proposed to 
gain time, and smooth a way to a compro- 
mise, by entreating the King to revert to the 
ancient methods of communicating his com- 
mands to the Church. The majority ap- 
peared at first to lean towards submission, or 
evasion, which was only disguised and de- 
ferred submission ; when, happil3-, a decisive 
answer was produced to the most plausible 
argument of the compliant party. Some of 
the chief ministers and laymen among the 
Nonconformists earnestly besought the clergy 
not to judge them by a handful of their num- 
ber who had been gained by the Court, but 
to be assured that, instead of being alienated 
from the Church, they would be drawn closer 
to her, by her making a stand for religion 
and liberty.! A clerg\jman present read a 
note of these generoulWeclarations, which 
he was authorized by the Nonconformists to 
exhibit to the meeting. The independent 
portion of the clergy made up, by zeal and 

* Sherlock's " Letter from a Gentleman in the 
City to a Friend in the Country. "-Baldwin, p. 30*J. 
t Johnstone, 18th May.— MS. 



activity, for their inferiority in numbers. 
Fatal concession, however, seemed to be at 
hand, when the spiiit of an individual, mani- 
fested at a critical moment, contributed to 
rescue his order from disgrace, and his coun- 
try from slavery. This person, whose fortu- 
nate virtue has hitherto remained unknown, 
was Dr. Edward Fowler, then incumbent oi 
a parish in London, who, originally bred a 
Dissenter, had been slow to conform at the 
Restoration, was accused of the crime of 
Whiggism* at so dangerous a period as that 
of Monmouth's riot, and, having been pro- 
moted to the See of Gloucester, combined so 
much charity with his unsuspected oi ihodoxy 
as to receive the last breath of Firmin, the 
most celebrated Unitarian of that period. t 
When Fowler perceived that the courage 
of his brethren faltered, he addressed them 
shortly: — "I must be plain. There has- 
been argument enough : more only will heat 
us. Let every man now say ' Yea' or 'Nay.' 
I shall be sorry to give occasion to schism, 
but I cannot in conscience read the Declara- 
tion ; for that reading would be an exhortation 
to my people to obey conunands which' I 
deem unlawful." Stillingfleet declared, on 
the authority of lawyers, that reading the 
Declaration would be an ofl'ence, as the pub- 
lication of an unlawful document; but ex- 
cused himself from being the first subscriber 
to an agreement not to comply, on the ground 
that he was already proscribed for the pro- 
minent part which he had taken in the con- 
troversy against the Romanists. Patrick 
ofi'ered to be the first, if any man would 
second him ; and Fowler answered to the 
appeal which his own generosity hail called 
forth. t They were supported by Tillotson. 
though only recovering from an attack oi 
apoplexy, and by Sherlock, who then atoned 
for the slavish doctrines of former times. 
The opposite party \y/?ve subdued by this 
firmnes.'*, declaring that they M-ould not 
divide the Church :§ and the sentiments of 
more than fourscore of the London clergyll 
were made known to the Metropolitan. 

At a meeting at Lambeth, on Saturday, 
the 12lh of May, where there were piesent, 
besides Sancroft himself, only the Earl of 
Clarendon, three bishops, Compton, Turner, 
and White, together with Tenison, it was 
resolved not to read the Declaration, to peti- 
tion the King that he would dispense with 
that act of obedience, and to entreat all the 
prelates within reach of London, to' repair 
thither to the aid of their brethren.lT It was 
fit to wait a short time for the concurrence 
of these absent bishops. Lloyd of St. Asaph, 
late of Chichester, Ken of Bath and Weils, 
and Trelawney, quickly complied with the 

* Athenae Oxonienses, vol. ii. p. 1029. 

t Birch, Life of Tillotson, p. 320. 

t Kcnnet, vol. iii. p. 570, note. This narrative 
reconciles Johnstone. Van Citters, and Kennet. 

"J Johnstone, 23d May.— MS. 

11 This victory was earlv communicated to tha 
Dutch ambassador. Van Cillers, 25lh May. — MS. 

TT Clarendon, 12th May. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



363 



fcummons; and were present at another and 
more decisive meeting at the archiepiscopal 
palace on Friday, the 18th, where, with the 
assent of Tillotson. Stillingfleet, Patrick, Teni- 
6on, Grove, and Sherlock, it was resolved, 
that a Petition, prepared and written by San- 
croft, should be forthwith presented to His 
Majesty. It is a calumny against the memory 
of these prelates to assert, that they post- 
poned their detenninalion till within two 
days of the Sunday appointed for reading 
the Declaration, in order to deprive the King 
of time to retire from his purpose with dignity 
or decency : for we have seen that the period 
since the publication of the Order was fully 
occupied by measures for concert and co- 
operation ; and it would have been treachery 
to the Church and the kingdom to have sa- 
crificed any portion of time so employed to 
relieve their most formidable enemy.* The 
Petition, after setting forth that " their averse- 
ness to read the King's Declaration arose 
neither from want of the duty and obedience 
which the Church of England had always 
practised, nor from want of tenderness to 
Dissenters, to whom they were willing to 
come to such a temper as might be thought 
fit in Parliament and Convocation, but be- 
cause it was founded in a Dispensing Power 
declared illegal in Parliament ; and that they 
could not in prudence or conscience make 
themselves so far parties to it as the publi- 
cation of it in the church at the time of 
divine service must amount to in common 
and reasonable construction," concludes, by 
" humbly and earnestly beseeching His Ma- 
jesty not to insist on their distributing and 
reading the said Declaration." It is easy to 
observe the skill with which the Petition 
distinguished the case from the two recent 
examples of submission, in vvhich the Royal 
declarations, however objectionable, con- 
tained no matter of questionable legality. 
Compton, being suspended, did not subscribe 
the Petition) and Sancroft, having had the 
honour to be forbidden the Court nearly two 
years, took no part in presenting it. Nor 
was it thought proper that the private di- 



* Life of James II., vol. ii. p. 158. But this is 
the siaienieiit, not of the King, but of Mr. Dic- 
consoti the compiler, who might have been misled 
by the angry iradiiions of his exiled friends. A 
week is added to ihe dt-iay. by referring the com- 
mencement of it to the Declaration of ilie 27ih of 
April, instead of the Order of the 4th of May, 
which alone called on the bishops to deliberate. 
The same suppre.^sion is practised, and the same 
calumny insinuated, in "An Answer to the 
Bishops' Petition," published at ihe time. — .So- 
mers' Tracts, vol. \x. p. 119. In the extract made, 
either by Carte or Macpherson, an insinuation 
against the bishops is substituted for the bold 
charge made by Dicconson. " The bishops' peti- 
tion on the 18th of May, against what they are to 
read on the 20th " — (Macpherson, Original Pa- 
pers, vol. i. p. 151.) But as throughout that inac- 
curate publication no distinction is made between 
what was written by James, and what was added 
by his biographer, the disgrace of the calumnious 
insinuation is unjustly thrown on the Kings' me- 
mory. 



vines, who were the most distinguished mem- 
bers of the meeting, should attend the pre- 
sentation. 

With no needless delay, six Bishops pro- 
ceeded to Whitehall about ten o'clock in the 
evening, — no unusual hour of audience at 
the accessible courts of Charles and James. 
They were remaiked, as they came from 
the landing-place, by the watchful eyes of 
the Dutch ambassador.* who was not unin- 
formed of their errand. They had remained 
at the house of Lord Dartmouth, till Lloyd 
of St. Asaph, the boldest of their number, 
should ascertain when and where the King 
would receive them. He requested Lord 
Sunderland to read the Petition, and to ac- 
quaint the King with its contents, that His 
Majesty might not be surprised at it. The 
wary minister declined, but informed the 
King of the attendance of the Bishops, who 
were then introduced into the bedchamber. t 
When they had knelt down before the mo- 
narch, St. Asaph presented the Petition, pur- 
porting to be that "of the Archbishop of 
Canterbury, with divers sufTiagan bishops of 
his province, in behalf of themselves and 
several of their absent brethren, and of the 
clergy of their respective dioceses." The 
King, having been told by the Bishop of 
Chester, that they would desire no more than 
a recurrence to the former practice of send- 
ing Declarations to chancellors and arch- 
deacons,!: desired them lo rise, and received 
them at first graciously, saying, on opening 
the Petition, "This is my Lord of Canter- 
bury's handwriting)" but when he read it 
over, and after he had folded it up, he spoke 
to them in another tone :§ — '■ This is a great 
surprise to me. Here are strange words. I 
did not expect this from you. This is a 
standard of rebellion." St. Asaph replied, 
"We have adventured our lives for Your 
Majesty, and would lose the last drop of our 
blood rather than lift up a finger against 
you." The King continued: — '-I tell you 
this is a standard of rebellion. I never .saw 
such an address." Trelawney of Bristol, 
falling again on his knees, said, "Rebellion, 
Sir! I beseech your Majesty not to say any 
thing so hard of us. For God's sake, do not 
believe we are or can be guilty of rebellion." 
It deserves remark, that the two who uttered 
these loud and vehement protestations were 
the only prelates present who were conscious 
of having harboured projects of more deci- 
sive resistance. The Bishops of Chichester 
and Ely made professions of unshaken loy- 



* Van Citters, 28th May.— MS. 

t Gutch, Collectanea Curiosa, vol. i. p. 335. 
Clarendon, State Papers, vol. i. p. 287, and 
D'OvIey, vol. i. p. 263. 

t Burnet, iii. 216* 

^ " S. M. rispose ioro con ardezza." — D'Adda, 
30th May; or, as the same circumstance was 
viewed by another throueh a different medium, — 
" The King answered very disdainfully, and with 
the utmost anger." — Van Citters, 1st June. The 
mild Evelyn (Diary, 18th May) says, " the King 
was so incensed, that, with threatening language, 
he commanded them to obey at their peril." 



864 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAV^S. 



alty, which lliny afterwards exemplified. The 
Bishop of B;ith and WelJs pathetically and 
justly said, '-'Sir, I liope you will give that 
liberty to us, which you allow to all inan- 
kuid." II;' ]>i()usly addtnlj '-'Wo will honour 
the King, luil fear God." Jaincs answered 
at variourf times, ''It tends to rebellion. Is 
this wliat I have deserved from the Church 
of Enj^Iand ? I will remember you who have 
signed this paper. I will keep this paper: I 
will not part with it. I did not expect this 
from yoU; especially from some of you. I 
will be obeyed." Ken, in the spirit of a 
martyr, answered only with a humble voice, 
"God's will be done." The angry monarch 
called out, "What's that'?" The Bishop, 
and one of his brethren, repeateil what had 
been said. .Tames dismissed them with the 
same unseemly, unprovoked, and incoherent 
language: — -'If I think iit to alter my mind, 
I will send to you. God has given mo this 
Dispensing Power, and I will maintain it. I 
tell you, there are seven thousaiul men, and 
of the Chnrcli of England too, that have not 
bowed the knee to Baal." Next morning, 
when on his way to chapel, ho said to the 
Bishop of St. David's, "My Lord, your 
brethren presented to me, yesterday, the 
most seditions paper that over was penned. 
It is a trunip(M of rebellion." He frequently 
repeated what Lon.1 Halifax said to him, — 
"Your fathiM- snlTered for the Church, not 
the Church for him."* 

The Petition was printed and circulated 
during the night, certainly not by the Bishops, 
who delivered to th(i King their only coi)y, 
written in the hand of Sancroft, for the ex- 
press purpose of preventing publication, — 
probably, therefore, by some attendant of 
the Court, for lucre or from disaflection. In 
a few tiays, six other ])relatest had declared 
their concurrence in the Petition ; and the 
Bishop of Carlisle agreed to its contents, la- 
menting that he could not subscribe it, be- 
cause his diocese was not in the province of 
Canterbury:!: two others agreed to the mea- 
sure of not reading. § The archbishopric of 
York had now been kept vacant for Petre 
more than two years ; and the vacancy 
which delivered Oxford from Parker had not 
yet been tilled up. Lloyd of Bangor, who died 
a few months afterwards, was probably pre- 
vented by age and iulhmities from taking any 
part in this transaction. The see of Lichfielif, 
though not vacant, was desert(?d by Wood, 
who (having been appointed by the Duchess 
of Cltwelaiul, in consequence of his bestow- 
ing his neiee, a rich heiress, of whom he 
was guardian, on one of her sons,)|| had 
openly and j)erpetually abandoned nis dio- 
cese: for this he had been suspended by 
Sancroft, and though rt^stored on submission, 

• Van Cittern, 1st .Tune.— MS. 

t Jjondon, Norwich, Gloucester, Salisbury, 
Winchester, nml l''.xeter. — D'Oyley, vol. i. p. 2f>i). 

t (Jutch, vol. i. p. 334. 

i IvlaiKlid'aiiH Worcester. — dutch, vol. i. p. 331. 

tl K^onnei in Iinnsilowno M.SS. in the British 
Aluseum. — D'Oyley, vol. i. p. 193. 



had continued to reside at Hackney, without 
professing to discharge any duty, till his 
death. Sprat, who would have honoured 
the episcopal dignity by his talents, if he 
had not earned it by a prostitution of 
them,* Cartwright, wlio had already ap- 
proved himself the ready instrument of law- 
less power against his brethren, Crewe, 
whose servility was rendered nioie conspi- 
cuously disgraceful by birth and wealth, 
Watson, who, after a long train of ofl'eiices, 
was at length deprived of his see, together 
with Croft, in extreme old age, and Barlow, 
who had fallen into second chililhood, were, 
since the death of Parker, ihr. only faithless 
members of an episcopal body, which hi its 
then incomplete state amounted to twenty- 
two. 

On Sunday, the 20th, the first day ap- 
pointed for reading the Declaration in Lon- 
don, the Order was generally disobeyed; 
though the administration of the diocese 
during the suspension of the bishoj), was 
placed in the i)erfidious hands of Sprat and 
Crewe. Out of a hundred, the supposed 
number of the London clergy at that time, 
seven were the utmost who are, by the 
largest account, charged with submission. t 
Sprat himself chose to officiate as Dean in 
Westminster Abbey, where, as soon as he 
gave orders for the reading, so great a mur- 
mur arose that nobody could hear it; and, 
before it was finished, no one was left in the 
church but a few prebendaries, the choris- 
ters, and the Westminster scholars. He, 
himself, could hardly hoKl the Pioclamation 
in his hands for trembling.]: Even in the 
chapel at Whitehall, it was read by a cho- 
rister. § At Serjeant's Inn, on the Chief 
Justice desiring that it shovdd be read, the 
cle.rk said that he had forgotten it. II The 
names of four' complying clergymen only 
are preserved, — Elliott, IMartin, Thomson, 
and Hall, — who, obscure as they were, may 
be enumerated as specimens of so rare a 
vice as the sinister courage which, for base 
ends, can brave the most generous feelings 
of all the spectators of their conduct. The 
temptation on this occasion seems to have 
been the bishopric of Oxford ; in the pursuit 
of which. Hall, who had been engaged in 
negotiations with the Duchess of Portsmouth 
for the purchase of Hampden's pardon, If by 
such connections ami S(>rvices prevailinl over 
liis competitors. On the f()lk)wiiig Sunday 
the disobedience was equally general ; and 
the new reader at the Cluipei Boyal was so 
agitated as to be unable to reail the Declara- 

* Nnrrative of the Rye House Plot. 

t " I,a Icitura non se csscqui chc in pochissimi 
luoghi." D'Adda, 30ih May.— i\IS. C'lmendon 
stales the nutnber to bo four; Iveniiot nnd Hnruct, 
seven. Perhaps the smaller inunher refers to pa- 
rochial clerjjy, and the larger to those of every do- 
nomiiiatiou. 

X Burnet, vol. iii. p. 218, note by Lord Dart- 
month, then present as a VVestniinaier scholar- 

^ Rvelyn, 20th May. 

II VanCitters, euprii. — MS. 

IT Lords' Journals, lOtb Dec. 1689 



PxEVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1C88. 



365 



tion audibly.* In general, the clergy of the 
country displayed the same spirit. In the 
dioceses of the faithlul bishops, the example 
of the diocesan was almost universally ibl- 
lowedj in that of Norwich, which contains 
twelve hundred parishes, the Declaration 
was not read by more than three or four.t 
In Durham, on the other side, Crewe found 
so great a number of his poor clergy more 
independent than a vast revenue could 
render himsijlf, that he suspended many for 
disobedience. The other deserters were 
disobeyed by nineteen twentieths of their 
clergy j and not more than two hundred in 
all are said to have complied out of a body 
of ten thousand. t "The whole Church," 
says the Nuncio, "espouses the cause of the 
Bishops. There is no reasonable expectation 
of a division among the Anglicans, and our 
hopes from the Nonconformists are vanish- 
ed."^ Well, indeed, might he despair of 
the Dissenters, since, on the 20lh of May, 
the venerable Baxter, above sectarian inte- 
rests, and unmindful of ancient wrongs, from 
hi.s tolerated pulpit extolled the Bishops for 
their resistance to the very Declaration to 
which ho now owed the liberty of com- 
mending thnm.ll 

II was no wonder that such an appearance 
of determined resistance should disconcert 
the Government. No prospect now remained 
of seducing some, and of punishing other 
Protestants, and, by this double example, of 
gaining the greater part of the rest. The 
King, after so many previous acts of violence, 
seemed to be reduced to the alternative of 
either surrendering to exasperated antago- 
nists, or engaging in a mortal combat with 
all his Protestant subjects. In the most 
united and vigorous government, the choice 
would have been among the most difficult 
which human wisdom is required to make. 
In the distmcted councils of James, where 
secret advisers thwarted responsible minis- 
ters, and fear began to disturb the judgment 
of some, while anger inflamed tlie minds of 
others, a still greater fluctuation and contra- 
diction prevailed, than would have naturally 
ari.sen from the great difficulty of the situa- 
tion. Pride impelled the King to advance • 
Caution counselled him to retreat; Calm 
Reason, even at this day, discovers nearly 
equal dangers in either movement. It is one 
of the most unfortunate circumstances in 
human affairs, that the most important ques- 
tions of practice either perplex the mind so 
much by their difficulty, as to be alwa)'S 
really decided by temper, or excite passions 
too strong for such an undisturbed exercise 
of the understanding as alone affords a pro- 
bai.lity of right judgment. The nearer ap- 
proach of perils, both political and personal, 
rendered the counsels of Sunderland more 



• Van Citters.— MS. 

+ D'Ovley, vol. i. p. 270. 

t Van Cillers, 25ih June. — MS. 

5 D'Adda, lllh June.— MS. 

II John.9tone, 23(i May.— MS. 



decisively moderate ;* in which he was sup- 
ported by the Catholic lords in office, con- 
formably to their uniform priiiciples^t and 
by Jeffreys, who, since he had gained the 
prize of ambition, began more and more to 
think of safety. t It appears, also, that those 
\^•ho recoiled from an irreparable breach 
with the Church, the nation, ajid the Pro- 
testants of the Royal Family, were now not 
unwilling that their moderation should be 
known. Jeffreys spoke to Lord Clarendon of 
"moderate counsels," declared, that "some 
men would drive the King to destruction, "' 
and made professions of " service to the 
Bishops," which he went so far a^ to desire 
him to communicate to them. William Penn, 
on a visit, after a very long interval, to Cla- 
rendon, betrayed an inquietude, which some- 
times prompts men almost instinctively to 
acquire or renew friendships. § Sunderland 
disclosed the nature and groui:ds of his own 
counsels, very fully, both to the Nuncio and 
to the French ambassador.il '-'The great 
question," he said, " was how the punisii 
ment of the Bishops would affect the pro- 
bability of accomplishing the King's purpose 
through a Parliament. Now, it was not to 
be expected, that any adequate penalty could 
be inflicted on them in the ordii ary course 
of law. Recourse mu.st be had to the Eccle- 
siastical Commission, which v.as already 
sufficiently obnoxious. Any legal proceecf- 
ing would be long enough, in the present 
temper of men, to agitate all Engl.Tiid. The 
suspension or deprivation by the Ecclesiasti- 
cal Commissioners, which might not exclude 
the Bishops from their Parliamentary seats, 
would, in a case of so extensive delinquency, 
raise such a fear and cry of arbitrary power, 
as to render all prospect of a Parliunicnt des- 
perate, and to drive the King to a reliance 
on arms alone; — a fearful resolution, not to 
be entertained without fuller assurance that 
the army was and would remain untainted." 
lie therefore advised, that "His Majesty 
should content himself with publishing a de- 
claration, expressing his high and just resent- 
ment at the hardihood of the Bishops, in dis- 
obeying the supreme head of their Chuich, 
and disputing a Royal prerogative recently 
recognised by all the judges of England ; but 
stating that, in consideration of llie fidelity 
of the Church of England in past times, from 
which these prelates had been the first to 
depart, his Majesty was desirous of treating 
their offence with clemency, ami would re- 
fer their conduct to the consideration of the 
next Parliament, in the hope that their inter- 
mediate conduct might warrant entire for- 



* D'Adda and Rariilon, 3d June.— MS. 

t " Lords Fowls, Arundel, Dover, and Bellaeie, 
are very zealous for moderation." — Van Citters, 
11th June.— MS. 

t Clarendon, 14th and 27th June, 5ih July, 13th 
Autjust. 

^Clarendon, 21 st May. " The first time I hail 
Been him for a long time. lie profieesed gT«»t 
kindness." 

II D'Adda and Barlllon, supra. 
?f2 



366 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



giveness." It was said, on the other hand, 
"that the satVty of the goveniinoiit depend- 
ed on nil ininiediate blow ; that the impunity 
of such audaeioiis contumacy would embol- 
den every eniMuy at home and abroad ; that 
all lenity would be reg-.irtliHl as tlie eflect of 
weakness and fear ; ami that the opportu- 
nity must now or never be sei/.etl, of em- 
ployinii' the Ecclesiastical Commission to 
strike down a Church, wliich supported the 
Crown only as long as she dictated to it, 
and became rebellious at the moment when 
she was forbidden to be intolerant." To 
strengthen these topics, it was urged "that 
the factions had already boasted that the 
Court would not dare to proceed juridically 
against the Bishops." 

Both tlio prudent ministers, to whom these 
discussions were imparted, inHuenced proba- 
bly by th(>ir wishes, expected that modera- 
tion would prevail.* But, after a week of 
discussion, Jeffreys, fearing that the King 
could not be reconciled to absolute forbear- 
ance, and desirous of removing the odium 
from the EccU>siastical Commission, of which 
he was the head,t proposed that the Bishops 
should be prosecuted in the Court of King's 
Bench, ami the consiileration of mercy or 
rigour postjionetl till after judgment ; — a com- 
promise probably more impolitic than either 
of the extremes, inasmuch as it united a con- 
spicuous and solenm mode of proceeding, 
anil a form of trial partly popular^ with room 
for the utmost boldness of defence, some 
probability of acquittal, and the least pun- 
ishment in case of conviction. On the even- 
ing of the 27th, the st^coud Sunday appointed 
for reading the Declaration, it was accord- 
ingly determinetl to jirosecute them ; and 
they were summoned to appear before the 
Privy Council on the 8th of June, to answer a 
charge of misdemeanour. 

In obedience to this summons, the Bishops 
attended at Whitehall on the day appointed, 
about five o'clock in the afternoon, and being 
called into the Council Chamber, were gra- 
ciously received by the King. The Chancel- 
lor asked the Archbishop, whether a paper 
now shown to him was the Petition written 
hy him, and presented by the other Bishops 
to his Majesty. The Archbishop, addressing 
himself to the King, answered, " Sir, I am 
called hitlier as a criminal, which I never 
was before : since I have that unhappiness, 
I hope your INIajesty will not be offended that 

* DWdiiii nnd Rarillon, llih June,— MS. 

t Van Cillers, lltli June. — IMS. Tlie biogra- 
pher of James II. (Life, vol. ii. p. irjS,) lells us 
that tlie Cliaiicelior advised ilie King to prosecute 
the Bisliops for luniuhuous peiiiioniiiii, ignoranily 
supposing ihe staiuie passed at the Restoration 
Bgaiiist surh peiiiioning to be applieal)le lo their 
case. Tlie passase in the same page, which 
quotes the King's own MS.'^., is more naturally 
leferable to iho secret advisers of the Order in 
Council. The account of Van Cillers, adopted 
ill iho text, recoiicilt-s ihc Jacobiie tradiiion fol- 
lowed by Dicconson wiili liic language of JefTreys 
to Clarendon, and wiih the former complaints of 
Catholics against his lukewariiiuess nicniioiied by 
Uariiion. 



I am cautious of answering questions which 
may tend to accuse myself." The King 
called this chicanery; adding, "1 hope you 
will not deny your own haml." The Arch- 
bishop said, " The only reason for the ques- 
tion is to draw an answer whicli may be 
ground of accusation ;" and Lloyd, of St. 
Asaph, aildinl, "All divines of ail Christian 
cluirelu>s are agreed that no man in our situ- 
ation is obliged to answer such (juestioiis :" 
but the King impatiently pressing ibr an 
answer, the Archbishop said, "Sir, though 
not obliged to answer, yet, if Your ]\Iaj{>sty 
commands it, we are willing to obey, trusting 
to your justice ami generosity that we shall 
not suffer for our obedience." The King 
said he should not command them, and 
Jeffreys directed them to witluliaw. On 
their return, being conuiKinded by tlie King 
to answiT, they ownt^l the Petition. I'here 
is some doubt whether they repeated the 
condition on which they made their first 
offer of obedience ;* but, if they did not, 
their forbearance must have arisen from a 
respectful confidence, which disposed them, 
with reason, to consider the silence of the 
King as a virtual assent to their uiiretracted 
condition. A tacit aceeptanci^ of conditional 
obedience is indeed as distinct a promise to 
perform the condition as the most exjiress 
words. They were then ag-ain commanded 
to withdraw; and on their return a third 
time, they were told b)' Jeffreys that they 
wonlil be proceeded against, " but," ho 
added (alluding to the obnoxious Commis- 
missioii), " with all fairness, in Westminister 
Mall." He desired them to enter into a re- 
cogni.5ance (or legal engagement) lo appear. 
They declared their readiness to answer, 
whenever they were called upon, without it, 
and, after some conversation, insisted on 
their privilege as Peers not to be bound by 
a recognisance in misdemeanour. After 
several inefrectnal attempts to prevail on 
them to accept the ofler of being discharged 
on their own recognisances, as a favour, 
they were committed to the Tower by a 
warrant, which all the Privy Councillors 
present (except Lord Berkeley and Father 
Petre) subscribed; of whom it is observable, 
that nine only were avowed Catholics, and 
nine professed members of the Engli.^h 
Church, besides Sunderland, whose renun- 
ciation of that religion was not yet made 
public.t The Order for the prosecution was, 
however, sanctioned in the usual manner, 
by placing the names of all Privy Council- 
lors present at its head. 

The people who saw the Bishops as they 
walked to the barges which were to conduct 



* D'Oyley, (vol. i. p. 278,) seems on this point 
to vary from tlie narrative in Gutch (vol. i. p. S.")].) 
It seems to me more probable that the condiiioii 
was repealed nfier ibe second enlrance ; for Dr. 
D'Oyley is certainly riijlit in thinking that the 
siaiemcnt of the Archbishop's words, as having 
been spoken " after the third or fourth coming 
in," must bo a mistake. It is evidently at vari 
ance with ihe whole course of the exannnalion. 

t Gutch. vol. i. p. 353. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



367 



them to tho Towor, were deeply affectefl by 
the sjV'ctJicle. aiifl, for the firHt time, manifcst- 
ed tlieir eiriotioiis in a manner which woulfl 
have Btill pervtsd as a wholesome admonition 
to a wise Government. The demeanour of 
the Prelates in dc'scribed by eye-witnesses 
as me(;k, composed, cheerful, betraying no 
fear, and uiitainti^d by ostentation or defiance, 
but eiidow(;d with a fjreater power over the 
feliow-feeliiiif of the beholders by the ex- 
hortations to loyalty, which were doubtless 
uttered with undesij^nin^ sincerity by the 
grefiter number of the venerable sufferers.* 
The mode of conveyance, thoujjh probably 
selected for mere convenience, contributed 
to deepen and prolon;:^ the interest of the 
scene. The soldiers who escorted them to 
the shore had no need to make any demon- 
strations of violence ; for the people were too 
mucli subdued by pity and reverence to vent 
their feelinj^s otherwise than by tears and 
prayers. Havin;^ never before seen prelates 
in opposition to the King, and accustomed to 
look at them only in a state of pacific and 
inviolate dii,'nity, the spectators regarded 
their fall to the condition of prisoners and 
the appearance of culprits with amazement, 
awe, and compassion. The scene seemed to 
be a procession of martyrs. "Thousands," 
says Van Citters, probably an eye-witness, 
"begged their blessing."! Some ran into 
the water to implore it. Both banks of the 
Thames were lined with multitudes, who, 
when they were too distant to be heard, 
manifested their feelings by falling down on 
their knees, ami raising up their hands, be- 
seeching Heaven to guard the suflTerers for 
religion and liberty. On landing at the Tower, 
several of the guards knelt down to receive 
their blessing; while some even of the offi- 
cers yielded to tVie general impulse. As the 
Bishops chanced to land at the accustomed 
hour of evening prayer, they immediately 
repaired to the chapel ; where they heard, 
in the ordinary lesson of the day. a remark- 
able exhortation to the primitive tr^achers of 
Christianity, "to approve themselves the 
ministers of God. in much patience, in 
afflictions, in imprisonments. "t The Court 
ordered the guard to be doubled. 

On the following days multitudes crowded 
to the Tower,^ of whom the majority gazed 
on the prison with distant awe, while a few 
entered to offer homage and counsel to the 
venerable prisoners. "If it be a crime to 
lament," said a learned contemporary, in a 
confidential letter, "innumerable are the 
transgressors. The noVdes of both sexes, 
as it were, keep their court at the Tower, 
whither a vast concourse daily go to beg the 
holy men's blessing. The very soldiers act as 
mourners. "il The soldiers on guard, indeed, 
drank their healths, and though reprimandecl 
by Sir Edward Hales, now Lieutenant of the 
Tower, declared that they would persevere. 



* ReresI)/. p. 261. 

I 2 Corinthians, vi. 4. 5. 

i Cinrcndon, 9ih, 10th, 12ih June. 

II Dr. Nelson, Gutch, vol. i. p. 360, 



t 18ih June— MS. 



The amiable Evelyn did not fail to visit 
them on the day previous to that on which 
he was to dine with the Chancellor, appear- 
ing to distribute his courtesies with the neu- 
trality of Atticus:* but we now know that 
Jeffreys himself, on the latter of these days, 
had sent a secret message by Clarendon, as- 
suring the Bi.shops that he wasmnch troubled 
at the prose<,Mition, and offering liis services 
to thern.t None of their visiters were more 
remarkable than a deputation of ten Non- 
confoimist ministers, which so incensed the 
King that he personally reprimanded them ; 
but they answered, that they could not but 
adhere to the Bishops, as men cf^nstant to 
the Protestant religion, — an example of mag- 
nanimity rare in the conflicts of religious 
animosities. The Dissenting clergy seem, 
indeed, to have been nearly unanimous in 
preferring the general interest of religious 
liberty to the enlargement of their peculiar 
privileges.!: Alsop was full of sorrow for 
his compliances in the former year. Lobb, 
who was seized with so enthusiastic an at- 
tachment to James, that he was long after 
known by the singular name of the " Jacob- 
ite Independent." alone persevered in de- 
votedness to the Court; and when the King 
asked his advice respecting the treatment 
of the Bishops, advised that they should be 
sent to the Tower.^ 

No exertion of friendship or of public zeal 
was wanting to prepare the means of their 
defence, and to provide for their dignity, in 
every part of the proceeding. The Bishop 
of London, Dr. Tennyson, and Johnstone, the 
secret agent of the Prince of Orange, appear 
to have been the most active of their friends. 
Pemberton and Pollexfen, accounted the most 
learned among the elder lawyers, were en- 
gaged in their cause. Sir John Holt, destined 
to be the chief ornament of a btnich purified 
by liberty, contributed his valuable advice. 
John Someis, then in the thiity-eight year 
of his age, was objected to at one of their 
consultations, as too young and obscure to be 
one of their counsel ; and, if we rnay believe 
Johnstone, it was owing to him that this me- 
morable cause afforded the earliest opportu- 
nity of making known the superior intellect 
of that great man. Twenty-eight peers were 
prepared to bail them, if bail should be re- 
quired. II Stanley, chaplain to the Princess 
of Orange, had already assured Sancroft that 
the Prince and Princess approved their firm- 
ness, and were deeply interested in their 
fate.lF One of them, probably Ttelawney, 
a prelate who had served in the Civil War, 
had early told Johnstone that if they were 
sent to the Tower, he hoped the Prince of 



* Diary, 13ih— 14ih June. 

t Clarendon, 14ih June. 

t Johnstone, 13ih June. — M^. 

^ JohnBtone, 13ih June. — MS. "I told the 
Archbishop of Canterbury," says Johnstone, 
'• that their fate depended on very mean persons." 
— Rurnei, vol. iii. p. 217. 

11 Gutch, >fil. i. p. 357, where their lamefi ap- 
pear. 

T Ibid. p. 307. 



368 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Orange would take them out, which two re- 
giments and his authority would do 3* and, 
a little later, the Bishop ol' St. Aeaph assured 
the same trusty agent, who was then collect- 
ing the opinions of several eminent persons 
on the seayoiiableness of.resistance, that "the 
matter would be easily done."t This bohi 
Prelate hatl familiarised himself with extra- 
ordinary events, and was probably tempted 
to daring counsels by an overweening confi- 
dence in his own interpretation of mysterious 
nrophecies, which he had long laboured to 
illustrate by vain efforts of ability and learn- 
ing. He made no secret of his expectations ; 
but, at his first interview wilh a chaplain of 
the Archbishop, exhorted him to be of good 
courage, and declared that the happiest re- 
sults were now to be hoped ; for that the people, 
incensed by tyranny, were ready to take up 
arms to expel the Papists from the kingdom, 
and to punish the King himself, which was 
to be deprecated, by banishment or death; 
adding, that if the Bishops escaped from 
their present danger, they would reform the 
Church from the corruptions which had crept 
hito her frame, throw open her g-ates for the 
joyful entrance of the sober and pious among 
Protestant Dissenters, and relieve even those 
who should continue to be pertinacious 
iu their Nonconformity from the grievous 
yoke of penal laws.j During the imprison- 
ment, Sunderland and the Catholic lords, now 
supportetl by Jeffreys, used every means of 
art and argimient to persuade James that the 
birth of the Prince of Wales (which will pre- 
sently be related) afforded a most becoming 
opportunity for signalising that moment of 
national joy by a general pardon, which 
would comprehend the Bishops, without in- 
volving any apparent concession to lhem.§ 
The King, as usual, fluctuated. A Proclama- 
tion, couched in the most angry and haughty 
language, commanding all clergymen, under 
pain of immediate suspension, to read the 
Declaration, was several^ times sent to the 
press, and as often withdrawn.il "The King," 
said JefTreys, '• had once resolved to let the 
proceedings fall; but some men would hurry 
him to destruction. "H The obstinacy of 
James, inflamed by bigoted advisers, and 
supported b)' commendation, with proffered 
aid from France, prevailed over sober coun- 
sels. 
On the 15th of June, the prisoners were 

* Johnstone, 27th May.— MS. 

t Johnstone, 18ih June. — MS. The Bishop's 
observation is pineed between the opinions of Mr. 
Hampden and Sir J. Lee, both zealous for imme- 
diate action. 

t Diary of Henry Wharton, 25th June, 1686. 
D' Oyley, vol. ii. p. 134. Tlie term " ponteficious," 
wliich is rendered in the te.xt by Papists, may per- 
haps be limited, by a charitable coiisiruciion, to the 
more devoted partisans of Papal authority. " The 
Bishop of St. Asnph was a secret favourer of a 
foreign interest." — Life of Keitlewell, p. 175, 
compiled (London, 1718) from the papers 01 Hicks 
and Nelson. 

$ Johnstone, 13th June. — MS. 

II Van Citters, 8ih June.— MS. 

H Clarendon, 14th June. 



brought before the Court of King's Bench by 
a writ of Habeas Corpus. On leaving the 
Tower they refused to pay the fees required 
by Sir Edward Hales as lieutenant, whom 
they charged with discourtesy. He so far 
forgot himself as to say that the fees were 
a compensation for the irons with which he 
might have loaded them, and the bare walls 
and floor to which he might have confined 
their accommodation.* They answered, 
"We lament the King's displeasure; but 
every other man loses his bieath wlio at- 
tempts to intimidate us." On landing from 
their barge, they were received with in- 
creased reverence by a great mnltitiide. who 
made a lane for them, ami followed them 
into Westminster Hall.t The Nuncio, un- 
used to the 'slightest breath of popular feel- 
ing, was subdued by these manifestations of 
enthusiasm, which he relates with more 
warmth than any other contemporary. "Of 
the immense concourse of people," says he, 
" who received them on the bank of the 
river, tlie majority in their immediate neigh- 
bourhood were on their knees; the Arch- 
bishop laid his hands on the heads of such 
as he could reach, exhorting them to con- 
tinue stedfast in their faith ; they cried aloud 
that all should kneel, while tears flowed 
from the eyes of many. J In the court they 
v.ere attended by the twenty-jiine Peers 
wlio offered to be their .sureties; and it was 
instantly filled by a crowd of gentlemen at- 
tached to their cause. 

The return of the lieutenant of the Tower 
to the writ set forth that the Bishops were 
committed under a warrant signed by cer- 
tain Privy Councillors for a seditious libel. 
The Attorney General moved, that the infor- 
mation should be read, and that the Bishops 
should be called on to plead, or, in common 
language, either to admit the fact, tleny it, 
or allege some legal justification of it. The 
counsel for the Bishops objected to reading 
the information, on the ground that they 
were not legally before the court, because 
the warrant, though signed by Privy Coun- 
cillors, was not stated to be issued by them 
in that capacity, atid because the Bishops, 
being Peers of Parliament, could not law- 
fully be committed for a libel. The Court 
over-ruled these objections ; — the first with 
evident justice, because the warrant of com- 
mitment set forth its execution at the Council 
Chamber, and in tlife presence of the King, 
which sufliciently showed it to be the act 
of the subscribing Privy Councillors acting 
as such, — the second, with much doubt 
touching the extent of privilege of Parlia- 
ment, acknowledged on both sides to exempt 
from apprehension in all cases but treason, 
felony, and breach of the peace, which last 
term was said by the counsel for the Crown 
to comprehend all such constructive oflencea 

* Johnstone, 18th June.— MS. See a more 
general statement to the same effect, in Evelyn's 
Diary, 29ih June. 

t Clarendon, 15th June. 

X D ' Adda, 22d June.— MS. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



369 



against the peace as libels, and argued on 
bt-half of llie Bishops, to be confined to 
those acts or threats of violence which, in 
common language, are termed "breaches 
of the peace." The greatest judicial au- 
thority on constitutional law since the acces- 
sion of the House of Brunswick has pro- 
nounced the determination of the Judges in 
1688 to be erroneous.* The question de- 
pends too much upon irregular usage and 
technical subtilties to be brought under the 
cognisance of the historian, who must be 
content with observing, that the error was 
not so manifest as to warrant an imputation 
of bad faith in the Judges. A delay of 
pleading till the next term, which is called 
an '• imparlance," was then claimed. The 
officers usually referred to for the practice 
of the Court declared such for the last 
twelve years to have been that the defend- 
ants should immediately pltfad. Sir Robert 
Sawyer, Mr. Finch, Sir Francis Pemberton, 
and Mr. Pollexfen, bore a weighty testimony, 
from their long experience, to the more in- 
dulgent practice of the belter times which 
preceded ; but Sawyer, covered with the 
guilt of so many odious proceedings. Finch, 
who was by no means free from participa- 
tion in them, and even Pemberton, who had 
the rnisfortune to be Chief Justice in evil 
days, seemed to contend against the prac- 
tice of their own administration with a bad 
grace : the veteran Pollexfen alone, without 
fear of retaliation, appealed to the pure age 
of Sir Matthew Hale. The Court decided 
that the Bishops should plead; but their 
counsel considered themselves as having 
gained their legitimate object by showing 
that the Government employed means at 
least disputable against thom.t The Bishops 
then pleaded "Not guilty," and were en- 
larged, on their own uiideitaking to appear 
on the trial, which was appointed for the 
29th of June. 

As they left the court they were sur- 
rounded by crowds, who begged their bless- 
ing. The Bishop of St. Asaph, detained in 
Palace Yard by a multitude, who kissed his 
hands and garments, was delivered from their 
importunate kindness by Lord Clarendon, 
who, taking him into his carriage, found it 
necessary to make a circuit through the Park 
to escape from the botlies of people by whom 
the streets were obstructed.! Shouts and 
huzzas broke out in the court, and were re- 
peated all around at the moment of the en- 



* Lord CaiTiden in Wilkes' case, 1763. 

t Slate Trials, vol. xii. p. 183. The genera] 
reader may be referred wiili confidence to the 
excellent ahridamcnt of the State Trials, by Mr. 
Phillipps, — a work probably not to be paralleled 
by the union of discernment, knowledge, imparti- 
ality, calmness, clearness, and precision, it exhibits 
on questions the most angrily contested. It is, 
indeed, far superior to the huge and most unequal 
compilation of which it is an abridgment, — to say 
nothing of the instructive observations on legal 
questions in which Mr. Phillipps rejudges the 
determinations of past times. 

t Clarendon, 15ih June. 
47 



largement. The bells of the Abbey Church of 
Westminster had begun to ring a .joyful peal, 
when they were stopped by Sprat amidst the 
execrations of the people.* " No one knew," 
said the Dutch minister, "what to do for 
joy." When the Archbishop landed at Lam- 
beth, the grenadiers of Lord Lichfield's regi- 
ment, though posted there by his enemies, 
received him with military honours, made a 
lane for his passage from the river to his 
palace, and fell on their knees to ask his 
blessing.t In the evening the premature 
joy at this temporary liberation displayed 
itself in bonfires, and in some outrages to 
Roman Catholics, as the supposed instigators 
of the prosecution .t 

No doubt was entertained at Court of the 
result of the trial, which the King himself 
took measures to secure by a private inter- 
view with Sir Samuel Astry, the officer 
whose province it was to form the jury.§ It 
was openly said that the Bishops would be 
condemned to pay large fines, to be im- 
prisoned till payment, and to be suspended 
from their functions and revenues. II A fund 
would thus be ready for the King's liberality 
to Catholic colleges and chapels; while the 
punishment of the Archbishop would re- 
move the only licenser of the pressl who 
was independent of the Crown. Sunderland 
still contended for the poficy of being gene- 
rous after victory, and of not seeking to 
destroy those who would be sufficiently de- 
graded; and he believed that he had made 
a favourable impression on the King.** But 
the latter spoke of the feebleness which 
had disturbed the reign of his brother, and 
brought his father to the scaffold ; and Ba- 
rillon represents him as inflexibly resolved 
on rigour.tl which opinion seems to have 
been justified by the uniform result of every 
previous deliberation. Men of common 
understanding are much disposed to con- 
sider the contrary of the last unfortunate 
error as being always the sound policy; 
they are incapable of estimating the various 
circumstances which may render vigour or 
caution applicable at different times and in 
difTerent stages of the same proceedings, 
and pursue their single maxim, often founded 
on snallow views, even of one case, with 
headlong obstinacy. If they be men also 
of irresolute nature, they are unable to re- 
sist the impetuosity of violent counsellors, 
they are prone to rid themselves of the pain 



* Van Citters, 2.5ih June. — MS. 

t Johnstone, 18th June. — MS. 

X Narcissus Luttrell, MS. ; and the two last- 
mentioned authorities. 

^ Clarendon, 21st — 27ih June, where an agent 
of the Court is said to have busied himself ia 
striking the jury. 

II Barillon, Ist July.— MS. Van Citters, 2d 
July.— MS. 

TT It appears from Wharton's Diary, that the 
chaplains at Lambeth discharged this duty with 
more regard even then to the feelings of the King 
than to the rights of Protestant controversialists. 

** D'Adda, 9th July.— MS. 

tt Barillon, Ist July.— MS. 



370 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



of fluctuation by a sudden determination to 
appear decisive, and they often take refuge 
from past fears, and seek security from 
danger to come, by a rash and violent blow. 
"Lord Sunderland," says Barillon, "like a 
good courtier and an able politician, every 
where vindicates, with warmth and vigour, 
the measures which he disapproved and had 
opposed."* 

The Bishops, on the appointed day, en- 
tered the court, surrounded by the jordst 
and gentlemen who, on this solemn occa- 
sion, chose that mode of once more testify- 
ing their adherence to the public cause. 
Some previous incidents inspired courage. 
Levinz, one of the counsel retained, having 
endeavoured to excuse himself from an ob- 
noxious duty, was compelled, by the threats 
of attorneys, to perform it. The venerable 
Serjeant Maynard, urged to appear for the 
Crown, in the discharge of his duty as King's 
Serjeant,- boldly answered, that if he did he 
was bound also to declare his conscientious 
opinion of the case to the King's Judges.; 
The appearance of the bench was not con- 
solatory to the accused. Powell was the 
only impartial and upright Judge. Allibone, 
as a Roman Catholic, was, in reality, about 
to try the question whether he was himself 
legally qualified for his office. Wright and 
Holloway were placed there to betray the 
law. Jeffreys himself, v.-ho had appointed 
the Judges, now loaded them with the 
coarsest reproaches,^ — more, perhaps, from 
distrust of their boldness than from appre- 
hension of their independence. Symptoms 
of the overawing power of national opinion 
are hidecd perceptible in the s})eech of the 
Attorney-General, which was not so much 
the statement of an accusation as an apology 
for a prosecution. He disclaimed all attack 
on the Bishops in their episcopal character, 
and did not now complain of their refusal to 
read the King's Declaration ; but only charged 
them with the temporal offence of composing 
and publishing a seditious libel, under pre- 
tence of presenting a humble petition to His 
Majesty. His doctrine on this head was, in- 
deed, subversive of liberty; but it has often 
been repeated in better" times, though in 
milder terms, and with some reservations. 
"The Bishops," said he, "are accused of 
censuring the government, and giving their 
opinion about affairs of State. No man may 
say of the. ereat officers of the kingdom, far 
less of the King, that they act unreasonably, 
for that may beget a desire of reformation, 

* Barillon, 1st July.— MS. 

t " 'I'liiriy-five lords."— (Johnstone, 2d July. 
MS.)^; probably about one half of tlie legally 
qualified peers then in England and able to attend. 
There were eighty-nine temporal lords who were 
Proiestan!?. Minority, absence from the king- 
dom, and sickness, may aopount for nineteen. 

t Johnstone, 2d July. — MS. 

^"Rogues," "Knaves," "Fools." — Claren- 
don. 27ih June— 5ih July. He called Wright "a 
beast;" but this, it must be observed, was after 
tiis defeat. 



and the last age will abundantly satisfy us 
whither such a thing does tetid." 

The first difficulty arose as to the proof of 
the handwriting, which seems to have been 
decisive against Sancroft, sufficient against 
some others, and altogether wanting in the 
cases of Ken and Lake. All the witnes.ses 
on this subject gave their testimony with 
the most evident reluctance. The Court was 
equally divided on the question whether 
there was sufficient proof of it to warrant the 
reading of the Petition in evidence against 
the accused. The objection to its being .so 
read was groundless; but the answers to it 
were so feeble as to betray a general irre- 
solution and embarrassment. The counsel 
for the Crown were then driven to the ne- 
cessity of calling the clerk oi the Privy Coun- 
cil to prove the confessions before that body, 
in obedience to the commands of the King. 
When they were proved, Pemberton, with 
considerable dexterity, desired the witness 
to relate all the circumstances which at- 
tended these confessions. Blathwaite, the 
clerk, long resisted, and evaded the ques- 
tion, of which he evidently felt the impor- 
tance; but he was at length compelled to 
acknowledge that the Bishops had accom- 
panied their offer to submit to the Royal 
command, with an expression of their hope 
that no advantage would be taken of their 
confession against them. He could not pre- 
tend that they had been previously warned 
against such a hope; but he eagerly added, 
that no promise to such an effect had been 
made, — as if chicanery could be listened to 
in a matter which concerned the personal 
honour of a sovereign. Williams, the only 
one of the counsel for the Crown who was 
more provoked than intimidated by the pub- 
lic voice, drew the attention of the audience 
to this breach of faith by the vehemence 
with which he resisted the admission of the 
evidence which proved it. 

Another subtile question sprung from the 
principle of English law, that crimes are 
triable only in the county where they are 
committed. It was said that the alleged 
libel was written at Lambeth in Surrey, and 
not proved to have been published in Middle 
sex : so that neither of the offences charged 
couid be tried in the latter county. That it 
could not have been written in Middlesex 
was proved by the Archbishop, who was the 
writer, having been confined by illness to 
his palace for .some months. The prosecutor 
then endeavoured to show by the clerks of 
the Privy Council,* that the Bishops had 
owned the delivery of the Petition to the 
King, which would have been a publication 
in Middlesex: but the witnesses proved only 
an admission of the signatures. On every 
failure, the audience showed their feelings 
by a triumphant laugh or a shout of joy. 
The Chief Justice, who at first feebly repri- 

* Pepys. the noted Secretary to the Admiralty, 
was one of the witnesses examined. He wns pro- 
bably a Privy Councillor. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



371 



manded them, soon abandoned the attempt 
to check them. In a long and irregular al- 
tercation, the advocates of the accused spoke 
with increasing boldness, and those for the 
prosecution with more palpable depression, 
— except Williams, who vented the painful 
consciousness of inconsistency, unvarnished 
by success, in transports of rage which de- 
scended to the coarsest railing. The Court 
had alreaily, before the examination of the 
latter witnesses, determined that there was 
no evidence of publication ; notwithstanding 
which; and the failure of these last, the At- 
torney and Solicitor General proceeded to 
argue that the case was sufficient, — chiefly, 
it would seem, to prolong the brawl till the 
arrival of Lord Sunderland, by whose testi- 
mony they expected to prove the delivery 
of the Petition to the King. But the Chief 
Justice, who could no longer endure such 
wearisome confusion, began to sum up the 
evidence to the Jury, whom, if he had ad- 
hered to his previous declarations, he must 
have instructed to acrjuit the accused. Finch, 
either distrusting the Jury, or excused, if not 
justified, by the Judge's character, by the 
suspicious solemnity of his professions of im- 
partiality, and by his own too long familiarity 
with the darkest mysteries of state trials, 
suspected some secret design, and respect- 
fully interrupted Wright, in order to ascer- 
tain whether he still thought that there was 
no sufficient proof of writing in Middlesex, 
or of publication any where. Wright, who 
seemed to be piqued, said, ''he was sorry 
Mr. Finch should think him capable of not 
leaving it fairly to the Jury," — scarcely con- 
taining his exultation over his supposed in- 
discretion.* Pollexfen requested the Judge 
to proceed; and Finch pressed his interrup- 
tion no farther. But Williams, who, when 
Wright had began to sum up, countermanded 
his request for the attendance of Lord Sun- 
derland as too late, seized the opportunity of 
this interruption to despatch a second mes- 
sage, urging him to come without delay, and 
begged the Court to suspend the summing 
up, as a person of great quality was about to 
appear who would supply the defects in the 
evidence, — triumphantly adding, that there 
was a fatality in this cage. Wright then said 
to the accused's counsel, " You see what 
cornes of the interruption ; now we must 
stay." All the bystanders condemned Finch 



* "The C. J. said, 'Gentlemen, you do not 
know your own business ; but since you will be 
heard, you shall be heard.' " Johnstonej 2d July. 
— MS. He seems lo have been present, and, as a 
Scotchman, was not very likely to have invented 
60 good an illustration of the future tense. It is 
difficult not to suspect that Wright, afieradmitiing 
that there was no positive evidence of publication 
in Middlesex, did not intend to tell the Jury that 
there were circumstances proved from which they 
might reasonably infer the fact. The only cir- 
cumstance, indeed, which could render it doubtful 
that he would lay down a doctrine so well founded, 
and so suitable to his purpose, at a time when he 
could no longer be contradicted, is the confusion 
which, on this trial, seems to have more than 
usually clouded his weak understanding. 



as much as he soon afterwards compelled 
them to applaud him. An hour was spent 
in waiting for Sunderland. It appears to have 
been during this fortunate delay that the 
Bishops' counsel determined on a defence 
founded on the illegality of the Dispensing 
Power, from which they hail before been 
either deterred from an apprehension that 
they would not be sufTered to question an 
adjudged point, or diverted at the moment 
by the prospect that the Chief Justice would 
sum up for an acquittal.* By this resolution, 
the verdict, instead of only insuring the es- 
cape of the Bishops, became a triumph of 
the constitution. At length Sunderland was 
carried through Westminster in a chair, the 
head of which was down ; — no one saluting 
him, and the multitude hooting and hissing 
and crying out "Popish dog!" He was so 
disordered by this reception that when he 
came into cgurt'he trembled, changed colour, 
and looked down, as if fearful of the coun- 
tenances of ancient friends, and unable to 
bear the contrast between his own disgrace- 
ful greatness and the honourable calamity of 
the Bishops. He only proved that the Bishops 
came to him with a petition, which he de- 
clined to read; and that he introduced them 
immediately to the King, to whom he had 
communicated the purpose for which they 
prayed an audience. 

The general defence then began, and the 
counsel for the Bishops, without relinquish- 
ing their minor objections, arraigned the Dis- 
pensing Power, and maintained the right of 
petition with a vigour and boldness which 
entitles such of them as were only mere ad- 
vocates to great approbation, and those among 
them who were actuated by higher principles 
to the everlasting giatitude of their country. 
When Sawyer began to question the legality 
of the Declaration, Wright, speaking aside, 
said, "I must not suffer them to dispute the 
King's power of suspending laws." Powell 
answered, "They must touch that point ; for 
if the King had no such power (as clearly he 
hath not,) the Petition is no attack on the 
King's legal power, and therefore no libel." 
Wright peevishly replied. "I know you are 
full of that doctrine, but the Bishops shall 
have no reason to say I did not hear them. 
Brother, you shall have your way for once. 
I will hear them. Let them talk till they are 
weary." The substance of the argument was, 
that a Dispensing Povs-er was unknown to the 
ancient constitution ; that the Commons, in 
the reign of Richard II., had formally con- 
sented that the King should, with the as- 
sent of the Lords, exercise such a power re- 
specting a single law till the next Parlia- 

t " They waited about an hour for Sunderland, 
which luckily fell out, for in this time the Bishops' 
lawyers recollected themselves, in order to what 
followed." A minute e.xamination of the trial 
explains these words of Johnstone, and remark- 
ably proves his accuracy. From the eagerness of 
Pollexfen that Wright should proceed with his 
address to the Jury,'it is evident that they did not 
then intend to make the defence which was after 
wards made. 



372 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



merit ;* that the acjceptance of such a trust was 
a Parliamentary duclaration against the exist- 
ence of such a prerogative ; that though there 
were many cases of dispensations from pen- 
ahies granted to individuals, there never was 
an instance of a pretension to dispense with 
laws before the Restoration ; that it was in 
the reign of Charles II. twice condemned by 
Parhament, twice relinquished, and once 
disclaimed by the Crown ; that it was de- 
clared to be illegal by the House of Commons 
in their very last session ; and finally, that 
the power to suspend was in effect a power 
to abrogate ; that it was an assumption of the 
whole legislative authority, and laid the laws 
and liberties of the kingdom at the mercy of 
the Kmg. Mr. Somers, whose research had 
supplied the ancient authorities quoted by 
his seniors, closed the defence in a speech 
admirable for a perspicuous brevity well 
adapted to the stage of the trial at which he 
spoke; in which, with a mind so unruffled 
by the passions which raged around him as 
even to preserve a beautiful simplicity of 
expression, — rarely reconcilable with anxi- 
ous condensation, — he conveyed in a few 
luminous sentences the substance of all that 
had been dispersed over a rugged, prolix, 
and disorderly controversy. "My Lord, I 
would only mention the case respecting a 
dispensation from a statute of Edward VI., 
wherein all the judges determined that there 
never could be an abrogation or suspension 
(which is a temporary abrogation) of an Act 
of Parliament but by the legislative power. 
It was, indeed, disputed how far the King 
might dispense with the penalties of such a 
particular law, as to particular persons ; but 
it was agreed by all that the King had no 
power to suspend any law. Nay, I dare ven- 
ture to appeal to Mr. Attorney-General, whe- 
ther, in the late case of Sir Edward Hales, 
he did not admit that the King could not 
suspend a law, but only grant a dispensation 
from its observance to a particular person. 
My Lord, by the law of all civilized nations, 
if the prince requires something to be done, 
which the person who is to do it takes to be 
unlawful, it is not only lawful, but his duty, 
rescribcre principi^'f — to petition the sove- 
reign. This is all that is done here; and that 
in the most humble manner that could be 
thought of. Your Lordships will please to 
observe how far that humble caution went ; 
how careful they were that they might not 
in any way justly offend the King : they did 
not interpose by giving advice as peers ; 
they never stirred till it was brought home to 
themselves as bishops. When they made 
this Petition, all they asked was, that it might 
not be so far insisted on by his Majesty as 
to oblige them to read it. Whatever they 
thought of it, they do not take it upon them 

• 15 Ric. II. 

t This phrase of the Roman law, which at first 
sight seems mere pedantry, conveys a delicate and 
happy allusion to the liberty of petition, which was 
•Uowed even under the despotism of the Em- 
oerors of Rome. 



to desire the Declaration to b( revoked. My 
Lord, as to the matters of fac 1 alleged in the 
Petition, that the)^are perfectly true we have 
shown by the Journals of bo;h Houses. In 
every one of those years wliich are men- 
tioned in the Petition, this power was con- 
sidered by Parliament, and upon debate 
declared to be contrary to law. There could 
then be no design to diminish the prerogative, 
for the King has no such prerogative. Sedi- 
tious, my Lord, it could not be, nor could it 
possibly stir up sedition in the minds of the 
people, because it was presented to the King 
in private and alone ; false it could not be, 
for the matter of it was true ; there could be 
nothing of malice, for the occasion Avas not 
sought, but the thing was pressed upon them j 
and a libel it could not be, because the in- 
tent was innocent, and they kept within the 
bounds set up by the law that gives the sub- 
ject leave to apply to his prince by petition 
when he is aggrieved." 

The Crown lawyers, by whom this ex- 
tensive and bold defence seems to have been 
unforeseen, manifested in their reply their 
characteristic faults. Powis was feebly tech- 
nical, and Williams was offensively violent.* 
Both evaded the great question of the pre- 
rogative by professional common-places of 
no avail with the Jury or the public. They 
both relied on the usual topics employed by 
their predecessors and successors, that the 
truth of a libel could not be the subject of in- 
quiry ; and that the falsehood, as well as the 
malice and sedition charged bj' the informa- 
tion, were not matters of fact to be tried by 
the Jury, but qualifications applied by the 
law to every writing derogatory to the go- 
vernment. Both triumphantly urged that 
the Parliamentary proceedings of the last 
and present reign, being neither acts nor 
judgments of Parliament, were no proof of 
the illegality of what they condemned, — 
without adverting to the very obvious con- 
sideration that the Bishops appealed to them 
only as such manifestations of the sense of 
Parliament as it would be imprudent in them 
to disregard. Williams, in illustration of 
this argument, asked "Whether the name 
of 'a declaration in Parliament' could be 
given to the Bill of Exclusion, because it had 
passed the Commons (where he himself had 
been very active in promoting it)?" This 
indiscreet allusion was received wilh a gene- 
ral hiss.t He was driven to the untenable 
position, that a petition from these prelates 
was warrantable only to Parliament ; and 
that they were bound to delay it till Parlia- 
ment shoiald be assembled. 



* " Pollexfen and Finch took no small pains to 
inveigh against the King's Dispensing power. 
The counsel for the Crown waived that point, 
ihou-rh Mr. Solicitor was fiercely earnest against 
the Bishops, and took the management upon tim- 
self; Mr. Attorney's province being to put a 
smooth question now and then." — ^IVIr. (after- 
wards Baron) Price to the Duke of Beaufort.— 
Macpherson, Original Papers, vol. i. p. 266. 

t Van Cillers, 9th July.— MS. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



373 



Wright, waiving the question of the Dis- 
pensing Power,* instructed the Jury that a 
delivery to the King was a publication ; and 
that any writing which was adapted to dis- 
turb the government, or make a stir among 
the people, was a libel ; — language of fearful 
import, but not peculiar to him, nor confined 
to his time. Holloway thought, that if the 
intention of the Bishops was only to make 
an innocent provision for their own security, 
the writing could not be a libel. Powell de- 
clared that they were innocent of sedition, or 
of any other crime, saying, " If such a Dis- 
pensing Power be allowed, there will need 
no Parliament • all the legislature will be in 
the King. I leave the issue to God and to 
your consciences." Allibone overleaped all 
the fences of decency or prudence so far as 
to affirm, " that no man can take upon him- 
self to write against the actual exercise of 
the government, unless he have leave from 
the government, but he makes a libel, be 
what he writes true or false. The govern- 
ment ought not to be impeached by argu- 
ment. This is a libel. No private man can 
write concerning the government at all, un- 
less his own interest be stirred, and then he 
must redress himself by law. Every man 
may petition in what relates to his private in- 
terest ; but neither the Bishops, nor any other 
man, has a right to intermeddle in affairs of 
government." 

After a trial which lasted ten hours, the 
Jury retired at seven o'clock in the evening 
to consider their verdict. The friends of the 
Bishops watched at the door of the jury- 
room, and heard loud voices at midnight and 
at three o'clock ; so an.xious were they about 
the issue, though delay be in such cases a 
sure symptom of acquittal. The opposi- 
tion of one Arnold, the brewer of the King's 
house, being at length subdued by the steadi- 
ness of the others, the Chief Justice was in- 
fonned, at six o'clock in the morning, that 
the Jury were agreed in their verdict. t The 
Court met at nine o'clock. The nobility and 
gentry covered the benches; and an im- 
mense concourse of people filled the Hall, 



* " The Dispensing Power is more effectually 
knocked on the head ihan if an Act of Parliament 
had been made against it. The Judges said no- 
thing about it, except Powell, who declared against 
it: so it is given up in Westminster Hall. My 
Lord Chief Justice is much blamed at Court for 
allowing it to be debated." — Johnstone, 2d July. 
—MS. 

t Letter of Ince, the solicitor for the Bishops, to 
Bancroft. Gutch, vol. i. p. 374. From this letter 
we learn that the perilous practice then prevailed 
of successful parlies giving a dinner and money to 
the jury. The solicitor proposed that the dinner 
should be omitted, but that 150 or 200 guineas 
should be distributed among twenty-two of the 
panel who attended. " Most of them (i. e. the 
panel of the Jury) are Church of England men ; 
several are employed by the King in the navy and 
revenue; and some are or once were of the Dis- 
eenters' party." — Ellis, Original Letters, 2d se- 
ries, vol. iv. p. 105. Of this last class we are told by 
Johnstone, that, "on being sounded by the Court 
agents, they declared that if they were jurors, 
they should act according to their conscience." 



and blocked up the adjoining streets. Sir 
Robert Langley, the foreman of the Jury, 
being, accordmg to established form, asked 
whether the accused were guilty or not 
guilty, pronounced the verdict, ''Not guilty." 
No sooner were these words uttered than a 
loud huzza arose from the audience in the 
court. It was instantly echoed from without 
by a shout of joy, which sounded like a crack 
of the ancient and massy roof of Westminster 
Hall.* It passed with electrical rapidity from 
voice to voice along the infinite multitude 
who waited in the streets, reaching the Tem- 
ple in a few minutes. For a short time no 
man seemed to know where he was. No 
business was done for hours. The Solicitor- 
General informed Lord Sunderland, in the 
presence of the Nuncio, that never within 
the remembrance of man had there been 
heard such cries of applause mingled with 
tears of joy.t "The acclamations," says 
Sir John Reresby, " were a very rebellion in 
noise." In no long time they ran to the 
camp at Hounslow, and were repeated with 
an ominous voice by the soldiers in the hear- 
ing of the King, who. on being told that they 
were for the acquittal of the Bishops, said, 
with an ambiguity probably arisii.'g from 
confusion, "So much the worse for them." 
The Jury were every where received with 
the loudest acclamations: hundreds, with 
tears in their eyes, embraced them as de- 
liverers. t The Bishops, almost alarmed at 
their own success, escaped from the huzzas 
of the people as privately as possible, exhort- 
ing ihem to "fear God and honour the King." 
Cartwright, Bishop of Chester, had remained 
in court during the trial unnoticed by any of 
the crowd of nobility and gentry, and Sprat 
met with little more regard .§ The foimer, 
in going to his carriage, was called a " wolf 
in sheep's clothing;" and as he was very 
corpulent, the mob cried out, "Room for the 
man with a pope in his belly !" They be- 
stowed also on Sir William Williams very 
mortifying proofs ofdisrespect.il 

Money having been thrown among the 
populace for that purpose, they in the evening 
drank the healths of the King, the Bishops, 
and the Jury together with confusion to the 
Papists, amidst the ringing of bells, and 
around bonfires blazing before the windows 
of the King's palace ;1[ where the Pope was 
burnt in effigy** by those who were not aware 
of his lukewarm friendship for their enemies. 
Bonfires were also kindled before the doors 
of the most distinguished Roman Catholics, 
who were required to defray the expense of 
this annoyance. Lord Arundel, and others, 
submitted : Lord Salisbury, with the zeal of 
a new convert, sent his servants to disperse 
the rabble ; but after having fired upon and 



♦ Clarendon. 30th June. 
i D'.-^dda, 16th July.— MS. 
t Van Citters, 13ih July.— MS, 
^ Gutch, vol. i. p. 382. 

II Van Citters, ]3ih July.— MS. IT Ibid 

** Johnstone, 2d July.— MS. Gerard, Newi 
Letter, 4th July. 

2G 



374 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



killed only the parish beadle, who came to 
quenc'i the bonfire, they were driven back 
into the house. AH parties. Dissenters as 
well as Churchmen, rejoiced in the acquittal : 
the Bishops and their I'nends vainly laboured 
to temper the extravagance with which their 
joy was expressed.* The Nuncio, at first 
touched by the etlusion of popular feelino;, 
but now shocked by this boisterous triumph, 
declared, "that the fires over the whole cily, 
the drinking in every street, accompanied by 
cries to the health of the Bishops and confu- 
sion to the Catholics, with the play of fire- 
works, and the discharge of fire-arms, and 
the other demonstrations of furious glad- 
ness, mixed with impious outrage against 
religion, which were continued during the 
night, formed a scene of unspeakable horror, 
displaying, in all its rancour, the mahgnity 
of this heretical people against the Church.''! 
The bonfires were kept up during the whole 
of Saturday ; and the disorderly rejoicings of 
the multitude did not cease till the dawn 
of Sunday reminded them of the duties of 
their relig on.f These same rejoicings sj)read 
through the principal towns. The Grand 
Jury of Middlesex refused to find indict- 
ments for a riot against some parties who 
had tumultuously kindled bonfires, though 
four times sent out with instructions to do so.^ 

The Court also manifested its deep feelings 
on this occasion. In two days after the ac- 
quittal, the rank of a baronet was conferred 
upon Williams ; while Powell for his honesty, 
and Holloway for his hesitation, were re- 
moved from the bench. The King betrayed 
the disturbance of his mind even in his 
camp ;|| and, though accustomed to unre- 
served conversation with Barillon. observed 
a silence on the acquittal which that minister 
was too prudent to interrupt.lT 

In order to form a just estimate of this 
memorable trial, it is necessary to distinguish 
its peculiar grievances from the evils which 
always attend the strict administration of 
the laws against political libels. The doc- 
trine that every writing which indisposes 
the people towards the administration of 
the government, however subversive of all 
political discussion, is not one of these pecu- 
liar grievances, for it has often been held in 

* News Letter, 4ili Julv. 

tD'Adda, IGih Julv.— MS. 

t Ellis, vol. iv. p. 110. 

^ Reresby, p. 265. Gerard, News Letter, 7th 
July. 

II Rpresby, supra. 

IT " His Mnjosty has been plensed to remove 
Sir Richard Holloway and Sir John Powell from 
being jusiices of the King's Bench." London 
Gazette, 6th July. In the Life of James H., (vol. 
ii. p. 163,) it is said, that " the King gave no marks 
of his displeasure to the Judges Holloway and 
Powell." It is due to the character of James, to 
say that this falsehood does not proceed from him ; 
and justice requires it to be added, that as Dic- 
conson, the compiler, thus evidently neglected 
the most accessible means of ascertaining the 
truth, very little credit is due to those portions of 
his narrative for which, as in the present case, he 
cites no authority. 



other cases, and perhaps never distinctly dis- 
claimed ; and the position that a libel may be 
conveyed in the form of a petition is true, 
though the case must be evident and fla- 
grant which would warrant its application. 
The extravagances of Williams and Allibone 
might in strictness be laid out of the ca.se, as 
peculiar to themselves, and not necessary to 
support the prosecution, were it not that they 
pointed out the threatening positions which 
success in it might encourage and enable the 
enemy to occupy. It was absolutely neces- 
sary for the Crown to contend that I he matter 
of the writing was so inflammatory as to 
change its character from that of a petition 
to that of a libel' that the intention in com- 
posing it was not to obtain relief, but to ex- 
cite discontent; and that it was presenfed to 
the King to insult him. and to make its con- 
tents known to others. But the attempt to 
extract such conclusions from the evidence 
against the Bishops was an excess beyond 
the furthest limits of the law of libel, as it 
was even then received. The generous 
feelings of mankind did not, however, so 
scrupulously weigh the demerits of the pro- 
secution. The efipct of this attempt was to 
throw a strong light on all the odious quali- 
ties (hid from the mind in their common 
state by familiarity) of a jealous and restric- 
tive legislation, directed against the free ex 
ercise of reason and the fair examination of 
the interests of the community. All the 
vices of that distempered state in which a 
Government cannot endure a fearless discus- 
sion of its principles and measures, appeared 
in the peculiar evils of a single conspicuous 
prosecution. The feelings of mankind, in 
this respect more provident than their judg- 
ment, saw, in the loss of every post, the 
danger to the last entrenchments of public 
liberty. A multitude of contemporary cir- 
cumstances, wholly foreign to its character 
as a judicial proceeding, gave the trial the 
strongest hold on the hearts of the people. 
Unused to popular meetings, and little ac- 
customed to political writings, the whole 
nation looked on this first public discussion 
of their rights in a high place, surrounded 
by the majesty of public justice, with that 
new and intense intere.st which it is not easy 
for those who are familiar with such scenes 
to imagine. It was a prosecution of men of 
the most venerable character and of mani- 
festly innocent intention, after the success 
of which no good man could have been 
secure. It was an experiment, in some 
measure, to ascertain the means and proba- 
bilities of general deliverance. The Govern- 
ment was on its trial; and by the verdict of 
acquittal, the King was justly convicted of a 
conspiracy to maintain usurpation by oppres- 
sion. 

The solicitude of Sunderland for modera- 
tion in these proceedings had exposed him 
to such charges of lukewarmness, that he 
deemed it necessary no longer to delay the 
long-promised and decisive proof of his iden- 
tifying his interest with that of his master. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



375 



Sacrifices of a purely religious nature cost 
him little.* Some time before, he had com- 
pounded for his own delay by causing his 
eldest son to abjure Protestantism ) '• choos- 
ing rather," says Barillon, '•' to expose his 
BOH than himself to future hazard." The 
specious excuse of preserving his vote in 
Parliament had hitherto been deemed sufTi- 
cient ; while the shame of apostasy, and an 
anxiety not to embroil liimself irreparably 
with a Protestant successor, were the real 
motives for delay. But nothing less than a 
public avowal of his conversion would now 
suffice to shut the mouths of his enemies, 
who imputed his advice of lenity towards 
the Bishops to a desire of keeping measures 
with the adherents of the Prince of Orange.t 
It was accordingly in the week of the Bishops' 
trial that he made public his renunciation 
of the Protestant religion, but without any 
solemn abjuration, because he had the j-ear 
before secretly perform.ed that ceremony to 
Father Petre.t By this measure he com- 
pletely succeeded in preserving or recovering 
the favour of the King, who announced it 
with the warmest commendations to his Ca- 
tholic counsellors, and told the Nuncio that 
a resolution so generous and holy would very 
much contribute to the service of God. " I 
have, indeed, been informed," says that 
minister,' '-that some of the most fanatical 
merchants of the city have observed that the 
Royal party must certainly be the strongest, 
since, in the midst of the universal exaspera- 
tion of men's minds, it is thus embraced by 
a man so wise, prudent, rich, and well in- 
formed.''^ The Catholic courtiers also con- 
sidered the conversion as an indication of the 
superior strength and approaching triumph 
of their religion. Perhaps, indeed, the birth 
of the Prbice of Wales might have somewhat 
encouraged him to tbe step; but it chiefly 
arose from the prevalence of the present fear 
for his place over the apprehension of remote 
consequences. Ashamed of his conduct, he 
employed a 1 riend to communicate his change 
to his excellent wife, who bitterly deplored 
it. II His uncle, Henry Sidney, the most con- 

* " On ne scait pas d* quelle religion il est." — 
Leitre d'un Anonyms (peiii-elre Bonrepos) sur la 
Cour de Londres, 1688, MSS. in the Depot des 
Affaires Eirangeres, at Paris. 

t " II a vouiu farmer la bouche a ses ennemis, 
et leur oler tonte pretexie de dire qu'il peut enirer 
dans sa conduite quelque menagement pour la 
partie de M. le Prince d' Orange." — Barillon, 8ih 
July.— MS. 

X Ibid, supra. " Father Petre, though it was 
irregular, was forced to say two masses in one 
morning, because Lord Sunderland and Lord 
Mulgrave were not to know of each other's con- 
version." — Halifa.x MSS. The French ambas- 
sador at Constantinople informed Sir William 
Trumbull of the secret abjuration. — Ibid. " It is 
now necessary," says Van Citters (6ih July), " to 
secure the King's favour; the Queen's, if she be 
regent ; and his own place in the Council of Re- 
gency, if there be one." 

$ D'Adda, 9th July.— M.S. 

H Evelyn, who visited Althorp a fortnight after- 
wards, thus alludes to it : "I wish from my soul 
tfaat the Lord her husband, whose parts are other- 



fidential agent of the Prince of Orange, was 
incensed at his apostasy, and onjy expressed 
the warmest wi.shes for his downfall.* 

Two days after the imprisonment of the 
Bishops, — as if all the events which were to 
hasten the catastrophe of this reign, however 
various in their causes or unlike in their na- 
ture, were to be crowded into the same scene, 
— the Queen had been delivered in the palace 
of St. James', of a son, whose birth had been 
the object of more hopes and fears, and was 
now the hinge on which greater events turned^ 
than that of any other Royal infant since hu- 
man affairs have been recorded in authentic 
history. Never did the dependence of a 
monarchical government on physical acci- 
dent more strikingly appear. Ou Trinity 
Sunday, the 10th of Jime, between nine and 
ten in the morning, the Prince of Wales was 
born, in the presence of the Queen "Dowager, 
of most of the Privy Council, and of several 
ladies of quality, — of all, in short, who were 
the natural witnes.ses on such an occasion, 
except the Princess Anne, who was at Bath, 
and the Archbishop of Canterbury, w ho was 
a prisoner in the Tower. The cannons of 
the Tower were fired ; a general lhank.sgiving 
was ordered; and the Lord Mayor was en- 
joined to give directions for bonfires and 
public rejoicing. Some addresses of con- 
gratulation followed; and compliments were 
received on so happy an occasion from foreign 
powers. The British ministers abroad, in 
due time, celebrated the auspicious birth, — 
with undisturbed magnificence, at Rome, — 
amidst the loudest manifestations of dissatis- 
faction and apprehension at Amsterdam. 
From Jamaica to Madras, the distant de- 
pendencies, with which an unfrequent inter- 
course was then maintained by tedious 
voyages, continued their prescribed rejoic- 
ings long afterother feelings openly prevailed 
in the mother country. The genius of Dryden, 
which often struggled with the ditficufty of 
a task imposed, commemorated the birth of 
the ".son of piayer" in no ignoble verse, 
but with prophecies of glory which were 
speedily cloucled, and in the end most sig- 
nally disappointed. t 

The universal belief that the child was 
supposititious is a fact which illustrates 



wise conspicuous, were as worthy of her, as by a 
fatal aposlagy and court ambition he has made 
himself unworthy." — Diary, 18th July. 
* Johnstone, 2d July. — MS. 
+ " Born in broad daylight, that the ungrateful 
rout 
May find no room for a remaining doubt : 
Truth, which itself is light, does darkness 

shun, 
And the true eaglet safely dares the sun. 
Fain would the fiends have made fi dubious 
birth. 

* * • * 

No future ills, nor accidents, appear. 

To sully or pollute the sacred infant's year. 

* * * * 

But kings too tame are despicably good. 
Be this the mixture of the regal child. 
By nature manly, but by virtue mild." 

Britannia Kedivivm^ 



376 



MACKINTOSH S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



several principles of human nature, and af- 
fords a needful and wholesome lesson of 
scepticism, even in cases where many testi- 
monies seem to combine, and all judgments 
for a time agree. The historians who wrote 
while the dispute was still pending enlarge 
on the particulars: in our age, the only cir- 
cumstances deserving preservation are those 
which throw light on the origin and recep- 
tion of a false opinion which must be owned 
to have contributed to subsequent events. 
Few births are so well attested as that of the 
unfortunate Prince whom almost all English 
Protestants then believed to be spurious. 
The Queen had, for months before, alluded 
to her pregnancy, in the most unaffected 
manner, to the Princess of Orange.* The 
delivery took place in the presence of many 
persons of unsuspected veracity, a consitlera- 
ble number of whom were Piotestants. Mes- 
sengers were early sent to fetch Dr. Cham- 
berlain, an eminent obstetrical practitioner, 
and a noted Whig, who had been oppressed 
by the King, and who would have been the 
last person summoned to be present at a 
pretended deli very. t But as not one in a 
thousand had credited the pregnancy, the 
public now looked at the birth with a strong 
predisposition to unbelief, which a very 
natural neglect suffered for some time to 
grow stronger from being uncontradicted. 
This prejudice was provoked to greater vio- 
lence by the triumph of the Catholics; as 
suspicion had before been awakened by their 
bold predictions. The importance of the 
event had, at the earlier period of the preg- 
nancy, produced mystery and reserve, — the 
frequent attendants of fearful anxiety, — 
which were e.agerly seized on as presump- 
tions of sinister purpose. When a passionate 
and inexperienced Queen disdained to take 
any measures to silence malicious rumours, 
her inaction was imputed to inability; and 
Avhen she submitted to the use of prudent 
precautions, they were represented as be- 
traying the fears of conscious guilt. Every 
act of the Royal Family had some handle by 
whirh ingenious hostility could turn it against 
them. Reason was employed oidy to dis- 
cover argument in support of the judgment 
which passion had pronounced. In spite of 
the strongest evidence, the Princess Anne 
honestly persevered in her incredulity. t 
Johnstone, who received minute information 
of all the particulars of the delivery from one 
of the Queen's attenilants,§ could not divest 
himself of suspicions, the good faith of which 
«eems to be proved by his not hazarding a 

* Ellis, Original Letters, 1st series, vol. iii. p. 
348. 21st Feb. 15tli May, 6th— 13tli July. The 
last is decisive. 

t Dr. Chninberlain's Letter to the Princess 
Sophia. Dalrympie, app. to book v, 

I Princess Anne to the Princess of Orange. 
Ibid. 

$ Mrs. Dawson, one of the gentlewomen of the 
Queen's bedchamber, a Protestant, afterwards 
examined before the Privy Council, who comniu- 
nicated all the circumstances to her friend, Mrs. 
Baillie, of Jerviswood, Johnstone's sister. 



positive judgment on the subject. By these 
the slightest incidents of a lying-in room 
were darkly coloured. No incidents in hu- 
man life could have stood the test of a trial 
by minds so prejudiced, — especially as long 
as adverse scrutiny had the advantages of 
the partial selection and skilful insinuation 
of facts, undisturbed by that full discussion 
in which all circumstances are equdlly sifted. 
When the before-mentioned attendant of the 
Queen declared to a large company of gain- 
sayers that "she wouiti swear," (as she 
afterwanls did '' that the Queen liad a child," 
it was immetliately said, "How ambiguous 
is her expression ! the child might have been 
born dead." At one moment Johnstone boasts 
of the universal unbelief: at auotJier he is 
content with saying that even wise men see 
no evidence of the birth; that, at all events, 
there is doubt enough to require a Parlia- 
mentary inquiry; and that the general doubt 
may be lawfully emjiloyed as an argument 
by those who, even if they do not share it, 
did nothing to produce it. He sometimes 
endeavours to stifle his own scepticism with 
the public opinion, and on otlier occasions 
has recourse to these very ainbiguous maxims 
of factious casuistry; but the whole tenour 
of his confidential letters shows the ground- 
less unbelief in the Prince's legitimacy to 
have been as spontaneous as it was general. 
Various, and even contradictory, accounts 
of the supposed imposture were circulated : 
it was said that the Queen was never preg- 
nant : that she had miscarried at Easter ; that 
one child, and by .some accounts two children 
in succession, had been substituted in the 
room of the abortion. That these tales con- 
tradicted each other, was a very slight ob- 
jection in the eye of a national prejudice : 
the people were very slow in seeing the 
contradiction; some had heard only one story, 
and some jumbled parts of more together. 
The zealous, when beat out of one version, 
retired upon another: the skilful chose that 
which, like the abortion (of which there had 
actually been a danger), had some apparent 
support from facts. When diiven succes- 
sively from every post, they took refuge in 
the general remark, that so many stories 
must have a foundation ; that they all coin- 
cided in the essential circumstance of a sup- 
posititious birth, though they diflered in facts 
of inferior moment; that the King deserved, 
by his other breaches of faith, the humiliation 
which he now underwent ; and that the natu- 
ral punishment of those who have often de- 
ceived is to be disbelieved when they speak 
truth. It is the policy of most parties not to 
discourage zealous partisans. The multituile 
considered every man who hesitated in think- 
ing the worst ot an enemy, as his abettor: 
and the loudness of the popular cry subdued 
the remains of candid doubt in those who 
had at first, from policy, countenanced, 
though they did not contrive, the delusion. 
In subsequent times, it was not thought the 
part of a good citizen to aid in detecting a 
prevalent error, which enabled the partisans 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTIOjN OF 1688. 



377 



of inviolable succession to adhere to the 
principles of the Revolution without incon- 
sistency during the reign of Anne,* and 
through which, the House of Hanover itself 
were brought at least nearer to an hereditary 
right. Johnstone on the spot, and at the 
moment, almost worked himself into a belief 
of it ; while Lloyd, Bishop of St. Asaph, ho- 
nestly adhered to it many years afterwards.! 
The collection of inconsistent rumours on 
this subject by Burnet reflects more on his 
judgment than any other passage of his his- 
tory; yet, z"aious as he was, his conscience 
would not allow him to profess his own be- 
lief in what was still a fundamental article 
of the creed of his party. Echard, writing 
under George I., intimates his disbelief, for 
which he is almost rebuked by Kennet. The 
upright and judicious Rapin, though a French 
Protestant, and an officer in the army led by 
the Prince of Orange into England, yet, in the 
liberty of his foreign retirement, gave an 
honest judgment against his prejudices. 
Both parties, on this subject, so exactly 
believed what they wished, that perhaps 
scarcely any individual before him examined 
it on grounds of reason. The Catholics were 
right by chance, and by chance the Protest- 
ants were wrong. Had it been a case of 
the temporary success of artful impostures, 
60 common an occurrence would have de- 
serveil no notice : but the growth of a general 
delusion from the prejudice and passion of a 
nation, and the deep root which enabled it 
to keep a place in history for half a century, 
render this transaction worthy to be remem- 
bered by posterity. 

The triumph of the Bishops did not termi- 
nateall proceedingsof the Ecclesiastical Com- 
missioners against the di.sobedient clergy. 
They issued an ordert requiring the proper 
officers in each diocese to make a return of 
the names of those who had not read the 
Royal Declaration. On the day before that 
which was fi.ved for the giving in the return, 
a meeting of chancellors and archdeacons 
was held ; of whom eight agreed to return 
that they had no means of procuring the in- 
formation but at their regular visitation, 
which did not fall within the appointed 
time ; si.x declined to make any return at all, 
and fivee.vcused themselves on the plea that 
the order had not been legally served upon 
them.§ The Commissioners, now content to 
shuc ttieir eyes on lukewarmness. resistance, 
or evasion, affected a belief in the reasons 
assigned for non-compliance, and directed 

* Caveat Against the Whigs, part ii. p. 50, — 
where the question is left in doubt at the critical 
period of 1712. 

t See his account, adverted to by Burnet and 
others, published by Oldmixon, vol. i. p. 734. 
" The Bishop whom your friends know, bids me 
tell them that he had met wiiii neither man nor 
woman who were so good as to believe the Prince 
of Wales to be a lawlul child." — Johnstone, 2d 
July. — MS. This bold bishop was probably 
Compton. 

t London Gazette, 12th July. 

i Sayers' News-Leiter, 18th August. 
48 



another return to be made on the 6lh of De- 
cember, appointing a previous day for a visi 
tation.* On the day when the Board ex- 
hibited these symptomsof debility and decay, 
it received a letter from Sprat, tendering the 
resignation of his seat, which was universally 
regarded as foreboding its speedy dissolu- 
tion ]f and the last dying eflbrl of its usurped 
authority was to adjourn to a day on which 
it was destined never to meet. Such, indeed, 
was the discredit into which these proceed- 
ings had fallen, that the Bishop of Chichester 
had the spirit to suspend one of his clergy 
for obedience to the King's order in reading 
the Declaration. t 

The Court and the Church now contended 
with each other for the alliance of the Dis- 
senters, but with very unequal success. The 
last attempt of the King to gain them, was 
the admission into the Privy Council of three 
gentlemen, who were either Nonconformists, 
or well disposed towards ihaf body, — Sir 
John Trevor, Colonel Titus, and Mr. Vane, 
the posthumous son of the celebrated Sir 
Henry Vane.^ The Church took better means 
to unite all Protestants against a usurpation 
which clothed itself in the garb of rehgious 
liberty; and several consultations were held 
on the mode of coming to a better under- 
standing with the Dissenters. II The Arch- 
bishop and clergy of London had several 
conferences with the principal Dissenting 
ministers on the measures fit to be proposed 
about religion in the next Parliament.lT The 
Primate himself issued admonitions to his 
clergy, in which he exhorted them to have 
a very tender regard towards their Dissent- 
ing brethren, and to entreat them to join in 
prayer for the union of all Reformed churches 
"at home and abroad, against the common 
enemy,"** conformably to the late Petition 
of himself and his brethren, in which they 
had declared their willingness to come into 
such a temper as should be thought fit with 
the Dissenters, whenever that matter should 
be considered in Parliament and Convoca- 
tion. He even carried this new-born tender- 
ne.ss so far as to renew those projects for 
uniting the more moderate to the Church by 
some concessions in the terms of worship, 
and for exempting those whose sciuples were 
insurmountable from the severity of penal 
laws, which had been foiled by his friends, 
when they were negotiated by Hale and 
Baxter in the preceding reign, and which 

* London Gazette, 16th August. 

+ Savers' News-Letter, 22d August. "The 
secretary gave this letter to the Chancellor, who 
swore that the Bishop was mad. lie gave it to 
the Lord President, but it was never read to the 
Board." Such was then the disorder in their 
minds and in their proceedings. 

t Ibid. 19ih Sept., Kennet. vol. iii. p. 515, note; 
in both which, the date of Sprat's letter ia IStli 
August, the day before the last meeting of (be 
Commissioners. 

^ London Gazette, 6th July. 

II Sayers' News-Letter, 7th July. 

V Ibid. 2l8t July. Ellis, vol. iv. p. 117. 

♦* D'Oyley, vol.i. p. 324. 
2g2 



378 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



were again within a few months afterwards 
to be resisted, by the same party, and with 
too mnch snccess. Among the instances of 
the disaflection of the Church the University 
of O.vford refused so small a compliance as 
that of conferring the degree of doctor of di- 
vinity on their Bishop, according to the royal 
mandamus,* and hastened to elect the young 
Duke of Ormonde to be their Chancellor on 
the death of his grandfather, in order to 
escape the imposition of Jeffreys, in whose 
favour they apprehended a recommendation 
from the Court. 

Several symptoms now indicated that the 
national discontent had infected the armed 
force. The seamen of the squadron at the 
Nore received some monks who were sent 
to officiate among them with boisterous 
marks of derision and aversion ; and, though 
the tumult was composed by the presence 
of the King, it left behind dispositions fsivour- 
able to the purposes of disaffected officers. 
James' proceedings respecting the army 
were uniformly impolitic. He had, very 
early, boasted of the number of his guards 
who were converted to his religion j thus 
disclosing to them the dangerous secret of 
their importance to his designs.! The sensi- 
bility evinced at the Tower and at Lambeth, 
betokened a pronenessto fellow-feeling with 
the .people, which Sunderland had before 
intimated to the Nuncio, and of which he 
had probably forewarned his master. After 
the triumph of the prelates, on which occa- 
sion the feelings of the army tieclared them- 
selves still more loudly, the King had re- 
course to the very doubtful expedient of 
paying open court to it. He dined twice a 
week in the camp,.t and showed an anxiety 
to ingratiate himself by a display of affability, 
of precautions for the comfort, and pride in 
the discipline and appearance of the troops. 
Without the boldness which quells a muti- 
nous spirit, or the firmness which, where 
activity would be injurious, can quietly look 
at a danger till it disappears or may be sur- 
mounted, he yielded to the restless fearful- 
ness which seeks a momentary relief in rash 
and mischievous efforts, that rouse many re- 
bellious tempers and subdue none. A writ- 
ten test was prepared, which even the pri- 
vates were required to subscribe, by which 
they bound themselves to contribute to the 
repeal of the penal Javvs.^ It was first to be 
tendered to the regiments who were most 
confidentially expected to set a good e.xample 
to the others. The experiment was first 
tried on Lord Lichfield's, and all who hesi- 
tated to comply with the King's commands 
were ordered to lay down their arms: — the 
whole regiment, except two captains and a 
few catholic privates, actually did lay down 
their arms. The King was thunderstruck ; 
and, after a gloomy moment of silence, or- 

* Sayers' News-Leiter, 25th July. 
+ D'Adda. 5th Dec. 1687, MS. 
t Ellis, vol. iv. p. 111. 

^Johnstone, 2d July, MS. Oldmixon, vol. i. 
p. 739. 



dered them to take up their muskets, say. 
iijg, ■•'that he should not again do them the 
honour to consult them."* When the troops 
returned from the encampment to their 
quarters, another plan was attempted for se- 
curing their fidelity, by the introduction of 
trustworthy recruits. With this view, lifty 
Irish Catholics were ordered to be c(]ually 
distributed among the ten companies of the 
Duke of Berwick's regiment at Portsmouth, 
which, having already a colonel incapacita- 
ted by law, was expected to be belter dis- 
posed to the reception of recruits liable to 
the same objection. But the experiment 
was too late, and was also conducted with a 
slow formality alien to the genius of soldiers. 
The officers were now actuated by the same 
sentiments with their own class in society. 
Beaumont, the lieutenant-colonel, and the 
five captains who werfe present, positively 
refused to comply. The}' were brought to 
Windsor under an escort of cavalry, tried by 
a council of war, and sentenced to be cashier- 
ed. The King now relented, or rather fal- 
tered, offering pardon, on condition of obe- 
dience. — a fault as great as the original at- 
tempt: they all refused. The greater part 
of the other officers of the regiment threw 
up their commissions; and. instead of inti- 
midation, a great and general discontent was 
spread throughout the army. Thus, to the 
odium incurred by an attempt to recruit it 
from those who were deemed the most hos- 
tile of foreign enemies, was sujieradded the 
contempt which feebleness in the execution 
of obnoxious designs never fails to inspire. t 
Thus, in the short space of three years 
from the death of Monmouth and the de- 
struction of his adherents, when all who 
were not zealously attached to the Crown 
seemed to be dependent on its mercy, were 
all ranks and parties of the English nation, 
without any previous show of turbulence, 
and with not much of that cruel oppression 
of individuals which is usually neces.^ary to 
awaken the passions of a i)eople, slowly and 
alrnost imperceptibly conducted to the brink 
of a great revolution. The appearance of 
the Prince of Wales filled the minds of those 
who believed his legitimacy with terror; 
while it roused the warmest indignation of 
those who considered his supposed birth as 
a flagitious imposture. Instead of the go- 
venntient of a Protestant .'iuccessor, it pre- 
sented, after the death of James, both during 
the regency of the Queen, and the reign of a 
piince educated under her superintendence, 
no prospect but an administration certainly 
not more favourable than his to religion and 
liberty. These apprehensions had been 



* Kennet, vol. ill. p. 516. Ralph speaks doubt- 
fully of this scene, of which, indeed, no writer has 
mentioned the place or lime. The written test is 
confirmed by Johnstone, and Kennet could hardly 
have l)een deceived aliout the sequel. The place 
must have been the camp it Honnslow, and the 
time was probably about the middle of July. 

t Reresby, p. 270, who seems to have been a 
captain in this regiment. Burnet, vol. iii. p. 272. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



379 



! 



brought home to the feelings of the people 
by the tiial of the Bishops, and had at last 
affected even the army, the last resource of 
power, — a tremendous weapon, which cannot 
burst without threatening destiuction to all 
around, and which, if it were not sometimes 
happily so overcharged as to recoil on him 
who wields it, would rob all the slaves in the 
world of hope, and all the freemen of safety. 

The state of the other British kingdoms 
was not such as to abate the alarms of Eng- 
land. In Ireland the government of Tyrcon- 
iiel was always sufliciently in advance of 
the English minister to keep the eyes of the 
nation h\ed on the course which their rulers 
were steering.* Its influence in spreading 
alarm and disalTection through the other do- 
minions of the King, was confessed by the 
ablest and most zealous of his apologists. 

Scotland was also a mirror in which the 
English nation might behold their approach- 
hig doom. The natural tendency of the 
Dispensing and Suspending Powers to ter- 
minate in the assumption of the whole au- 
thority of legislation, was visible in the De- 
clarations of Indulgence issued in that king- 
dom. They did not, as in England, profess to 
be founded on limited and peculiar preroga- 
tives of the King, either as the head of the 
Church or as the fountain of justice, nor on 
usages and determinations which, if they 
sanctioned such acts of power, at least con- 
fined them within iixed boundaries, but upon 
what the King himself displayed, in all its 
amplitude and with all its terrors, as "our 
sovereign authority, prerogative royal, and 
absolute power, which all our subjects are 
bound to obey without reservation. '"t In 
the exercise of this alarming power, not only 
were all the old oaths taken away, but a new 
one, professing passive obedience, was pro- 
posed as the condition of toleration. A like 
Declaration in 1688, besides the repetition 
of so high an act of legislative power as that 
of "annulling" oaths which the legislature 
had prescribed, proceeds to dissolve all the 
courts of justice and bodies of magistracy in 
that kingdom, in order that by their accept- 

* " I do not vindicate all that Lord Tyrconnel, 
andoiiiers, did in Ireland before the Revolution ; 
which, most of any thing, brought it on. I am 
sensible ihat their carriage gave greater occasion 
to King James' enemies tiian ail the other mal- 
ndniinisirations charged upon his government." — 
Leshe, Answer to King's State of the Protestants, 
p. 73. Leslie is tlie ablest of James' apologists. 
He skilfully avoids all the particulars of Tyrcon- 
nel'a government before the Revolution. That 
silence, and this general admission, may be con- 
Bidered as concluirive evidence against it. 

t Proclamation, 12ih Feb. 1687. Wodrow, vol. 
ii. app. no. c.xxi.x. "We here in England see 
what we must look to. A Parliament in Scotland 
proved a little stubborn ; now ahtiolute potver comes 
to set all right: so when the closeting has gone 
round, we may perhaps see a Parliament here : 
but if it chance to be untoward, then our reverend 
judges will copy from Scotland, and will discover 
to us this new mystery of absolute power, which 
we are all obliged to obev without reserve " — Bur- 
net, Refleciions on Proclamation for Toleration. 



ance of new commissions conformably to the 
royal pleasure, they might renounce all for- 
mer oaths; — so that every member of them 
would hold his office under the Suspending 
and even Annulling Powers, on the legiti- 
macy of which the whole judicature and ad- 
ministration of the realm would thus exclu- 
sively rest.* Blood had now ceased to flow 
for religion; and the execution of Renwick,t 
a pious and intrepid minister, who, according 
to the principles of the Cameronians, openly 
denied James II. to be his rightful sovereign, 
is rather an apparent than a real exception : 
for the offence imputed to him was not of a 
religious nature, and must have been punish- 
ed by every establi.shed authoiity; though 
an impartial observer would rather regret the 
imprudence than question the justice of such 
a declaration fiom the mouths of these per- 
secuted men. Books against the King's re- 
ligion were reprehended or repressed by the 
Privy Council. t Barclay, (he celebrated 
Quaker, was at this time in such favour, 
that he not only received a Lbeial pension, 
but had influence enough to procure an in- 
decent, but successful, letter from the King 
to the Court of Session, in eflect animlling a 
judgment for a laige sum of money which 
had been obtained against Sir Ewen Came- 
ron, a bold and fierce chieftain, (he brother- 
in-law of the accomplished and pacific apolo- 
gist.^ Though the clergy of the Established 
Church had two years before resisted an un- 
limited toleration by prerogative, yet we are 
assured by a competent witness, that their 
opposition arose chiefly from the fear that it 
would encourage the unhappy Presbyterians, 
then almost entirely mined and scatterea 
through the world. II The deprivation of two 
prelates, Bruce, Bishop of Dunkekl, for his 
conduct iii Parliament, and Cairncross, Arch- 
bishop of Glasgow, in spite of subsequent 
submission, for not censuring a preacher 
against the Church of Rome,1[ showed the 
English clergy that suspensions like that of 
Compton might be followed by more decisive 
measures; but seems to have silenced the 



* Proclamation, 15th May. Wodrow, vol. ii. 
app. no. c.\.\.\viii. Fountainhall, vol. i. p. 504. 
The latter writer informs us, that " this occasioned 
several sheritls to forbear awhile." Perth, the 
Scotch Chancellor, who carried tliis Declaration 
to Scotland, assured the Nuncio, befire leaving 
London, " that the royal prerogative was then so 
e.\tensive as not to require the concurrence of 
Parliament, which wa.<! only an useful corrobora- 
tion."— D'Adda, 21st Mnv, MS. 

t On tbe 17ih Feb. 1688. 

t A bookseller in Edinburgh was " threatened 
for publishing an account of the persecution in 
France."— Fountainhall, 8ih Feb. 1688. Cock- 
burn, a minister, was forbidden to continue a Re- 
view, taken chiefly I'rom Le Clerc's Bibliotheque 
Universelle, containing some extncts from Ma- 
billon's Iter Italicum, which were supposed tore- 
fleet on the Church of Rome. 

^Fountainhall. 2d June. 

II Balcarras, Affairs of Scotland, (London, 1714), 
p. 8. 

IT Skinner, Ecclesiastical History of Scotland, 
vol. ii. pp. 500—504. 



380. 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



complaints of the Scottish Church. From 
that time, at least, their resistance to the 
Court entirely ceased. It was followed by 
sjTnptoms of an opposite disposition ; among 
which may probably be reckoned the other- 
wise inexplicable return, to the office of 
Lord Advocate, of the eloquent Sir George 
Mackenzie, their principal instrument in the 
cruel persecution of the Presbyterians, — who 
now accepted that station at the moment of 
the triumph of those principles by opposing 
which he had foifeited it two years before.* 
The Primate prevailed on the University of 
St. Andrews to declare, by an address to the 
King, their opinion that he might take away 
the penal laws without the consent of Par- 
liament.! No manifestation of sympathy 
appears to have been made towards the Eng- 
lish Bishops, at the moment of their danger, 
or of their triumph, by their brethren in 
Scotland. At a subsequent period, when the 
prelates of England offered wholesome and 
honest counsel to their Sovereign, those of 
Scotland presented an address to him, in 
which they prayed that " God might give 
him the hearts of his subjects and the necks 
of his enemies."! In the awful struggle in 
which the English nation and Church were 
about to engage, they had to number the 
Established Church of Scotland among their 



CHAPTER IX. 

Doctrine of obedience. — Right of resistance. — 
Comparison of foreispx and civil war. — 
Right of calling auxiliaries. — Relations of 
the people of England and of Holland. 

• 
The time was now come when the people 
of England were called upon to determine, 
whether they should by longer submission 
sanction the usurpations and encourage the 
further encroachments of the Crown, or take 
up arms against the established authority of 
tneir Sovereign for the defence of their legal 
rights, as well as of those safeguards wliich 
the constitution had placed around them. 
Though the solution of this tremendous pro- 
blem, requires the calmest exercise of reason, 
the circumstances which bring it forward com- 
monly call forth mightier agents, which dis- 
turb and overpower the action of the under- 
standing. In conjunctures so awful, where 
men feel more than they reason, their con- 
duct is chiefly governed by the boldness or 
wariness of their nature, by their love of 
liberty or their attachment to quiet, by their 
proneness or slowness to fellow-feeling with 
their countrymen The generous virtues and 
turbulent passions rouse the brave and aspir- 
ing to resistance ; some gentle virtues and 
useful principles second the qualities of hu- 
man nature in disposing many to submis- 

* Fountainhall, 23d February. 

1 Id. 29ih March. 

} Skinner, vol. ii. p. 513. 



sion. The duty of legal obedience seems to 
forbid that appeal to arms which the neces- 
sity of preserving law and liberty allows, or 
rather demands. In such a conflict there is 
little quiet left for moral deliberation. Yet 
by the immutable principles of morality, and 
by them alone, must the historian try the 
conduct of all men, before he allows him- 
self to consider all the circumstances of 
time, place, opinion, example, temptation, 
and obstacle, which, though they never au- 
thorise a removal of the everlasting land- 
marks of right and wrong, ought to be well 
weighed, in allotting a due degree of com- 
mendation or censure to human actions. 

The English law, like that of most other 
countries, lays down no limits of obedience. 
The clergy of the Established Church, the 
authorised teachers of public morality, car- 
ried their principles much farther than was 
required by a mere concurrence with this 
cautious silence of the law. Not content 
with inculcating, in common with all other 
morahsts, religious or philosophical obedience 
to civil government as one of the most essen- 
tial duties of human life, the English Church 
perhaps alone had solemnly pronounced that 
in the conflict of obligations no other rule of 
duty could, under any circumstances, be- 
come more binding than that of allegiance. 
Even the duty which seems paramount to 
every other, — that which requires every citi- 
zen to contribute to the preservation of the 
community, — ceased, according to their 
moral system, to have any binding force, 
whenever it could not be performed without 
resivStance to established government. Re- 
garding the power of a monarch as more 
sacred than the paternal authority from which 
they vainly laboured to derive it, they re- 
fused to nations oppressed by the most cruel 
tyrants* those rights of self-defence which 
no moralist or lawgiver had ever denied to 
children against unnatural parents. To pal- 
liate the- extravagance of thus representing 
obedience as the only duty without an ex- 
ception, an appeal was made to the divine 
origin of government; — as if every other 
moral rule were not, in the opinion of all 
theists, equally enjoined and sanctioned by 
the Deity. To denote these singular doc- 
trines, it was thought necessary to devise the 
terms of "passive obedience" and "non-re- 
sistance," — uncouth and jarring forms of 
speech, not unfitly representing a violent de- 
parture from the general judgment of man- 
kind. This attempt to exalt subnnssion so 
high as to be always the highest duty, con- 
stituted the undistinguishing loyalty of which 
the Church of England boasted as her ex- 
clusive attribute, in contradistinction to the 
other Reformed communions, as well as to 
the Church of Rome. At the dawn of the 
Reformation it had been promulgated in the 
Homilies or discourses appointed by the 
Church to be read from the pulpit to the 



* Interpretation of Romans, xiii. 1 — 7, written 
under Nero. See, among many others, South, 
Sermon on the 5th November, 1663. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



381 



people ;* and all deviations from it had been 
recently condemned by the University of 
Oxford with tlie solemnity of a decree from 
Rome or from Trent. t The Seven Bishops 
themselves, in tlie very Petition which 
brought the contest with the Crown to a 
crisis, boasted of the inviolable obedience of 
their Church, and of the honour conferred on 
them by the King's repeated acknowledg- 
ments of it. Nay, all the ecclesiastics and 
the principal laymen of the Church had re- 
corded their adherence to the same princi- 
ples, in a slill more solemn and authoritative 
mode. By the Act of Uniformity,! which 
restored the legal establishment of the Epis- 
copal Church, it was enacted that every 
clergyman, schoolmaster, and private tutor 
should subscribe a declaration, affirming that 
'• it was not lawful on any pretext to take up 
arms against the Khig," which members of 
corporations§ and officers of militiall were by 
other statutes of the same period also com- 
pelled to swear; — to say nothing of the still 
more comprehensive oath which the High- 
Church leaders, thirteen j'ears before the 
trial of the Bishops, had laboured to impose 
on all public officers, magistrates, ecclesias- 
tics, and members of both Houses of Parlia- 
ment. 

That no man can lawfully promise what 
he cannot lawfully do is a self-evident pro- 
position. That there are some duties supe- 
rior to others, will be denied by no one ; 
and that when a contest arises the superior 
ought to prevail, is implied in the terms by 
which the duties are described. It can 
hardly be doubted that the highest obliga- 
tion of a citizen is that of contributing to 
preserve the community; and that every 
other political duty, even that of obedience 
to the magistrates, is derived from and must 
be subordinate to it. It is a necessary conse- 
quence of these simple truths, that no man 
who deems self-defence lawful in his own 
case, can, by any engagement, bind himself 
not to defend his country against foreign or 
domestic enemies. Though the opposite pro- 
positions really involve a contradiction in 
terms, yet declarations of their truth were 
imposed by law, and oaths to renounce the 
defence of our country were considered as 
binding, till the violent collision of such pre- 
tended obligations with the security of all 
rights and institutions awakened the national 
mind to a sense of their repugnance to the 
first principles of morality. Maxims, so arti- 
ficial and over-strained, which have no more 
root in nature than they have warrant from 
reason, must always fail in a contest against 
the affections, sentiments, habits, and inte- 
rests which are the motives of human con- 
duct, — leaving little more than compassion- 
ate indulgence to the small number who 
conscientiously cling to them, and fixing the 
injurious imputation of inconsistency on the 

* Homilies of Edward VI. and Elizabeth. 
t Parliamentary History, 20th July, 1683. 
t 14 Ch. II. c. 4. 
§ 13 Ch. II. Stat. ii. c. 1. H 14 Ch. II. c. 3. 



great body who forsake them for better 
guides. 

The war of a people against a tyrannical 
government may be tried by the same tests 
which ascertain the morality of a war be- 
tween independent nations. The employ- 
ment of force in the intercourse of reasonable 
beings is never lawful, but for the purpose 
of repelling or averting wrongful force. Hu- 
man life cannot lawfully be destroyed, or 
assailed, or endangered, for any other object 
than that of just defence. Such is the nature 
and such the boundary of legitimate self-de- 
fence in the case of individuals. Hence the 
right of the lawgiver to protect unoffending 
citizens by the adequate punishment of 
crimes : hence, also, the right of an inde- 
pendent state to take all measures necessary 
to her safetj'^, if it be attacked or threatened 
from without : provided always that repara- 
tion cannot otherwise be obtained, that there 
is a reasonable prospect of obtaining it by 
arras, and that the evils of the contest are 
not probably greater than the mischiefs of 
acquiescence in the wrong; including, on 
both sides of the deliberation, the ordinary 
consequences of the example, as well as the 
immediate effects of the act. If reparation 
can otherwise be obtained, a nation has no 
necessary, and therefore no just cause of 
war ; if there be no probability of obtaining 
it by arms, a government cannot, with justice 
to their own nation, embark it in war; and 
if the evils of resistance should appear, on 
the whole, greater than those of submission, 
wise rulers will consider an abstinence from 
a pernicious exercise of right as a sacred 
duty to their own subjects, and a debt which 
every people owes to the great common- 
wealth of mankind, of which they and their 
enemies gre alike members. A war is just 
against the wrongdoer when reparation for 
wrong cannot otherwise be obtained ; but it 
is then only conformable to all the princi- 
ples of morality, when it is not likely to ex- 
pose the nation by whom it is levied to 
greater evils than it professes to avert, and 
when it does not inflict on the nation which 
has done the wrong sufferings altogether 
disproportioned to the extent of the injury. 
When the rulers of a nation are required to 
determine a question of peace or war, the 
bare justice of their case against the wrong- 
doer never can be the sole, and is not always 
the chief matter on which they are morally 
bound to exercise a conscientious delibera- 
tion. Prudence in conducting the affairs of 
their subjects is, in them, a part of justice. 

On the same principles the justice of a 
war made by a people against their own 
government must be examined. A govern- 
ment is entitled to obedience from the peo- 
ple, because without obedience it cannot 
perform the dutj', for which alone it exists, 
of protecting them from each other's injus- 
tice. But when a government is engaged in 
sy.stematically oppressing a people, or iu 
destroying their securities against future op 
pression, it commits the same species of 



382 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



wrong towards them which warrants an ap- 
peal to arms aguiust a foreign enemy. A 
magistrate who degenerates into a sytematic 
oppressor shuts the gates of justice, and 
thereby restoies them to the original right 
of defending them by force. As he with- 
holds the protection of law from them, he 
forfeits his moral claim to enforce their obe- 
dience by the authority of law. Thus far 
civil and foreign war stand on the same 
moral foundation : the principles which de- 
termine the justice of both against the wrong- 
doer are, indeed, throughout the same. 

But there are certain peculiarities; of great 
importance in point of fact, which in other 
respects permanently distinguish them from 
each other. The evils of failure are greater 
in civil than in foreigii war. A state gene- 
rally incurs no more than loss in war : a body 
of insurgents is exposed to ruin. The pro- 
babilities of success are more difficult to cal- 
culate in cases of internal contest than in a 
war between states, where it is easy to com- 
pare those merely material means of attack 
and defence which may be measured or 
numbered. An unsuccessful revolt strength- 
ens the power and sharpens the cruelty of 
the tyrannical ruler; while an unfortunate 
war may produce little of the former evil 
and of the latter nothing. It is almost pecu- 
liar to intestine war that success may be as 
mischievous as defeat. The victorious lead- 
ers may be borne along by the current of 
events far beyond their destination ; a go- 
verment may be overthrown which ought to 
have been only repaired ; and a new, perhaps 
a more formidable, tyranny may spring out 
of victory. A regular government may stop 
before its fall becomes precipitate, or check 
a career of conquest when it threatens de- 
struction to itself: but the feeble authority 
of the chiefs of insurgents is rarely able, in 
the one case, to maintain the courage, in the 
other to repress the impetuosity, of their 
voluntary adherents. Finally, the cruelty 
and misery incident to all warfare are greater 
in domestic dissension than in contests with 
foreign enemies. Foreign wars have little 
effect on the feelings, habits, or condition of 
the majority of a great nation, to most of 
whom the worst particulars of them may be 
unknown. But civil war brings the same or 
worse evils into the heart of a country and 
into the bosom of many families : it eradi- 
cates all habits of recourse to justice and 
reverence for law; its hostilities are not 
mitigated by the usages which soften wars 
between nations; it is carried on with the 
ferocity of parties who apprehend destruc- 
tion from each other; and it may leave be- 
hind it feuds still more deadly, which may 
render a country depraved and wretched 
through a long succession of ages. As it 
involves a wider waste of virtue'and happi- 
ness than any other species of war, it can 
only be warranted by the sternest and most 
dire necessity. The chiefs of a justly dis- 
affected party are unjust to their fellows and 
iheir followers, as well as to all the rest of 



their countrymen, if they lake up arms in a 
case where the evils of submission are not 
more intolerable, the impossibility of repa- 
ration by pacific means more apparent, and 
the chances of oblaining it by aims greater 
than are necessary to justify the ruleis of a 
nation in undertaking a foreign war. A 
wanton rebellion, when considered with the 
aggravation of its ordinarj- consequences, is 
ojie of the greatest of crimes. The chiefs 
of an inconsiderable and ill-concerted revolt, 
however provoked, incur the most formida- 
ble responsibility to their followers and their 
country. An insurrection rendered neces- 
sary by oppression, and warranted by a 
reasonable probability of a happy termina- 
tion, is an act of public virtue, always en- 
vironed with so much ^leril as to merit ad- 
miration. 

In proportion to the degree in which a 
revolt spreads over a large body till it ap- 
23roaches unanimity, the fatal peculiarities 
of civil war are lessened. In the insurrec- 
tion of provinces, eilher distant or separated 
by natural boundaries. — more especially if 
the inhabitants, diflerinj; in religion and 
language, are rather snlijects of the same 
government than portions of the same peo- 
ple, — hostilities which are waged only to 
sever a legal tie may assume the regularity, 
and in some measure the mildness, of foreign 
war. Free men, carrying into insurrection 
those habits of voluntary obedience to which 
they have been trainee^, are more easily re- 
strained from excess b}; the leaders in whom 
they have placed their confidence. Thus 
far it may be alfirmed, happily for mankind, 
that insurgents are most humane where they 
are likely to be most successful. But it is 
one of the most deplorable circumstances in 
the lot of man, that the subjects of despotic 
governments, and still more those who are 
doomed to personal slavery, though their 
condition be the worst, and their revolt the 
most just, are disabled from conducting it to 
a beneficial result by the very magnitude of 
the evils under w hich they groan : for the 
most fatal effect of the yoke is, that it dark- 
ens tj*e understanding and debases the soul : 
and that the victims of long oppression, who 
have never imbibed any noble principle of 
obedience, throw off every curb when they 
are released from the chain and the lash. 
In such wretched conditions of society, the 
rulers may, indeed, retain unlimited power 
as the moral guardians of the community, 
while they are conducting the artluous pro- 
cess of gratlually transforming slaves into 
men ; but they cannot justly retain it with- 
out that purpose, or longer than its accom- 
plishment requires : and the extreme diffi« 
culty of such a reformation, as well as the 
dire effects of any other emancipation, ought 
to be deeply considered, as proofs of the 
enormous guilt of those who introduce any 
kind or degree of unlimited power, as well 
as of those who increase, by their obstinate 
resistance, the natural obstacles to the paci- 
fic amendment of evils so tremendous. 



REVIEW OF THE CAUSES OF THE REVOLUTION OF 1688. 



383 



The frame of the human mind; and the 
structure of civilized society, have adapted 
themselves to these important differences 
between civil and foreign war. Such is the 
force of the considerations which have been 
above enumerated; so tender is the regard 
of good men for the peace of their native 
country, — so numerous are the links of inter- 
est and habit which bind those of a more 
common sort to an establishment, — so diffi- 
cult and dangerous is it for the bad and bold 
to conspire against a tolerably vigilant ad- 
ministration, — the evils which exist in mode- 
rate governments appear so tolerable, and 
those of absolute despotism so incorrigible, 
that the number of unjust wars between 
states unspeakably surpasses those of wan- 
ton rebellions against the just exercise of 
avithority. Though the maxim, that there 
are no unprovoked revolts, ascribed to the 
Due de Sully, and adopted by Mr. Burke,* 
cannot be received without exceptions, it 
must be o^^^^ed that in civilized times man- 
kind have suffered less from a mutinous 
spirit than from a patient endurance of bad 
government. 

Neither can it be denied that the objects 
for which revolted subjects take up arms do, 
in most cases, concern their safety and well- 
being more deeply than the interests of states 
are in general affected by the legitimate 
causes of regular war. A nation may justly 
make war for the honour of her flag, or for 
dominion over a rock, if the one be insulted, 
and the other be unjustly invaded; because 
acquiescence in the outrage or the wrong- 
may lower her reputation, and thereby lessen 
her safety. But if these sometimes faint 
and remote dangers justify an appeal to 
arms, shall it be blamed in a people who 
have no other chance of vindicating the right 
to worship God according to their con- 
sciences, — to be exempt from imprisonment 
and exaction at the mere will and pleasure 
of one or a few, and to enjoy as perfect a 
security for their persons, for the free exer- 
cise of their industry, and for the undis- 
turbed enjoj-ment of its fruits, as can be de- 
vised by human wisdom under equal laws 
and a pure administration of justice? What 
foreign enemy could do a greater wrong to a 
community than the ruler who would reduce 
them to hold these interests by no higher 
tenure than the duration of his pleasure ? 
What war can be more necessary than that 
which is waged in defence of ancient laws 
and venerable institutions, which, as far as 
they are suffered to act, have for ages ap- 
proved themselves to be the giiaid of all 
these sacred privileges, — the shield which 
protects Reason in her fearless search of 
truth, and Conscience in the performance of 
her humble duty towards God, — the nur- 
sery of genius and valour, — the spur of pro- 
bity, humanity, and generosity, — of every 
faculty of man. 

As James was unquestionably an aggres- 

* Thoughts on the Present Discontents. 



sor, and the people of England drew their 
swords only to prevent him from accom- 
plishing a revolution which would have 
changed a legal and limited power into a 
lawless despotism, it is needless, on this 
occasion, to moot the question, whether 
arms may be as justly wielded to obtain as 
to defend liberty. It may, however, be ob- 
served, that the rulers who obstinately per- 
sist in withholding from their subjects secu- 
rities for good government, obviously neces- 
sary for the permanence of that blessing, 
generally desired by competently infonned 
men^ and capable of being introduced with- 
out danger to public tranqnillit)', appear 
thereby to place themselves in a state of 
hostihty against the nation whom they go- 
vern. Wantonly to prolong a state of inse- 
curity seems to be as much an act of aggres- 
sion as to plunge a nation into it. When a 
people discover their danger, they have a 
moral claim on their governors for security 
against it. As soon as a distemper is dis- 
covered to be dangerous, and a safe and 
effectual remedy has been found, those who 
withhold the remedy are as much morally 
answerable for the deaths which may ensue 
as if they had administered poison. But 
though a reformatory revolt may in these 
circumstances become perfectly just, it haa 
not the same likelihood of a prosperous issue 
with those insurrections which are more 
strictly and directly defensive. A defensive 
revolution, the sole purpose of %\hich is to 
preserve and secure the laws, has a fixed 
boundary, conspicuously marked out by the 
well-defined object which it pursues, and 
which it seldom permanently over-reaches^ 
and it is thus exempt from that successioit of 
changes which disturbs all habits of peace- 
able obedience, and weakens every autho- 
rity not resting on mere foice. 

Whenever war is justifiable, it is lawful 
to call in auxiliaries. But though always 
legitimate against a foreign or domestic 
enemy, it is often in civil contentions pecu- 
liarly dangerous to the wronged people 
themselves. It must always hazard national 
independence, and will therefore be the last 
resource of those who love their country. 
Good men, more especially if they are happy 
enough to be the natives of a civilized, and 
still more of a free country, religiously cul- 
tivate their natural repugnance to a remedy 
of which despair alone can warrant the em- 
ployment. Yet the dangers of seeking fo- 
reign aid vary extremely in different circum- 
stances, and these variations are chiefly 
regulated by the power, the interest, and the 
probable disposition of the au.viiiary to be- 
come an oppressor. The perils are the least 
where the inferiority of national strength in 
the foreign ally is such as to forbid all pro- 
jects of conquest, and where the indepen- 
dence and greatness of the nation to be suC' 
coured are the main or sole bulwarks of his 
own. 

These fortunate peculiarities were all to 
be found in the relations between the peoole 



SS4 



MACKLNTOSH'S MISCELLANEOl^ ESSAYS. 



of England and the rop\iblJc of the Uiutpd 
Provinces ; and iho t\ti-<> nations weiv farther 
unitevl bv their oonuuoa apprx»hon&ions fixun 
Fnuice, bv tio obs^nirt* rt^seniblanoe of nsit.onal 
charaott^r! by iht' stivng symj>aihios of n^i- 
gion and Idvrty. by tho nMnenibniuoe of the 
i^nowiusl ri'i^n in which the glory of Ensr- 
laad \vas toundcd on her aid to Holland, 
and. jvrhap^, a!A> by the esteem for each 
other which both these maritime naliixns had 
leanil in the tiercest and nu\jl memottible 
combats, w hioh had Iven then celebnue*.! in 
the annals of na^•al wartart*. The British 
people derived a new security funu the dan- 



gers of foreign interposition from the situa- 
lion of him who was to bt> the chief of the 
enterj^rise to bt» attempu\l for their delivet- 
ance, who had as deep an intere^sl in their 
safety and well-beinji as in thi>se of the na- 
tion w hose tbrv'es he was to It^d to their 
I aid. William of Nassau, Prince o( Oranire, 
' Stadtholder of the republic of the Unitevl Pn>- 
! rinces. had bt»en. lH?fore the birth of the 
Prince of Wales, first Prince of the HKkkI 
Koyal of Eni^land ; mid his cojisort the Lady 
Mary, the eldest daughter of the King, was 
at that perio«.l presumptive heiress to the 
crown. 



MEMOIR 



OF THE APFAl us OF llOLLAM) 



A. D. liioT — loSO. 



TirR Seven Unitevl Provinces which estab- 
lisihed their indeptMulence made little change 
in their internal institutions. The revolt 
against Philip's ^^ersona! commands was long 
carrit\l on u'lder colour of his own legiU au- 
thority, conjointly exea-isevl by his lieutenant. 
the Prince of Or;ing»'. and by the States, — 
comix>st\i of the nobility and of the vieputies 
of towns, — who havl Ivfore sharevl a great 
portion of it. Bat, being Kntnd to each other 
m an indissoluble coufiHlemcv. establishtxi 
at Vtrtvht in 1579, the cart> of their foreign 
relations and of all their common at!airs wa.^ 
intrustevl to delegates, sent frvMU each, who 
graduallv assunuxl th.it name of ••States- 
General,^' which hud Wen originally be- 
s^owevl only or. the occasional assemblies of 
the whole States of all the Belgic provinces. 
These arraagemeiits, hastily adopttxl in times 
nf confusion, drew no distinct lines of demar- 
cation betwetM\ the pnn-incial and fedenvl 
authorities. Hostilities had Iven for many 
years carrier! on bt^foie the authority of Philip 
w-as finally abiViiatev.1 ; and after that decisi\'e 
measure the States showtxl ci^nsiderable 
disi^wdtion to the revival of a monarchical 
jxnver in the i>er^Mv of an Auslriai\ or Fivnch 

fvriucej or of tne Queen of England. William 
,, seems aKnit to have Kh'u investtxl with the 
ancient legal character of Earl of IWland at 
the moment of his mnrvler.* He and his 
snccessi^irs were Stadtholders of the greater 
pn^vinces, and sometimes of all : they exer- 
ciseil in that character a jx^werfnl inHuence 
on the election of the magistrates of towns; 
they i'\MUTna;>.ded the torx-es oi the conftnle- 

• Coinmentarii vie Republici Bataviensi (Lud^. 
Bat. 1795), vol. ii. pp. 4'3, 4S, 



racy by sea and land; they combineil the 
prerogatives of their ancient mtigislracy with 
the new powei^ the assumption of which 

[ the necessities of war setMued to justity ; 

\ and they became engagwl in iH>nstant dis- 

' putes with the great jvliiical Kxlies, whose 
pretensions to an undividex.1 s».)vertMg!»ly wero 
as recent and as little detlnevl as their own 
rights. While Holland formevl the main 
strtMisrth of the confevleracv, the city of Am- 
€;terdam pnxlominatevl in the councils of that 
province. The provincial Slates of Holland, 
and the jxxtricians in the towns fivm w horn 
their magistrates were selectevl, wert> the 
aristocrs\tical antagonists of the stadtholdt^ 
ri;m iX)wer. which chietly ivsled on otHcial 

' ixitrv^n.Hge. on military command, on the fa- 
\-our of the populace, and on the intluence 
of the minor piwinces in the States-General. 

: The House of Nasstiu stoovt ctvispicuons, 
at the dawn of mixlern history, among the 

[noblest of the ruling families "of Germany. 
In the thirttvnth century, Adolphus ot" Nas- 

1 sau snccetxltxl Kt-xlolph of Haiv*burg in the 
imiH">rial crown, — the highest dignity of the 
Christian world. A branch of this ancient 
house had acquirtxl ample posst^ssions in the 

I Netherlands, together with the principality of 
Orangt^ in Prvwence ; and under Charles V., 

, William of Nassau was the imv>t jx>tent lord of 
the Bnrgundian provinces. Educattxl in the 

I i>alace iind almost in the chamber of the Em- 

' ix>rv>r. he was nominatt\l in the earliest years 

j of manhoovl to the government of Holland,* 
and to the command of the in^ix^rial army, by 
that sagiicious monarch, who, in the memo- 

• Bv the anci^-nt name of •' SLvMunuler'" vhou- 
teuant). Kluit. Vetua Jus Pub. Bcl^. i>. 1^4. 



MEMOIR OF THE AFFAIRS OF HOLLAND. 



385 



rable solemnity of abdication, leant upon his 
shoulder as tho first of his Bfl^ic subjects. 
The patnc eminent qualities which recom- 
mended him to tho confiilence of Charles 
awakened the jealousy of Philip, whose 
anger, breaking thmugh all the restraints of 
his wonted sinuiiation, burst into furious re- 
proaches against the Prince of Orange as the 
lomenter of ihi? resistance of the Flemings 
to the destniclion of their privileges. Among 
the three rulers who, perhaps unconsciously, 
were stirred up at the same moment to pre- 
serve the civil and religious liberties of man- 
kind, William I. must be owned to have 
wanted the brilliant and attractive qualities 
of Henry IV., antl to have yielded to the com- 
manding 'genius of Elizabeth ; but his princi- 
ples were more inflexible than those of the 
amiable hero, and his mind was undisturbed 
by the infirmities and passions which lowered 
the illustrious queen. Though he perform- 
ed great actions with weaker means than 
theirs, his course was more unspotted. Faith- 
ful to the King of Spain as long as the pre- 
servation of the commonwealth allowed, he 
counselled the Duchess of Parma ag-ainst all 
the iniquities by which the Netherlands were 
lost; but faithful also to his county, in his 
dying instructions he enjoined his son to be- 
ware of insiduous offers of compromise from 
the Spaniard, to adhere to his alliance with 
France and England, to observe the privi- 
leges of the provinces and towns, and to con- 
duct himself in all things as became the 
chief magistrate of the republic* Advancing 
a century beyond his contemporaries in civil 
wisdom, he braved the prejudices of the 
Calvinistic clergy, by contending for the 
toleration of Catholics, tho chieTs of whom, 
had sworn his destruction. t Th'oughtful, of 
unconquerable spirit, persuasive though taci- 
turn, of simple character, yet maintaining 
due dignity and becoming magnificence in 
his public character, an able commander and 
a wise statesman, he is perhaps the purest 
of those who have risen by arms from {)ri- 
vate station to supreme authority, and the 
greatest of the happy few who have enjoyed 
the glorious fortune of bestowing liberty upon 
a pcople.t The whole struggle of this illus- 
trious prince was against foreign oppression. 
His posterity, less happy, were engaged in 
domestic broils, in part arising from their 
undefined authority, and from the very com- 
plicated constitution of the commonwealth. 
Maurice, the eldest Protestant son of Wil- 
liam, surpassed his father in military genius, 
but fell far short of him in that moderation 
of temper and principle w hich is the most 

* D'pjstrades, MSS. in ilic handa of his young- 
eat son. 

t Burnet, History of his own time (Oxford, 
1823), vol. i. p. 547. 

t Even Sirada himself bears one testimony to 
this great man, which outweighs all his vain re- 
proaches. " Nee posiea mutavcre {Hollandi) qui 
videbant et KJoriabaiitur ab unius hominis conatu, 
cacplisque illi titciinque infelicibus, assurgere in 
iies Hollandicum nomen imperiumque." — Sirada, 
De Bello Belgico, dec ii. hb. v. 
49 



indispensable virtue of the leader of a free 
state. The blood of Barncveldt and the 
dungeon of Grotius have left an indelible 
slain on his memory; nor is it without appa- 
rent reason that the aristociatical party have 
charged him with projects of usurpation, — 
natural to a family of re|)iil)lican magistrates 
allied by blood to all the kings of Europe, 
and distinguished by many approaches and 
pretensions to the kingly power.* Henry 
Frederic, his successor, was the son of Wil- 
liam I. by Louise de Coligny, — a woman 
singular in her character as well as in hei 
destiny, who, having seen her father and the 
husband of her youth murdered at the mas- 
sacre of Saint Bartholomew, was doomed to 
witness ihe fall of a more illustrious husband 
by the hand of an assassin of the same fac- 
tion, and who in her last widowhood won the 
affection of William's children by former 
wives, for her own virtuous son. Having 
maintained the fame of his family in war. 
he was happier than his more celebrateci 
brother in a domestic administration, which 
was moderate, tolerant, and unsuspected.! 
He lived to sec the final recognition of Dutch 
independence by the treaty of Monster, and 
was succeeded by his son, William II.. who, 
altera short and turbulent rule, died in J650j 
leaving his widow, the Princess Royal ot 
England, pregnant. 

William III., born on the 14th of Novem- 
ber, 1650, eight days after the death of his 
father, an orphan of feeble frame, with early 
indications of disea.se, seemed to be involved 
in the cloud of misfortune which then cover- 
ed the deposed and exiled family of his 
mother. The patricians of the commercial 
cities, who had gathered strength with their 
rapidly increasing wealth, were incensed at 
the late attack of William II. on Amsterdam; 
they were equally emboldened by the esta- 
blishment of a republic in England, and pre- 
judiced, not witliout reason, against the 
Stuart family, whose absurd principle of the 
divine right of kings had always disposed 
James I. to regard the Dutch as no better 
than successful rebels,t and had led his son, 
in 1631, a period of profound peace and pro- 
fessed friendship, to conclude a secret treaty 
with Spain for the partition of the Republic, 
in which England was to be rewarded lor her 
treachery and rapine by the sovereignty of 
Zealand. § They found no difficulty in per- 
suading the States to assume all the autho- 
rity hitherto exercised by the Sladlholder, 
without fixing any period for conferring on 
the infant Prince tho.se dignities which had 
been enjoyed by three generations of hit 

* Du Maurier, Mi'moires de la Holiaiido, p. 
2<J^. Vandervynkt, Troubles dee Pays Bas, vol 
iii. p. 27. 

t D'Estrades, Lettres (Lond. 1743), vol. i. 
p. .55. 

t "In his table discourse he pronounced (he 
Dutch to be rebels, and condemned their cause, 
and said that Ostend belonged to the ArchduKe." 
— Carte, History of England, vol. iii. p. 714. 

^ Clarendon, State Papers, vol. i. p. 49, and 
vol. ii. app. xxvii. 

2H 



386 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



family. At the peace of 1654, the States of 
Holland bound themselves by a secret article, 
yielded with no great reluctance to the de- 
mands of Cromwell, never to choose the 
Prince of Orange to be their S:adtholder, nor 
to consent to his being appointed Captain- 
General of the forces of the confederacy ; — 
a separate stipulation, at variance with the 
spirit of the union of Utrecht, and disrespect- 
ful to the judgment, if not injurious to the 
rights, of the weaker confederates.* After 
the Restoration this engagement lost its 
power. But when the Prince of Orange had 
nearly reached years of discretion, and the 
brilliant operations of a military campaign 
against England had given new vigour to the 
republican administration, John De Witt, who, 
under the modest title of "Pensionary" of 
Holland, had long directed the affairs of the 
confederacy with a success and reputation 
due to his matchless honesty and prudence, 
prevailed on the States of that province to 
pass a "Perpetual Edict for the Maintenance 
of Liberty." By this law they abolished the 
Stadtholdership in their own province, and 
agreed to take effectual means to obtain from 
their confederates edicts excluding all those 
who might be Captain-Generals from the 
Stadtholdership of any of the provinces, — 
binding themselves and their successors by 
oath to observe these provisions, and im- 
posing the like oath on all who might be 
appointed to the chief command by land 
or sea.t Guelderland, Utrecht, and Overys- 
sell acceded. Friesland and Groningen, then 
governed by a Stadtholder of another branch 
of the family of Nassau, were considered as 
not immediately interested in the question. 
Zealand alone, devoted to the House of 
Orange, resisted the separation of the su- 
preme military and civil officers. On this 
footing De Witt professed his readiness to 
confer the office of Captain-General on the 
Prince, as soon as he should be of fit age. 
He was allowed meanwhile to take his seat 
in the Council of State, and took an oath to 
observe the Perpetual Edict. His opponents 
struggled to retard his military appointment, 
to shorten its duration, and to limit its 
powers. His partisans, on the other hand, 
supported by England, and led by Amelia of 
Solms, the widow of Prince Henry, — a wo- 
man of extraordinary ability, who had trained 
the young Prince with parental tenderness, 
— seized every opportunity of pressing for- 
ward his nomination, and of preparing the 
way for the enlargement of his authority. 

This contest might have been longer pro- 
traipted, if the Conspiracy of Louis and 

* Cromwell was prevailed upon to content him- 
eelf with this separate stipulation, very imperfect 
in form, but which the strength of the ruling pro- 
vince rendered in substance sufficient. White- 
lock, Memorials, 12th May, 1684. 

+ 3d August 1667. The immediate occasion of 
this edict seems to have been a conspiracy, for 
which one Buat, a spy employed by Lord Arling- 
ton, was executed. Histoire de J. D. De VVitt 
Utrecht, 1709), liv. ii. chap. 2. 



Charles, and the occupation of ihe greater 
part of the country by the former, had not 
brought undeserved reproach on the admi- 
nistration of De Witt. Fear and distrust 
became universal ; every man suspected his 
neighbour J accusations were heard with 
greedy credulity ; misfortunes were imputed 
to treachery ; and the multitude cried aloud 
for victims. The corporate officers of the 
great towns, originally chosen by the bur- 
ghers, had, on the usual plea of avoiding 
tumult, obtained the right of filling up all 
vacancies in their own number. They thus 
strengthened their power, but destroyed their 
security. No longer connected with the 
people by election, the aristocratical families 
received no fresh infusion of strength, and 
had no hold on the attachment of the com- 
munity ; though they still formed, indeed, 
the better part of the people. They had 
raised the fishermen of a few marshy dis- 
tricts to be one of the greatest nations of 
Europe ; but the misfortunes of a moment 
banished the remembrance of their services. 
Their grave and harsh virtues were more 
unpopular than so many vices; while the 
needs and disasters of war served to heighten 
the plebeian clamour, and to strengthen the 
military power, which together formed the 
combinetl force of the Stadtholderian party. 
It was then in vain that the Republicans en- 
deavoured to satisfy that party, and to gain 
over the King of England by the nomination 
of the Prince of Orange to be Captain-Gene- 
ral : Charles was engaged in deeper designs. 
The progress of the French arms still farther 
exasperated the populace, and the Republi- 
cans incurred the reproach of treachery by a 
disposition, — perhaps carried to excess, — to 
negotiate with Louis XIV. at a moment when 
all negotiation wore the appearance of sub- 
mission. So it had formerly happened: — 
Barneveldt was friendly to peace with Spain, 
when Maurice saw no safety but in arms. 
Men equally wise and honest may differ on 
the difficult and constantly varying question, 
whether uncompromising resistance, or a 
reservation of active effort for a more favour- 
able season, be the best mode of dealing 
with a formidable conqueror. Though the 
war policy of Demosthenes terminated in 
the destruction of Athens, we dare not affirm 
that the pacific system of Phocion would 
have saved it. In the contest of Maurice 
with Barneveldt, and of De Witt with the 
adherents of the House of Orange, both 
parties had an interest distinct from that of 
the commonwealth ; for the influence of the 
States grew in peace, and the authority of 
the Captain-General was strengthened by 
war. The populace now revolted against 
their magistrates in all the towns, and the 
States of Holland were compelled to repeal 
the Edict, which they — called " Perpetual," 
to release themselves and all the officers 
from the oath which they had taken to ob- 
serve it, and to confer, on the 4th of July, 
1672, on the Prince the office of Stadtholder, 
— which, then only elective for life, was, 



MEMOIR OF THE AFFAIRS OF HOLLAND. 



after two years more, made hereditary to 
his descendants. 

Tiie commotions which accompanied this 
revolution were stained by the murder of 
John and Cornehus De Witt, — a crime per- 
petrated with such brutal ferocity, and en- 
countered with such heroic serenity, that it 
may almost seem to be doubtful whether 
the glory of having produced such pure suf- 
ferers may not in some degree console a 
country for having given birth to assassins so 
atrocious. These e.vcesses are singularly 
at variance with the calm and orderly cha- 
racter of the Dutch, — than whom perhaps no 
free state has, in proportion to its magnitude, 
contributed more amply to the amendment 
of mankind by examples of public virtue. 
The Prince of Orange, thus hurried to the 
supreme authority at the age of twenty-two, 
was ignorant of 'these crimes, and avowed 
his abhorrence of them. They were perpe- 
trated more than a month after his highest 
advancement, when they could produce no 
effect but that of bringing odium upon his 
party. But it must be for ever deplored that 
the extreme danger of his position should 
have prevented him from punishing the of- 
fences of his partisans, till it seemed too late 
to violate that species of tacit amnesty which 
time insensibly establishes. It would be im- 
possible ever to e.xcuse this unhappy impu- 
nity, if we did not call to mind that Louis 
XIV. was at Utrecht ; that it was the popu- 
lace of the Hague that had imbrued their 
hands in the blood of the De Witts; and that 
the magistrates of Amsterdam might be dis- 
posed to avenge on their country the cause 
of their virtuous chiefs. Henceforward Wil- 
liam directed the counsels and arms of Hol- 
land, gradually forming and leading a confe- 
deracy to set bounds to the ambition of Louis 
XIV., and became, by his abilities and dis- 
positions, as much as by his position, the 
second person in Europe. • 

We possess unsuspected descriptions of 
his character from observers of more than 
ordinary sagacity, who had an interest in 
watching its development, before it was sur- 
rounded by the dazzling illusions of power 
and fame. Among the most valuable of 
these witnesses were some of the subjects 
and servants of Louis XIV. At the age of 
eighteen the Prince's good sense, knowledge 
of affairs, and seasonable concealment of 
his thoughts, attracted the attention of Gour- 
ville, a man of e.vperience and discernment. 
St. Evremond, though himself distinguished 
chiefly by vivacity and accomplishments, saw 
the superiority of William's powers through 
his silence and coldness. After long inti- 
macy, Sir William Temple describes his 
great endowments and excellent qualities, 
his— then almost singular— combination of 
"charity and religious zeal," ''his desire- 
rare in every age— to grow great rather 
by the service than the servitude of his 
country ;"— language so manifestly conside- 
rate, discriminating, and unexaggerated, as 
to bear on it the inimitable stamp of truth, 



387 

in addition to the weight which it derives 
from the probity of the Avriter. But there 
is no testimony so important as that of 
Charles II., who, in the early part of his 
reign, had been desirous of gaining an as- 
cendant in Holland by the restoration of the 
House of Orange, and of subveiting the go- 
vernment of De Witt, whom he never lor- 
gave for his share in the treaty with the Eng- 
lish Republic. Some retrospect is necessary, 
to explain the experiment by which that mo- 
narch both ascertained and made known the 
ruling principles of his nephew's mind. 

Thie mean negotiations about the sale of 
Dunkirk first betrayed to Louis XIV. the 
passion of Charles for French money. The 
latter had, at the same time, offered to aid 
Louis in the conquest of Flanders, on condi- 
tion of receiving French succour against the 
revolt of his own subjects,* and had strongly 
expressed his desire of an offensive and de- 
fensive alliance to Ruvigni. one of the most 
estimable of that monarch's agents.t But 
the most pernicious of Charles' vices, never 
bridled by any virtue, were often mitigated 
by the minor vices of indolence and irreso- 
lution. Even the love of pleasure, which 
made him needy and rapacious, unfitted him 
for undertakings full of toil and peril. Pro- 
jects for circumventing each other in Hol- 
land, which Charles aimed at influencing 
through the House of Orange, and Louis 
hoped to master through the Republican 
party, retarded their secret advances to an 
entire union. De Witt was compelled to 
consent to some aggrandisement of France, 
rather than expose his country to a war 
without the co-operation of the King of Eng- 
land, who was ready to betray a hated ally. 
The first Dutch war appears to have arisen 
from the passions of both nations, and their 
pride of maritime supremacy, — employed 
as instruments by Charles wherewith to ob- 
tain booty at sea, and supply from his Parlia- 
ment, — and by Louis wherewith to seize the 
Spanish Netherlands. At the peace of Breda 
(July, 1667,) the Court of England seemed 
for a moment to have changed its policy, by 
the conclusion of the Triple Alliance, which 
prescribed some limits to the ambition of 
France,— a system which De Witt, as soon 
as he met so honest a negotiator as Sir Wil- 
liam Temple, joyfully hastened to embrace. 
Temple was, however, duped'by his mas- 
ter. It is probable that the Triple Alliance 
was the result of a fraudulent project, sug- 
gested originally by Gourville to ruin De 
Witt, by embroiling him irreconcilably with 
France. t Charles made haste to disavow 
the intentions professed in it ;§ and a nego- 



* D'Estrades, vol. v. p. 450. 

t Memoire de Ruvigni au Roi. Dalrymple, 
Memoirs of Great Britain, &c. vol. ii. p. 11. 
D'Estrades, vol, v., 20th Dec. 1663. 18ih Dec. 
1664. 

t Memoirea de Gourville (Paris, 1724), vol. h 
p. 14—18, 160. 

^ Charles IL to the Duchess of Orleans, IStt 
Jan. 1668. — Dalrymple, vol. ii. p. 5. [The olii 
style is used throughout these references.- -Ed.] 



388 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



tiation with France was immediately opened, 
partly by the j>ersonal intercourse of Charles 
with' the French ministers at his court, but 
chiefly through his sister, the Duches» of 
Orleans, — an amiable princess, probably the 
only person whom he ever loved. This cor- 
respondence, which was concealed fiom 
those of his ministers v ho were not either 
Catholics or well atlected to the Catholic re- 
ligion, lingered on till ^lay, 1670, when (on 
the 22d) a secret treaty was concluded under 
cover of a visit made by the Duchess to her 
brother.* 

The essential stipulations of this unparal- 
leled compact were three : that Louis should 
advance money to Charles, to enable him tlic 
more safely to execute what is called •' a de- 
claration of his adherence to the Catholic 
religion," and should support him with men 
and money, if that measure should be re- 
sisted by his subjects; that both jwwers 
should join their arms against Holland, the 
islands of ^Valcheren and Cads;ind being 
alloted to England as her share of the prey 



* It was signed by Lords Arlington ond Arun- 
del, Sir Thomas Cliflord, and Sir Richard Bea- 
ling, on the part of England, and by Colbert de 
Croissy, the brother of the celebrated tinancier, 
on the part of France. Rose, Observations on 
Fo.\'s History, p. 51. Summary collated with 
the original, in the liandsof the present Lord Clif- 
ford. The draft of the same treaty, sent to Paris 
by Arundel, does not materially ditFor. Dalrym- 
ple, vol. i. p. 44. " The Lite of James H. (vol. 
i. pp. 440—430.) agrees, in most circumstances, 
with these copies of the treaties, and wiih the cor- 
respondence. There is one imi>ortant variation. 
In the treaty it is stipulated that Charles' measures 
in favour of the Catholic religion should precede 
the war against Holland, according to the plan 
which he had always supported. 'The Life* 
says, that the resolution was taken at Dover to 
begin with the war against Holland, and the des- 
patch of Colbert from Dover, VJOih .May (.Dalrym- 
ple, vol. ii. p. 57), almost justifies the statement, 
which may rel'er to a verbal acquiescence of 
Charles, probably deemed suflicient in these clan- 
destine transactions, where that prince desired 
nothing but such assurances as satisfy gentlemen 
in private life. It is true that the narrative of the 
Lite is not here supported by those quotations from 
the King's original Memoirs, on which the credit 
of the compilation essentially depends. But as in 
the eighteen years, 1660 — 16T8, which exhibit no 
■uch quotations, there are internal proofs that some 
passages, at least, of the Life are taken from the 
Memoirs, the absence of quotation does not dero- 
gate so much from the credit of this part of the 
work as it would from that of any other." See 
Edinburgh Review, vol. .xxvi. pp. 402 — 130. This 
treaty has been laid to the charge of the Cabinet 
cnHed the " Cabal," unjustly ; for, of the five 
members of that administration, two oidy, Clif- 
ford and Arlington, were privy to the designs of 
the King and the Duke of York. Ashley and 
Lauderdale were too zealous Protestants to be 
trusted with it. Buckingham (whatever might be 
his indifference in rehgion) had too much levity to 
be trusted with such secrets ; but he was so pene- 
trating that it was thought prudent to divert his 
attention from the real negotiation, by engaging 
him in negotiating a simulated treaty,in whrch the 
trtijle^ favourable to the Catholic religion were 
left out. On the other hand, Lord Arundel and 
Sir Richard Dealing, Catholics not of the "Ca- 
bal " w«r« negotiatora. 



(which clearly left the other territories of 
the Republic at the disposal of Louis), 
and that England should aid Louis in any 
new pretensions to the crown of Spain, or, 
ill other and plainer language, enable him, 
on the very probable event of Charles II. 
of Spain dying without issue,* to incorpo- 
rate with a monarchy already the greatest 
in Europe the long-coveted inheritance of the 
House of Burgundy, and the two vast penin- 
sulas of Italy and Spain. The streni;th of 
Louis would thus have been douMed at one 
blow, and all limitations to his farther pro- 
gress on the Continent must have been left 
to his own moderation. It is hard to imagine 
what should have hiiulercd him from render- 
ing his monarchy universiil over the civilized 
world. The port of Ostend. the island of 
Minorca, and the permission to conquer 
S^^>anish America, with a very vague promise 
ot assistance of Fnuice, were assigned to 
England as the wages of her share of this 
conspiracy against mankind. The fearful 
stipulations for rendering the King of Eng- 
land independent of rarliament. by a secret 
supply of foreign money, and for putting into 
his hands a foreign military force, to be em- 
ployed ag-ainst his subjects, were, indeetl, to 
take efiect only in case of the avowal of his 
reconciliation with the Church of Rome. 
But as he himself considered a re-establish- 
ment of that Church as essential to the con- 
solidation of his authority. — which the mere 
avowal of his religion would rather have 
weakened, and the bare toleration of it could 
little, if at all, have promoted ; as he con- 
fessedly meditated measures for quieting the 
alarms of the possessors of Church lands, 
whom the simple letter of the treaty coulii 
not have much disturbed ; as he proposed a 
treaty with the Pope to obtain the cup for the 
laity, and the mass in English, — concessions 
which are scarcely intelligible without the 
supposition tliat the Church of Rome was to 
be established ; as he concealed this article 
from Shaftesbury, who must have known his 
religion^ and was then friendly to a toleration 
of it ; and as other articles were framed for 
the destruction of the only powerful Protest- 
ant state on the Continent, there cannot be 
the slightest doubt that the real object of 
this atrocious compact, however disgiiised 
under the smooth and crafty laitgnage of 
diplomacy, was the forcible imposition of a 
hated religion upon the British nation, and 
that the conspirators foresaw a national re- 
sistance, which must be stifled or quelled by 
a foreign army.t It was evident that the 
most tyrannical measures would have been 
necessary for the accomplishment of such 
purposes, and that the ti^nsfer of all civil, 
military, and ecclesiastical power to the 
members of a communion, who had no bar- 
rier against public hatred but the throne, 
must have tended to render the power of 
Charles absolute, and must have aflbrded 



• Charles II., King of Spain, was then afeebl* 
and diseased child ornino years old. 
t Dalrymple, yoI. ii. p. 84. 



MEMOIR OF THE AFFAIRS OF HOLLAND. 



389 



him the most probable means of effectually 
promotiiifj: the plans of his ally for the sub- 
jug-.itiou of Kniope.* If the forei<i,n and do- 
mestic obji^cts of this treaty be considered, 
together with the means by which they were 
to have been accomplished, and the dire con- 
sequences which must have flowed from 
their attainment, it seems probable that so 
much falsehood, treachery, and mercenary 
meanness were never before combined, in 
the decent formalities of a solemn compact 
between sovereigns, with such premeditated 
bloodshed and unbridled cruelty. The only 
eemblance of virtue in the dark plot was the 
anxiety shown to conceal itj which, how- 
ever, arose more from the fears than the 
shame of the conspirators. In spite of all 
^ their precautions it transpired : the secret was 
extorted from Turenne, in a moment of weak- 
ness, by a young mistre.ss.t He also dis- 
closed some of the correspondence to Puf- 
fendorf, the Swedish minister at Paris, to de- 
tach the Swedes from the Triple Alliance ;t 
and it was made known by that minister, as 
well as by De Groot. the Dutch ambassador 
at Paris, to De Witt, who had never ceased 
to distrust the sincerity of the Stuarts towards 
Hoi I and. § The suspicions of Temple him- 
self had been early awakened ; and he seems 
to have in some measure played the part of 
a willing dupe, in the hope of entangling his 
master in honest alliances. The substance 
of the secret treaty was the subject of gene- 
ral conversation at the Court of England at 
the time of PuffendorPs discovery. || A 
pamphlet published, or at least printed, in 
1673, intelligibly hints at its existence "about 
four years before.''^ Not long after, Louis 
XIV^., in a moment of dissatisfaction with 
Charles It., permitted or commanded the 
Abbate Primi to print a History of the Dutch 
War at Paris, which derived credit from 
being soon suppressed at the instance of the 
English minister, and which gave an almost 
verbally e.vact summary of the secret treaty, 
with respect to three of its objects, — the par- 
tition of Holland, the re-establishment of the 
Catholic religion in the British Islands, and 
the absolute authority of the King.** The 

* It is but just to mention, that Burnet calls it 
only the "toleration of popery," — vol. i. p. 522. 
He had seen only Primi's history, and he seems 
to speak of the negotiation carried on through 
Puckingham, from whom we know that ihe full 
extent of the plan was concealed. 

t Ramsav, Histoire do Turenne (Paris, 1735), 
vol. i. p. 429. 

\ Sir W. Temple to Sir Orlando Bridgman, 
24ih April, 1669. 

^ De Wilt observed to Temple, even in the 
days of the Triple Alliance : — " A change of 
councils in Rncland would be our ruin. Since 
thereiirn of Elizabeth there has been such a fluc- 
tuation in the English councils that it has been 
impossible to concert measures with them for two 
years." 

li Pepys' Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 336. 

t Enwland's Appeal from the Private Cabal at 
Whitehall. 

** Slate Trials in the reign of Wm. III. (Lond. 
1705), Introd. p. 10. 



project for the dismemberment of Holland, 
adopted by Charles I. in 1G3 1 appears to have 
been entertained by his eldest son till the 
last years of his reign.* 

As one of the articles of the secret treaty 
had provided a petty sovereignty for the 
Prince of Orange out of the ruins of his coun- 
try, Charles took the opportunity of his 
nephew's visit to England, in October 1670, 
to sound him on a project w-hich was thus 
baited for his concurrence. "All the Pro- 
testants," said the King, "are a factious 
body, broken among them.selvea since they 
have been broken from the main stock. Look 
into these things better ; do not be misled by 
your Dutch blockheads. "t The King im- 
mediately imparted the failure of this at- 
tempt to the French ambassador : " I am . 
satisfied with the Prince's abilities, but I find 
him too zealous a Dutchman and a Protest- 
ant to be tiusted with the secret."!: But 
enough had escaped to disclose to the saga- 
cious youth the purposes of his uncle, and to 
throw a strong light on the motives of all his 
subsequent measures. The inclination of 
Charles towards the Church of Rome could 
never have rendered a man so regardless of 
religion solicitous for a conversion, if he had 
not considered it as subservient to projects 
for the civil establishment of that Church, — 
which, as it could subsist only by his favour, 
must have been the instrument of his abso- 
lute power. Astonished as William was by 
the discovery, he had the forthude, during 
the life of Charles, to conceal it from all but 
one, or, at most, two friends. It was re- 
served for later times to discover that Charles 
had the inconceivable baseness to propose 
the detention of his nephew in England, 
where the temptation of a sovereignty being 
aided by the prospect of the recovery of his 
freedom, might act more powerfully on his 
mind ; and that this proposal was refused by 
Louis, either from magnanimity, or from re- 
gard to decency, or, perhaps, from reluctance 
to trust his ally with the sole disposal of so 
important a prisoner. 

Though — to return, — in 1672 the French 
army had advanced into the heart of Hol- 
land, the fortitude of the Prince was un- 
shaken. Louis offered to make him sove- 
reign of the remains of the country, under 
the protection of France and England ;^ but 
at that moment of extreme peril, he answer- 
ed with his usual calmness, "I never will 
betray a trust, nor sell the liberties of my 
country, which my ancestors have so long 
defended." All around him despaired. — 
One of his very few confidential friends, 
after having long e.vpostulated with him on 
his fiuitless obstinacy, at length asked him, 
if he had considered how and where he 
should live after Holland was lost. "I have 
thought of that;" he replied ; " I am resolved 



* Preston Papers in the possessionof Sir Jamea 
Graham, of Netherby. 
t Burnet, vol. i. p. 475. 
X DaLymple, vol. ii. p. 70. $ Ibid, p. 79. 

2 h2 



390 



MACKINTOSH'S IkllSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



to live on the lands I have left in Germany. 
I had rather pass my life in hunting there, 
than sell my country or mv liberty to France 
at any price.'"* Buckingham and Arlington 
were sent from England to try, whether, be- 
set by peril, the lure of sovereignty might 
not seduce him. The former often s;iid. 
'• Do you not see that the country is lost !"• 
The answer of the Prince to the prollig-ate 
bulibon spoke the same unmoved resolution 
with that which he had made to Zulestein 
or Fagel ; but it naturally rose a few degrees 
towards animation: — ''I see it is in great 
danger, but there is a sure way of never 
seeing it lost ; and that is, to die in the last 
ditch/'t The perfect simplicity of those 
declarations may authorise us to rank them 
among the most genuine specimens of true 
' magnanimity. Perhaps the history of the 
world does not hold out a better example, 
how high above the reach of fortune the 
pure principle of obedience to the dictates 
of conscience, unalloyed by interest, passion. 
or ostentation, can raise the mind of a virtu- 
ous man. To set such an example is an mi- 
speakably more signal service to mankind, 
than all the outward benetits which llow to 
them from the most successful virtue. It is 
a principle independent of events, and one 
thai burns most brightly in adversity, — the 
only agent, perhaps, of sufficient power to 
call forth the native greatness of soul which 
lay hid under the cold and unattractive de- 
portment of the Prince of Orange. 

His present situation was calculated to as- 
certain whether his actions would correspond 
with his declarations. Beyond the important 
country extending from Amsterdam to Kot- 
terdam, — a district of about forty miles in 
length, the narrow seat of the government, 
wealth, and force of the commonwealth, 
which had been preserved from invasion by 
the bold expedient of inundation, and out of 
which the cities and fortresses arose like 
islands, — little remained of the republican 
territory except the fortress of ^laestrlcht, 
the marshy islands of Zealand, and the se- 
cluded province of Friesland. A French 
army of a hundred and ten thousand men. 
encouraged by the presence of Louis, and 
commanded by Conde and Turenne, had 
their head-quarters at Utrecht, within twenty 
miles of Amsterdam, and impatiently looked 
forward to the moment when the ice should 
form a road to the spoils of that capital of 
the commercial world. On the other side, 
the hostile Hag of England was seen from 
the coast. The Prince of Orange, a sicklj- 
youth of twenty-two, without fame or expe- 
rience, had tc contend against such enemies 
at the head cf a new government, of a di- 
vided people, and of a little army of twenty 
thousand men, — either raw recruits or foreign 
mercenaries, — whom the exclusively mari- 

* Temple, Works vLnnd. 1721). vol. i. p 381. 
This friend was probably iiis uncle Zulestein, for 
ihe conversation passed before his intimacy with 
Beniinck. 

t Burnet, vol. i. p. 56ft. 



time policy of the late administration had 
left without officers of skill or name. His 
immortal ancestor, when he founded the re- 
public about a century before, saw at the 
lowest ebb of his fortune the hope of aid 
from England and France: far darker were 
the prot^pects of William III. The degene- 
rate successor of Elizabeth, abusing the as- 
cendant of a parental relation, sought to 
tempt him to become a traitor to his country 
for a share in her spoils. The successor of 
Henry IV. otlered him only the choice of be- 
ing bribed or crushed. Such was their fear 
of France, that the Court of Spain diil not 
dare to aid him, though their only hope was 
from his success. The German branch of 
the House of Austria was then entangled in 
a secret treaty with Louis, by which the 
Low Countries were ceded to him. on con- 
dition of his guaranteeing to the Emperor 
the reversion of the Spanish monarchy on 
the death of Charles II. without issue. No 
great statesman, no illustrious commander 
but INIontecucculi, no able prince but the 
ereat Elector of Brandenburgh, was to be 
found among the avowed friends or even 
secret well-wishers of William. The terri- 
tories of Cologne and Liege, which presented 
all the means of military intercourse between 
the French and Putch frontiers, were ruled 
by the creatures of Louis. The linal destruc- 
tion of a rebellious and heretical confederacy 
was foretold with great, but not apparently 
unreasonable conlidence, by the zealots of 
absolute authority in Church and State ; and 
the inhabitants of Holland began seriou.sly to 
entertain the heroic project of abandoning an 
enslaved country, and transporting the com- 
monwealth to their dominions in the Indian 
islands. 

At this awful moment Fortune seemed to 
pause. The unwieldlj- magnificence of a 
royal retinue encumbered the advance of the 
French army. Though masters of Naerden, 
which was esteemed the bulwark of Amster- 
dam, they were too late to binder the open- 
ing of the sluices at INIurden, which drowned 
the country to the g-atesof that city. Louis, 
more intoxicated with triumph than intent 
on conquest, lost in surveying the honours of 
victory the time which should have been 
spent in seizing its fruits. Impatient of so 
long an interruption of his pleasures, he 
hastened to display at Yersailles the trophies 
of a campaign of two months, in which 
the conquest of tlnee provinces, the capture 
of fifty fortified places, and of twenty-four 
thousand prisoners, were ascribed to him by 
his flatterers. The cumbrous and tedious 
formalities of the Putch constitution enabled 
the Stadtholder to g-ain some time without 
suspicion. Even the perfidious embassy of 
Buckingham and Arlington contributed some- 
what to prolong negotiations. He amused 
them for a moment by appearing to examine 
the treaties they had brought from London, 
by which France was to gain all the fortres- 
ses which commanded the country, leaving 
Zealand to England, and the rest of the 



MEMOIR OF THE AFFAIRS OF HOLLAND. 



391 



country as a principality to himself.* Sub- 
mission seemed inevitable and speedy ; still 
the inundation rendered military movements 
inconvenient and perhaps hazardous; and 
the Prince thus obtained a little leisure for 
the execution of his measures. The peo- 
ple, unable to believe the baseness of the 
Court of London, were animated by the ap- 
pearance of the ministers who came to seal 
their ruin : the Government, surrounded by 
the waters, had time to negotiate at Madrid, 
Vienna, and Berlin. The Marquis de Mon- 
terey, governor of the Catholic Netherlands, 
without insl ructions from the Escurial, had 
the boldness to throw tioops into the import- 
ant fortresses of Dutch Brabant, — Breda, 
Bergen-op-Zoom, and Bois-le-Duc, — under 
pretence of a virtual guarantee of that terri- 
tory by Spain. 

In England, the continuance of proroga- 
tions — relieving the King from parliamentary 
opposition, but depriving him of sullicient 
supply, — had driven him to resources alike 
inadeciuate and infamous,! and had fore- 
boded that general indignation which, after 
the combined fleets of Englantl and France 
had been worsted by the marine of Hollandt 
alone, at the very moment when the rem- 
nant of the Republic seemed about to be 
swallowed up, compelled him to desist from 
the opt'n prosecution of the odious conspiracy 
against her.^ The Emperor LeopoM, roused 
to a just sense of the imminent danger of 
Europe, also concluded a defensive alliance 
with the States-General ;|| as did the Ger- 
manic body generally, including Frederic 
William of Brandeubui^h, called the -'Great 
Elector." 

Turenne had been meanwhile compelled 
to march from the Dutch territory to ob- 
serve, and, in case of need, to oppose, the 
Austrian and Brandenburgh troops ; and the 
young Prince ceased to incur the risk and to 
enjoy the glory of being opposed to that 
great commander, who was the grandson of 
William I.,ir and had been trained to arms 
under Maurice. The winter of 1672 was 
unusually late and short. As soon as the 
ice seemed sufficiently solid, Luxemburgh, 
who was left in command at Utrecht, ad- 
vanced, in the hope of surprising the Hague ; 
when a providential thaw obliged him to re- 

* Tiie official despatches of these ambassadors 
are contained in a MS. volume, probably tlie pro- 
perty of Sir W. Trumbull, now in the hands of 
his descendant, the Marquis of Downshirc. These 
despatches show that the worst surmises circulated 
at the time of the purposes of this embassy were 
scarcely so bad as the truth. 

t Shutting up of the Exchequer, 2d January, 
1672. 

t Battle of Souihwold Bay, 28th and 29th May, 
1672. In these memorable actions even the bio- 
grapher of Jaines II. in effect aoknowlcdses that 
De Ruyter had tlie advantage. — Life, vol. i. pp. 
457—476. 

% Peace concluded at Westminster, Feb. 19ih, 
1674. 

II 25th July, 1672. 

^ By Elizabeth of Nassau, Duchess of Bouil- 
bn. 



tire. His operations were lim/ted to the de- 
struction of two petty towns; and it seems 
doubtful whether he did not owe his own 
escape to the irresolution or treachery of a 
Dutch oflicer intrusted with a post which 
commanded the line of retreat. At the 
perilous moment of Luxemburgh's advance, 
took place William's long march thiough 
Brabant to the attack of Charleroi, — under- 
taken probably more with a view of raising 
the drooping spirits of his troops than in the 
hope of ultimate success. The deliveiance 
of Holland in 1G72 was the most signal 
triumph of a free people over mighty in- 
vaders, since the defeat of Xerxes. 

In the ensuing year, William's oflensive 
operations had more outward and lasting 
consequences. Having deceived Luxem- 
burgh, he recovered Naeiden, and shortly 
hazarding another considerable march be- 
)ond the frontier, he captured the city of 
Borm, and thus compelled Tureinie to pro- 
vide for the safety of his army by recrossing 
the Rhine. The Spanish governor of the 
Low Countries then declared war against 
France ; and Louis was compelled to recall 
his troops from Holland. Europe now rose 
on all sides against the monarch who not 
many months before appeared to be her un- 
disputed lord. So mighty were the effects 
of a gallant stand by a small people, under 
an inexperienced chief, without a council or 
minister but the Pensionary Fagel, — the pupil 
and adherent of De Witt, who, actuated by 
the true spirit of his great master, continued 
faithfully to serve liis country, in spite of the 
saddest examples of the h)gralitude of his 
countrymen. In the six years of war which 
followed, the Prince commanded in three 
battles against the greatest generals of 
France. At Senef,* it was a sufficient 
honour that he was not defeated by Conde ; 
and that the veteran declared, on reviewing 
the events of the day, — " The young Prince 
has shown all the qualities of the most ex- 
perienced commander, except that he ex- 
posed his own person too much." He was 
defeated without dishonour at Cassel,! by 
Luxemburgh, under the nominal command 
of the Duke of Orleans. He gained an ad- 
vantage over the same great general, after 
an obstinate and bloody action, at St. Denis, 
near Mens. This last proceeding was of 
more doubful morality than any other of his 
military life, the battle being fought four 
days after the signature of a separate treaty 
of peace by the Dutch plenipotentiaiies at 
Nimeguen.t It was not, indeed, a breach 
of faith, for there was no armistice, and the 
ratifications were not executed. It is un- 
certain, even, whether he had information 
of what had passed at Nimeguen ; the official 
despatches from the States-General reaching 
him only the next morning. The treaty had 
been suildenly and unexpectedly brought to 
a favourable conclusion by the French minis- 
ters; and the Prince, who condemned it aa 



* llih August, K)74. 
X lOih August, 1678. 



t 11 April, 1677. 



392 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



alike offensive to good faith and sound 
policy, had reasonable hopes of obtaining 
a victory, which, if gained before the final 
signature, might have determined the fluc- 
tuating counsels of the States to the side of 
vigour and honour. The morality of soldiers, 
even iii our own age, is not severe in requir- 
ing proof of the necessity of bloodshed, if the 
combat be fair, the event brilliant, and, more 

garticularlj'^, if the commander freely exposes 
is own life. His gallant enemies warmly 
applauded this attack, distinguished, as it 
seems eminently to have been, for the daring- 
valour, which was brightened by the gravity 
and modesty of his character ; and they de- 
clared it to be " the only heroic action of a 
six years' war between all the great nations 
of Europe." If the official despatches had 
not hindered him from prosecuting the attack 
on the next day with the English auxiliaries, 
who must then have joined him, he was 
likely to have changed the fortune of the 
war. 

The object of the Prince and the hope of 
his confederates had been to restore Europe 
to the condition in which it had been placed 
by the treaty of the Pyrenees.* The result 
of the negotiations at Nimeguen was to add 
the province of Franche Comte, and the most 
important fortresses of the Flemish frontier, 
to the cessions which Louis at Aix-la-Cha- 
pellet had extorted from Spain. The Spanish 
Netherlands were thus farther stripped of 
their defence, the barrier of Holland weak- 
ened, and the way opened for the reduction 
of all the posts which face the most defence- 
less parts of the English coast. The acqui- 
sition of Franche Comte broke the military 
connection between Lombardy and Flanders, 
secured the ascendant of France in Switzer- 
land, and, together with the usurpation of 
Lorraine, exposed the German empire to new 
aggression. The ambition of the French 
monarch was inflamed, and the spirit of 
neighbouring nations broken, by the ineffec- 
tual resistance as much as by the long sub- 
mission of Europe. 

The ten years which followed the peace 
of Nimeguen were the period of his highest 
elevation. The first exercise of his power 
was the erection of three courts, composed 
of his own subjects, and sitting by his autho- 
rity, at Brissac, Mentz, and Besan9on, to de- 
termine whether certain territories ought not 
to be annexed to France, which he claimed 
as fiefs of the provinces ceded to him by the 
Empire by the treaty of Westphalia. These 
courts, called ''Chambers of Union," sum- 
moned the possessors of these supposed fiefs 
to answer the King's complaints. The justice 
of the claim and the competence of the tri- 
bunals were disputed with equal reason. 
Ttie Chamber at Metz decreed the confisca- 
tion of eighty fiefs, for default of appearance 
by the feudatories, among whom were the 
Kings of Spain and Sweden, and the Elector 
Palatine. Some petty spiritless princes ac- 



• 7ih Nov. 1659. 



t 2d May, 1668. 



tually did homage to Louis for territories, 
said to have been anciently fiefs of the see 
of Verdun ■* and, under colour of a pretended 
judgment of the Chamber at Brissac,t the 
city of Strasburgh, a flourishing Protestant 
republic, which commanded an important 
pass on the Rhine, was surrounded at mid- 
night, in a time of profound peace, by a body 
of French soldiers, who compelled those 
magistrates who had not been previously 
corrupted to surrender the city to the crown 
of France,t amidst the consternation and 
affliction of the people. Almost at the same 
hour, a body of troops entered Casal, in con- 
sequence of a secret treaty with the Duke 
of Mantua, a dissolute and needy youth, who 
for a bribe of a hundred thousand pounds, 
betrayed into the hands of Louis lliat fortress, 
then esteemed the bulwark of Lombardy.i 
Both these usurpations were in contempt of 
a notice from the Imperial minister at Paris, 
against the occupation of Strasburgh, an Im- 
perial city, or Casal, the capital of Mont- 
ferrat, a fief of the Empire. II 

On the Belgic frontier, means were em- 
ployed more summary and open than pre- 
tended judgments or clandestine treaties. 
Taking it upon himself to determine the ex- 
tent of territory ceded to him at Nimeguen, 
Louis required from the Court of Madiid the 
possession of such districts as he thought fit. 
Much was immediately yielded. Some hesi- 
tation was showm in surreiidering the town 
and district of Alost. Louis sent his troops 
into the Netherlands, there to stay till his 
demands were absolutely complied with ; 
and he notified to the governor, that the 
slightest resistance would be the signal of 
war. Hostilities soon broke out, which after 
having made him master of Luxemburg, one 
of the strongest fortresses of Europe, were 
terminated in the summer of 1684, by a 
truce for twenty years, leaving him in pos- 



* Dumont, Corps Diplomatique, vol. vii. part ii. 

t Fiassan, Histoire de la Diploniatie Frangaise, 
vol. iv. pp. 59, 63. 

t CEuvres de Louis XIV., vol. iv. p. 194, where, 
the original correspondence is published. The 
pretended capitulation is dated on the 30th Sep- 
tember, 1681. The design against Strasburg 
had been known in July. — IMS. letters of Sir 
Henry Saville (minister at Paris) to Sir Leoline 
Jenkins. Downshire Papers. 

^ CEuvres de Louis XIV., vol. iv. pp. 216, 217. 
The mutinous conscience of Caiinat astonished 
and displeased the haughty Louvois. Casal had 
been ceded in 1678 by Matthioli, the Duke's mi- 
nister, who, either moved by remorse or by higher 
bribes from the House of Austria, advised his 
master not to ratify the treaty ; for which he was 
carried prisoner into France, and detained there 
in close and harsh custody. He was the famous 
man with the Iron Mask, who died in the Bas- 
tile. The bargain for Casal was disguised in iho 
diplomatic forms of a convention between the 
King and the Duke. — Dumont, vol. vii. part ii. 
p. 14. An army of one thousand five hundred 
men was collected in Dauphiny, at ijne desire of 
the Duke, to give his sale the appearance of ne- 
cessity. — Letter of Sir Henry Saville. 

II Sir Henry Saville to Sir Leo Ine Jenkins. 
Fontainbleau, 12th Sept. 1681. 



MEMOIR OF THE AFFAIRS OF HOLLAND. 



89S 



session of, and giving the sanction of Europe 
to, his usurpations. 

To a reader of the nineteenth century, 
familiar with the present divisions of terri- 
tory in Christendom, and accustomed to re- 
gard the greatness of France as well adapted 
to the whole state of the European system, 
the conquests of Louis XIV. may seem to 
have inspired an alarm disproportioned to 
their magnitude. Their real danger, how- 
ever, will be speedily perceived by those 
who more accurately consider the state of 
surrounding countries, and the subdivision 
of dominion in that age. Two monarchies 
only of the first class existed on the conti- 
nent, as the appellation of " the two Crowns," 
then commonly used in speaking of France 
and Spain, sufficiently indicate. But Spain, 
which, under the last Austrian king, had 
perhaps reached the lowest point of her ex- 
traordinary fall, was in truth no longer able 
to defend herself. The revenue of some- 
what more than two millions sterling was in- 
adequate to the annual expense.* Ronquillo, 
the minister of this vast empire in London, 
was reduced to the necessity of dismissing 
his servants without payment.! An invader 
who had the boldness to encounter the sha- 
dow of a great name had little to dread, ex- 
cept from the poverty of the country, which 
rendered it incapable of feeding an army. 
Naples, Lombardy, and the Catholic Nether- 
lands, though the finest provinces of Europe, 
were a diain and a burden in the hands of a 
government sunk into imbecile dotage, and 
alike incapable of ruling and of maintaining 
these envied possessions. While Spain, a 
lifeless and gigantic body, covered the South 
of Europe, the manly spirit and military skill 
of Germany were rendered of almost as little 
avail by the minute subdivisions of its terri- 
tory. From the Rhine to the Vistula, a hun- 
dred princes, jealous of each other, fearful 
of offending the conqueror, and often com- 
petitors for his disgraceful bounty, broke into 
fragments the strength of the Germanic race. 
The houses of Sa.xony and Bavaria, Branden- 
burg and Brunswick, Wurtemburg, Baden, 
and Hesse, though among the most ancient 
and noble of the ruling families of Europe, 
were but secondary states. Even the genius 
of the late Elector of Brandenburg did not 
exempt him from the necessity or the temp- 
tation of occasional compliance with Louis. 
From the French frontier to the Baltic, no 
one firm mass stood in the way of his arms. 
Prussia was not yet a monarchy, nor Russia 
an European state. In the south-eastern 
provinces of Germany, where Rodolph of 
Hapsburg had laid the foundations of his 
family, the younger branch had, from the 
death of Charles V. formed a monarchy 
which, aided by the Spanish alliance, the 



* Memoiresde Goiirville, vol. ii. p. 82. An ac- 
count apparently prepared with care. I adopt the 
proportion of thirteen iivres to the pound sterling, 
which is the rale of exchange given by Bariilon, 
in 1679. 

t Ronquillo, MS. letter. 
50 



imperial dignity, and a military position on 
the central frontier of Christendom, render- 
ing it the bulwark of the Empire against 
the irruptions of the Turkish barbarians, 
rose during the thirty years' war to such a 
power, that it was prevented only by Gus- 
tavus Adolphus from enslaving the whole of 
Germany. France, which under Richeliei; 
had excited and aided that great prince and 
his followers, was for that reason regarded 
for a time as the protector of the German 
States against the Emperor. Bavaria, the 
Palatinate, and the three ecclesiastical Elec- 
torates, partly from remaining jealousy of 
Austria, and partly from growing fear of 
Louis, were disposed to seek his protection 
and acquiesce in many of his encroach- 
ments.* This numerous, weak, timid, and 
mercenary body of German princes, supplied 
the chief materials out of which it was pos- 
sible that an alliance against the conqueror 
might one day be formed. On the other 
hand, the military power of the Austrian 
monarchy was crippled by the bigotry and 
tyranny of its princes. The persecution of 
the Protestants, and the attempt to establish 
an absolute government, had spread disaf- 
fection through Hungary and its vast depen- 
dencies. In a contest between one tyrant 
and many, where the people in a state of 
personal slavery are equally disregarded by 
both, reason and humanity might be neutral, 
if reflection did not remind us, that even 
the contests and factions of a turbulent aris- 
tocracy call forth an energy, and magna- 
nimity, and ability, which are extinguished 
under the quieter and more fatally lasting 
domination of a single master. The Emperor 
Leopold I., instigated by the Jesuit.s, of which 
order he was a lay member, rivalled and an- 
ticipated Louis XIV. t in his cruel prosecu- 
tion of the Hungarian Protestants, and there- 
by drove the nation to such despair that they 
sought refuge in the aid of the common 
enemy of the Christian name. Encouiaged 
by their revolt, and stimulated by the con- 
tinued intrigues of the Court of Versailles,! 
the Turks at length invaded Austria with a 



* The Palatine, together with Bavaria, Menlz 
and Cologne, promised to vote for Louis XIV. as 
emperor in 1658. — PfefTcl, Abrege Chronologi- 
que. &c. (Paris, 1776), vol. ii. p. 360. A more 
authentic and very curious account of this extra- 
ordinary negotiation, extracted from the French 
archives, is published by Lemontey, fMonarchie 
de Louis XIV. Pieces Justificative^, No. 2,) by 
which it appears that the Elector of Metz betrayed 
Mazarin, who had distributed immense bribes to 
him and his fellows. 

t He banished the Protestant clergy, of whom 
two hundred and fifty, originally condemned to 
be stoned or burnt to death, but having under 
pretence, probably, of humanity, been sold to the 
Spaniards, were redeemed from the condition of 
ealley slaves by the illustrioirs De Ruyter after 
his victory over the French, on the coast of 
Sicily- — Coxe, House of .Austria, chap. 66. 

t Sir William Trumbull, ambassador at Con- 
stantinople from August, 1687, to July, 1691, 
names French agents employed in fomenting the 
Htmgarian rebellion, and negotiating with lue 
Vizier.— Downshire MSB. 



394 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCEI.LANEOUS ESSAYS. 



might)' army, and would have mastered the 
capital of the most noble of Christian sove- 
reigns, had not the seige of Vienna been 
raised, after a duration of two months, by 
John Sobieski, King of Poland, — the heroic 
chief of a people, whom in less than a cen- 
tury the House of Austria contributed to 
blot out of the map of nations. While 
these dangers impended over the Austrian 
monarchy, Louis had been preparing to de- 
prive it of the Imperial sceptre, which in his 
own hands would have proved no bauble. 
By secret treaties, to which the Elector of 
Bavaria had been tempted to agree, in 1670, 
by the prospect of matrimonial alliance with 
the House of France, and which were im- 
posed on the Electors of Brandenburg and 
Saxony in 1679. after the humiliation of Eu- 
rope at Nimeguen, these princes had agreed 
to vote for Louis in case of the death of 
the Emperor Leopold, — an event which his 
infirm health had given frequent occasion 
to expect. The four Rhenish electors, 
especially after the usurpation of Stras- 
burg and Luxemburg, were already in his 
net. 

At home the vanquished party, whose an- 
tipathy to the House of Orange had been 
exasperated by the cruel fate of De Witt, 
sacrificed the care of the national inde- 
pendence to jealousy of the Stadtholderian 
princes, and carried their devotedness to 
France to an excess which there was no- 
thing in the example of their justly revered 
leader to warrant.* They had obliged the 
Prince of Orange to accede to the unequal 
conditions of Nimeguen; they had prevented 
him from making military preparations ab- 
solutely required by safety; and they had 
corripelled him to submit to that truce for 
twenty years, which left the entrances of 
Flanders, Germany, and Italy, in the hands 
of France. They had concerted all mea- 
sures of domestic opposition with the French 
minister at the Hague ; and, though there is 
no reason to believe that the opulent and 
creditable chiefs of the party, if they had 
received French money at all, would have 
deigned to employ it for any other than 
what they had unhappily been misled to 
regard as a public purpose, there is the ful- 
lest evidence of the employment of bribes 
to make known at Versailles the most secret 
counsels of the commonwealth. t Amster- 
dam had raised troops for her own defence, 
declaring her determination not to contribute 
towards the hostilities which the measures 



* The speed and joy widi which he and Temple 
concluded the Triple Alliance seem, indeed, to 
prove the contrary. That treaty, so quickly con- 
cluded by two wise, accomplished, and, above all, 
honest men, is perhaps unparalleled in diplomatic 
transactions. "Nulla dies U7iquam memori von 
ezimel er.vo." 

t D'Avau.x, Negociations en Hollande (Paris, 
1754), vol. i. pp. 13, 23, 25, Sec. — examples of trea- 
chery, in some of which the secret was known 
only to three persons. Sometimes, copies of 
orders were obtained frpm the Prince's private 
repositories, vol. ii. p. 53. 



of the general government might occasion, 
and had entered into a secret correspondence 
with France. Friesland and Croningen had 
recalled their trooj^e from (he common de- 
fence, and bound themselves, by a secret 
conveirtion with Amsterdam, to act in con- 
cert with that potent and mutinous city. 
The provinces of Guelderland, Overyssell, 
Utrecht, and Zealand, adhered, hide'ed, to 
the Prince, and he still preserved a majority 
in the States of Hollaml ; but this majority 
consisted only of the order of nobles and of 
the deputies of inconsiderable towns. Fagel, 
his wise and faithful minister, appeared to 
be in danger of destruction at the hands of 
the Kepublicans, who abhorred him as a de- 
serter. But Heinsius, Pensionary of Delft, 
probably the ablest man of that part)-, hav- 
ing, on a mission to Versailles, seen the 
effects of the civil and religious policy of 
Louis XIV., and considering consistency as 
dependent, not on names, but on principles, 
thought it the duty of a friend of liberty 
also to join the party most opposed to that 
monarch's designs. So trembling was the 
ascendant of the Prince in Holland, that the 
accession of individuals was, from their sit- 
uation or ability, of great importance to him. 
His cousin, the Stadt holder of Frieslaiul, was 
gradually gained over ; and Conrad Van Ben- 
ningen, one of the chiefs of Amsterdam, an 
able, at^complished, and disinterested Repub- 
lican, fickle from over-refinement, and be- 
trayed into French councils by jealousy of 
the House of Orange, as soon as he caught a 
glimpse of the abyss into which his country 
was about to fall, recoiled from the brink. 
Thus did the very country where the Prince 
of Orange held sway, fluctuate between him 
and Louis ; insomuch, indeed, that if that 
monarch had observed any measure in his 
cruelty towards French Protestants, it might 
have been iinpossible, till it was too late, to 
turn the force of Holland against him. 

But the weakest point in the defences of 
European independence was England. It 
was not, indeed, like the continental states, 
either attacked by other enemies, or weak- 
ened by foreign influence, or dwindling from 
inward decay. The throne was filled by a 
traitor; a creature of the common enemy 
commanded this important post : for a quarter 
of a century Charles had connived at the 
conquests ot Louis. During the last ten years 
of his reign he received a secret pension ; 
but when Louis became desirous of possess- 
ing Luxemburg, Charles extorted an addi- 
tional bribe for connivance at that new act 
of rapine.* After he had sold the fortress, 
he proposed himself to Spain as arbitrator in 
the dispute reg-arding it;t and so notorious 
was his perfidy, that the Spanish ministers 
at Paris did not scruple to justify their re- 

* " My Lord Hyde (Rochester) ne m'a paa 
cache que si son avis est suivi le Roi s'en entrera 
dans un concert secret pour avoir a V. M. la villa 
de Luxemburg." — Barilloii to Louis, 7th Nov. 
1681. 

t The same to the same, 15th Dec. 



MEMOIR OF THE AFFAIRS OF HOLLAND. 



39B 



fusal to his ambassador, by telling him, " that 
they refused because ihey had no mind to 
part with Luxemburg, which they knew 
was to be sacrificed if they accepted the 
ofTer."* 

William's connection with the House of 
Stuart was sometimes employed by Fiance 
to strengthen the jealous antipathy of the 
Republicans against him 3 while on other oc- 
casions he was himself obliged to profess a 
rehance on that connection which he did 
not feel, in order to gain an appearance of 
strength. As the Dutch Republicans were 
prompted to thwart his measures by a mis- 
applied zeal for liberty, so the English Whigs 
were for a moment compelled to enter into a 
correspondence with the common enemy by 
the like motives. But in his peculiar rela- 
tions with England the imprudent violence 



* Lord Preston to Secretary Jenkins. Paris, 
16th Dec. 1682. Admitted wiihin the domestic 
differences of England, Louis had not scrnpled to 
make advances to the enemies of the court ; and 
they, desirous of detaching their own sovereign 
from France, and of thus depriving him of the 
most effectual ally in his project for rendering 
himself absolute, had reprehensibly accepted the 
aid of Louis in counteracting a policy which they 
had good reason to dread. ^I'hey considered this 
dangerous understanding as allowable for the pur- 
pose of satisfying their party, that in opposing 
Charles they would not have to apprehend the 
power of Louis, and disposing ihe King of France 
to spare the English constitution, as some curb on 
the irresolution and inconstancy of his royal de- 
pendent. To destroy confidence between the 
Courts seemed to be an object so important, as to 
warrant the use of ambiguous means ; and the 
usual sophistry, by which men who are not de- 
praved excuse to themselves great breaches of 
morality, could not be wanting. They could easily 
persuade themselves that they could -stop when 
they pleased, and that the example could not be 
dangerous in a case where the danger was too 
great not to be of very rare occurrence. Some of 
them are said by Barillon to iiave so far copied 
their prince as to have received French money, 
though they are not charged with being, like him, 
induced by it to adopt any measures at variance 
with their avowed principles. If we must be- 
lieve, that in an age of little pecuniary delicacy, 
when large presents from sovereigns were scarcely 
deemed dishonourable, and when many princes, 
and almost all ministers, were in the pay of Louis 
XIV., the statement may be true, it is due to the 
haughty temper, not to say to the high principles 
of Sidney, — it is due, though in a very inferior de- 
gree, to the ample fortunes of others of the per- 
sons named, also to believe, that the polluted gifts 
were applied by them to elections and oiher public 
interests of the popular party, which there might 
be a fantastic gratification in promoting by trea- 
sures diverted from the use of the Court. These 
unhappy transactions, which in their full extent 
require a more critical scrutiny of the original do- 
cuments than that to which they have been sub- 
jected, are not pretended to originate till ten years 
after the concert of the two Courts, and were re- 
linquished as soon as that concert was resumed. 
Yet the reproach brought upon the cause of 
liberty by the infirmity of some men of great soul, 
and of others of the purest virtue, is, perhaps, the 
most wholesome admonition pronounced by the 
warning voice of history against the employment 
of sinister and equivocal means for the attainment 
of the h^F.t ends. 



of the latter jarty was as much an obstacle 
in his way as their alienation or opposition. 
The interest of Europe required that he 
should never relinquish the attempt to detach 
the English government from the conqueror. 
The same principle, together with legitimate 
ambition, prescribed that he sliould do no- 
thing, either by exciting enemies, or estrang- 
ing friends, which could endanger his own 
and the Princess' right of succession to the 
crown. It was his obvious policy, therefore, to 
keep up a good understanding with the popu- 
lar party, on whom alone he could permanent- 
ly rely ; to give a cautious countenance to 
their measures of constitutional opposition, 
and especially to the Bill of Exclusion,* — a 
more effectual mode of cutting asunder the 
chains which bound England to the car of 
Louis, than the proposed limitations on a Ca- 
tholic successor, which might permanently 
weaken the defensive force of the monarchyjt 
and to discourage and stand aloof from all 
violent counsels, — likely either to embroil the 
country in such lasting confusion as would 
altogether disable it for aiding the sinking 
fortunes of Europe, or, by their immediate 
suppression, to subject all national interests 
and feelings to Charles and his brother. As 
his open declaration against the King or the 
popular party would have been perhaps 
equally dangerous to English liberty and 
European independence, he was averse from 
those projects which reduced him to so in- 
jurious an alternative. Hence his conduct 
in the case of what is called the " Rye House 
Plot," in which his confidential correspon- 
dence}; manifests indifference and even dis- 
like to those who were charged with projects 
of revolt ; all which might seem unnatural 
if we did not bear in mind that at the mo- 
ment of the siege of Vienna, he must have 
looked at England almost solely, as the 
only counterpoise of France. His abstinence 
from English intrigues was at this juncture 
strengthened by lingering hopes that it was 
still possible to lure Charles into those unions 
which he had begun to form against farther 
encroachment, under the modest and inoffen- 
sive name of " Associations to maintain the 
Treaty of Nimeguen," which were in three 



* Burnet, vol. ii. p. 245. Temple, vol. i. 
p. 355. "My friendship with the Prince (says 
Temple) I could think no crime, considering how 
little he had ever meddled, to my knowledge, in 
our domestic concerns since the first heals in Par- 
liament, though sensible of their influence on all 
his nearest concerns at home ; the preservation 
of Flanders from French conquests, and thereby 
of Holland from absolute dependence on that 
Crown." 

+ Letters of the Prince to Sir Leoline Jenkins, 
July, 1680.— February, 168L Dalrymple, Ap 
pendix to Review. 

X MS. letters from the Prince to Mr. Bentinck, 
in England, July and August, 1683. By the 
favour of the Duke of Portland, I possess copies 
of the whole of the Prince's correspondence with 
his friend, from 1677 to 1700; written with the 
unreserved frankness of warm and pure friend- 
ship, in which it is quite manifest that there ia 
nothing concealed. 



396 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



years afterwaiils completed by tlie League 
of Augsbuiiih, and which, in 16S9, brought 
all Europe into the lield to check, the career 
of Louis XIV. 

The death of Charles II. gave William 
some hope of an advantageous change in 
finglisli policy. IMany woise men and more 
tyrannical kings than that prince, few per- 
sons of more agreeable (pialitiesand brilliant 
talents have been seated on a throne. But 
his trans;ictions with France probably allord 
the most remarkable instance of a king with 
no sense of national honour or of regixl inde- 
pendence, — the last vest'ges which ileixirting 
virtue might be e.vpected to leave behind in 
a royal bosom. JNlore jealousy of dependence 
on a foreign prince was hopeil from the ster- 
ner temper of his successor. William accord- 
ingly made great ellorls and sacrifices to 
obtain the accession of England to the Euro- 
pean cause. He declared his readiness to 
sacritice his resentments, and even his per- 
sonal interests, and to conform his conduct 
to the pleasure of the King in all things com- 
patible with his religion and with his duty 
to the republic;* — Iniiitations which must 
have been considered as pledges of sincerity 
by him to whom they were otherwise unac- 
ceptable. He declared his regret at the ap- 
pearance of opposition to both his uncles, 
which had arisen only from the necessit)- of 
resisting Louis, and he sent M. D'Auver- 
querque to England to lay his submission 
before the King. James desired that he 
should relhupiish communication with the 
Duke of Monmouth, t dismiss the malcontent 



* Davau.x, 13th— 26ih Feb., 1GS5. The la.<;t 
contains an account of a conversation of William 
with Fagel, overheard by a person who reported 
it to D;waiix. A passage in whieii Davaux shows 
his belief that the policy of the rrince now ainied 
at gaining James, is suppressed in the printed 
collection. 

+ During these unexpected advances to a re- 
newal of friendship, an incident occurred, which 
has ever since, in tiie eyes of many, thrown some 
shade over the sincerity of William. This was 
the landing in England of the Duke of Monmouth, 
with a small inimber of adherenis who had em- 
barked with liim at Amsterdam. lie had taken 
refuiie in the Spanish Netherlands, and afterwards 
in Holland, during the preceding year, in conse- 
quence of a misunderstanding between him and 
the ministers of Charles respecting the nature and 
exteiU of the confession concerning tlie reality of 
the Rye House I'lot, published by them in language 
which he resented as conveyintr unauthorised im- 
putations on bis friends. The Prince and Princess 
of Orange received him with kindness, from per- 
sonal friendship, from compassion for his sull'er- 
ings, and from his connection with the popular 
and Protestant party in England. The transient 
shadow of a pretension to tiie crown did not 
awaken their jealousy. Tiiey were well aware 
that whatever complaints might be made by his 
ministers, Charles himself would not be displeased 
by kindness shown towards his favourite son. 
There is, indeed, little doubt, that in the last year 
of his life, Charles had been prevailed on by Hali- 
fax to consult his ease, as well as his inclination, 
by the recall of his son, as a counterpoise to the 
Duke of York, and thus to produce the balance 
of parties at court, which was one of tlie darling 
te6neinent3 of that too ingcnieus Btatesmon. 



Englisli Officers in the Dutch army, and 
adapt his policy to such eng^agements as 

Reports were prevalent that Monmouth had pri- 
vately visited England, and that he was well 
pleased with his journey. Ho was assured by 
contidential letters, evidently sanctioned by his 
father, that he should be recalled in February. 
It appears also, that Charles had written with his 
own hand a letter to the Prince of Orange, be- 
seeching him to treat Moiunouih kindly, which 
D' Auverqiierque was dirccied to lay before James 
as a satistixciory e.xplanation of whatever might 
seem suspicions in ilie unusual honours paid to 
hiin. Relorc he lelt the Hague the Prince and 
Princess approved the draft ot a submissive letter 
to James, whieli he had laid before them ; and 
they exacted from him a promise that he would 
engage in no violent enterprises inconsistent with 
this submission. Despairing of clemency tVoin 
his uncle, he then appears to have entertained 
designs of retiring into Sweden, or of serving in 
the Imperial army against the Turks ; and he 
listened for a moment to the projects of some 
French Protestants, who proposed that he should 
put himself at the head of tlieir unforiunaie bre- 
thren. He himself thought the difliculties of an 
enterprise against England insuperable ; but the 
imporiuniiy of the English and Scotch retiiffces 
in Holland induced him to return privately there 
to be present at their consultations. He found 
the Scotch exiles, who were proportionately more 
numerous and of greater distinction, and who felt 
more bitterly from the bloody tyranny under which 
their countrymen snflered, impatiently desirous to 
make an immediate attempt for the delivery of 
their country. Ferguson, the Nonconformist 
preacher, eitlier from treachery, or from rasii- 
ness, seconded the impetuosity of his countrymen. 
.\ndrew Fletcher of Saltoun, a man of heroic 
spirit, and a lover ot liberty even to enthusiasm, 
who had just returned from serving in Hungary, 
dissuaded his (rieiids from an enterprise which Ins 
political sagacity and military experience taught 
him to consider as hopeless. In assemblies of 
suffering and angry exiles it was to be expected 
that rasn counsels should prevail ; yet .^lonmouih 
appears to have resisted them longer than could 
have been hoped from his judgment or temper. 
It was not till two months alter the death of 
Charles II. ('.Ith .April, 1C>83,) that the vigilant 
Davaux intimated his suspicion of a design to 
land in England. Nor was it till three weeks 
that he was able to transmit to his Court the par- 
ticulars of the equipment. It was only then that 
Skelton, the minister of James, complained of 
these petty armaments to the Presideiu of the 
States-General and the magistrates of Amsterdatn, 
neither of whom had any authority in the case. 
They referred him to tlto Admiralty of Amster- 
dam, the competent authority in such eases, wiio, 
as soon as tliey were authorised by an order from 
the States-General, proceeded to arrest the ves- 
sels treitjhted by Argyle. But in consequence of 
a mistake in Skelton's description of tlieir station, 
their exertions were too late to prevent the sailing 
of the unfortuna'e expedition on the 5ih of May. 
The natural delays of a slow and formal go- 
vernment, the jealousy of rival authorities, ex- 
asperated by the spirit of party, and the license 
shown in such a country to navigation and trafl'ic, 
are suflkient to account for this short delay. If . 
iliere was in this case a more than usual indisposi- 
tion to overstep the tbrmalitics of the constitution, 
or to quicken the slow pace of the administration, 
it may be well imputed to natural compassion to- 
wards the exiles, and to the strong lellow-feeling 
which arose from agreement in religious opinion, 
especially with the Scotch. If there were proof 
even of absolute connivance, it must be ascribed 
solely to the magistrates and inhabitants of Am- 



MEMOIR OF THE AFFAIRS OF HOLLAND. 



^m 



the King should see fit to contract with his 
neighbours. To tho former conditions the 
Prince submitted without reserve : the last, 
couched in strong language by James to 
Barilion, hid under more general expressions 
by the English minister to Davaux, but im- 
plying in its mildest form an acquiescence in 
the projects of the conqueror, was probably 
conveyed to the Prince himself in terms 
capable of being understood as amounting 
only to an engagement to avoid an interrup- 
tion of the general peace. In that inoffensive 
sense it seems to have been accepted by the 
Prince ; since the King declared to him that 
his concessions, which could have reached 
no farther, were perfectly satisfactory.* 

Sidney was sent to Holland — a choice 
which seemed to indicate an extraordinary 
deference for the wishes of the Prince, and 
which was considered in Holland as a deci- 
sive mark of good understanding between 
the two governments. The proud and hostile 
city of Amsterdam presented an address of 
congratulation to William on the defeat of 
Monmouth ; and the Republican party be- 
gan to despair of effectual resistance to the 
power of the Stadtholder, now about to be 
strengthened by the alliance with England. 
The Dutch ambassadors in London, in spite 
of the remonstrances of Barilion, succeeded 
in concluding a treaty for the renewal of 
the defensive alliance between England and 
Holland, which, though represented to Louis 
as a mere formality, was certainly a step 
which required little more than that liberal 
construction to which a defensive treaty is 
always entitled, to convert it into an acces- 
sion by England to the concert of the other 
states of Europe, for the preservation of their 
rights and dominions. The connection be- 
tween the Dutch and English governments 
answered alike the immediate purposes of 
both parties. It overawed the malcontents 
of Holland, as well as those of England ; and 
James commanded his ministers to signify 
to the magistrates of Amsterdam, that their 
support of the Stadtholder would be accept- 
able to his Majesty. 

William, who, from the peace of Nime- 
guen, had been the acknowledged chief of 

Bterdam, — the ancient enemies of the House of 
Orange, — who might look with favour on an 
expedition which might prevent the Stadtholder 
from being sireneihened by his connection with 
the King of England, and who, as we are told 
by Davaux himself, were afterwards filled with 
consternaiioii when they learned the defeat of 
Monmouth. We know little with ceriainty of 
the particulars of his intercourse with his inex- 
orable uncle, from his capture till his execution, 
except the compassionate interference of the 
Queen Dowager in his behalf; but whatever it 
was, from the King's conduct immediately after, 
it tended rather to strengthen than to shake his 
confidence in the Prince. 

* James to the Prince of Orange, 6th, IGth, avd 
17th March. — Dalrymple, app. to part i. 



the confederacy gradually forming to protect 
tho remains of Europe, had now slowly and 
silently removed all the obstacles to its for- 
mation, except those which arose from the 
unhappy jealousies of the friends of liberty 
at home, and the fatal progress towards ab- 
solute monarchy in England. Good sense, 
which, in so high a degree as his, is one oi 
the rarest of human endowments, had full 
scope for its exercise in a mind seldom in- 
vaded by the disturbing passions of fear and 
anger. With all his determined firmness, 
no man was ever more solicitous not to 
provoke or keep up needless enmity. It is 
no wonder that he should have been influ- 
enced by this principle in his dealings with 
Charles and James, for there are traces of it 
even in his rare and transient intercourse 
with Louis XIV. He caused it to be inti- 
mated to him '-'that he was ambitious of 
being restored to his Majesty's favour;''* to 
which it was haughtily answered, '' that 
when such a deposition was shown in his 
conduct, the King would see what was to be 
done." Yet Davaux believed that the Prince 
really desired to avoid the enmity of Louis, 
as far as was compatible with his duties to 
Holland, and his interests in England. In a 
conversation with Gourville,t which affords 
one of the most characteristic specimens of 
intercourse between a practised courtier and 
a man of plain inofTensive temper, when the 
minister had spoken to him in more soothing 
language, he professed his warm wish to 
please the King, and proved his sincerity by 
adding that he never could neglect the safety 
of Holland, and that the decrees of re-union, 
together with other marks of projects of uni- 
versal monarchy, were formidable obstacles 
to good understanding. It was probably 
after one of these attempts that he made the 
remarkable declaration, — "Since I cannot 
earn his Majesty's favour, I must endeavour 
to earn his esteem." Nothing but an extra- 
ordinary union of wariness with persever- 
ance — two qualities which he possessed in a 
higher degree, and united in juster propor- 
tions, perhaps, than any other man — could 
have fitted him for that incessant, unwearied, 
noiseless exertion which alone suited his 
difficult situation. His mind, naturally dis- 
passionate, became, by degrees, steadfastly 
and intensely fixed upon the single object 
of his high calling. Brilliant only on the field 
of battle ; loved by none but a few intimate 
connections; considerate and circumspect in 
council ; in the execution of his designs bold 
even to rashness, and inflexible to the verge 
of obstinacy, he held his onward way with 
a quiet and even course, which wore down 
opposition, outlasted the sallies of enthusi- 
asm, and disappointed the subtle contriv- 
ances of a refined policy. 



* Davaux, vol. i. p. 5. 
t Gourville, vol. ii. p. 204. 
21 



Si).S 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ES&:VYS. 



DISCOURSE 



R K A P AT THE OPENING OF 



THE LITEllAEY SOCIETY OF BOMBAY. 



[aCth Nov. ISO-J.] 



Ckntlemen, — The smallest sooiotv, brought 
toii^ollier by the lovo of kiiowloiljio, is rosnt'ct- 
able in tlio eye of Reason ; aiul ihe feeblest 
efloits of infant Literature in barren and in- 
hospitable regions are in some respeetsmoro 
interesting than the most elaborate works 
and the most suceessful exertions of the hu- 
man mind. They proY(^ the diflnsion, at 
least, if not the advancement of science; 
and they alford some sanction to the hope, 
that Knowledge is destined one day to visit 
the whole earth, and, in her benelieial pro- 
gress, to illuminate and humanise the whole 
race of man. It is, therefore, with singular 
pleasure that I see a small but respectable 
Dedy of men assembled here by snch a piin- 
ciple. 1 hope that we agree in considering 
all Europeans who visit remote countries, 
whatever their sejxirate pursuits may be. as 
detachments of the main body of civilized 
men, sent out to levy contributions of know- 
ledge, as well as to guin victories over bar- 
barism. 

When a large portion of a country so inte- 
resting as India fell into the hands of one of 
the most intelligent and inquisitive nations 
of the world, it was natural to expect that its 
ancient and present state should at last be 
fully disclosed. These expectations were, 
indeed, for a time disappointed : during the 
tumult of revolution and war it wouKl have 
been unreasonable to have entertained them ; 
and when tranquillity was established in 
that country, which continues to be the 
centre of the British power in Asia,* it ought 
not to have been forgotten that every Eng- 
lishman wiis full}' occupied by commerce, 
by military* service, or by administration; 
that we had among us no idle public of 
readers, and, consequently, no separate pro- 
fession of writers; and that every hour be- 
btowed on study was to be stolen from the 
leisure of men often harassed by business, 
enervated by the climate, and more disjxised 
to seek amusement than new occupation, in 
the intervals of their appointed toils. 

It is, besides, a jvirt of our national charac- 
ter, that we are seldom eager to display, and 
not always ready to communicate, what we 
have acquired. In this respect we dilfer 
considerably from other lettered nations. 
Our ingenious and polite neighbours on the 

* Benjjal. — Ep. 



continent of Knrope, — to whose enjoyment 
the applause of others seems more indispen- 
sable, and whose faculties aie more nimblo 
antl restless, if not more vigorous than ours, 
— aiv neither so patient of repose, nor so 
likely to be contented with a secret hoard of 
knowledge. Tlu>y carry even into their lite- 
rature a spirit of bustle and parade; — a bus- 
tle, indeed, which springs from activit)-, and 
a paraile which animates enterprise, but 
which are incompatible with our sluggish 
and sullen dignity. Pride disdains ostenta- 
tion, scorns false pretensions, despises even 
petty merit, refuses to obtain tlie objects of 
pursuit by llattery or importunity, and .^oarce- 
Iv values any praise but that which she has 
the right to comuu\nd. Pride, with which 
foreigners charge us, and which under the 
name of a 'sense of dignity' we claim for 
ourselves, is a lazy and unsocial tjuality; 
and is in these respects, as in most others, 
the very reverse of the sociable and good- 
humoureil vice of vanity. It is not, there- 
fore, to be wondered at, if in India our na- 
tional character, co operating with local cir- 
cumstaiu'cs, should have produced some real 
and perhaps more apparent inactivity in 
worknig the mine of knowledge of u hicli we 
had become the masters. 

Vet some of the earliest exertions of i)ri- 
vale Englishmen are too important to be 
jxrssed over in silence. The compilation of 
laws by IMr. Ilalhed, and the Ayecn Akba- 
ree, translated by Rlr. Cladwin, deseivo 
honourable mention. Mr. Wilkins g~aiiu>d 
the memorable distinction of having ojn^u'd 
the treasures of a new learned language to 
Europe. 

But, notwithstanding the merit of these 
individual exertions, it cannot be denied that 
the era of a general direction o( the mind of 
Englishmen in this country towards learned 
inquiries, was the Ibundation of the Asiatic 
Society by Sir William Jones. To give such 
an impulse to the public umlerstanding is 
one of the greatest benefits that a man can 
confer on his fellow men. On snch an occa- 
sion as the present, it is impossible to pro- 
nounce the name of Sir William Jones with- 
out feelings of gratitude and reverence. He 
was among the distinguished persons who 
adorned one of the brightest periods of Eng- 
lish literature. It was no mean distin^'tion 
to be conspicuous in the age of Burke and 



OPENING OF THE LITERARY SOCIETY OF BOMBAY. 



899 



John 
G 



)hnson^ of Hume and Smith, of Gray and 
oldsmith, of Gibbon and Jtobo-rtWin, of 
Ro'vnolds and Garrick. It was tho foiluno 
of Sir William Jonos to havfj b';on ihf; Inorid 
of thi; ^Muator part of these illustriois rn<;ri. 
Without hirn, th'j a^c in which lio lived 
would havi; b(!f;ii inlorior to past lirn(;s in 
one kind of literary f^lory : he surpaHHe<l all 
his contemporaries, and perhaps even the 
most laboiious scholars of tfie two former 
centuries, in extent and variety of attainment. 
His facility in acquiring was almost prodi- 
gious; and he possessed that faculty of ar- 
ranjiin^ and communicating^ his knowledj^e 
whicli these laborious scholars veryf-^enerally 
wanted. Erudition, which in them was 
oftf;n disorderly and ruiiund, and hafl sorne- 
ihin;;^ of an illiberal arul almost barbarous 
air, was by him presented to the woild with 
all the elegance and amenity of polite litera- 
ture. Thout,di he seldom dire-cted liis miii<l 
to those subjects the succefsful investij^ation 
of which confers the name of a '' philosopher," 
yet he possessed in a very eminent degree 
that habit of disposing his knowledge in 
regular and analytical ord';r, which is one 
of the properties of a philosophical under- 
standing. His tJilents as an elegant writer 
in verse were among his instruments for at- 
taining knowledge, and a new example of 
the variety of his accomplishments. In his 
easy and flowing pro«e we justly admire that 
order of exposition and transparency of lan- 
guage, which are the most indi.spensable 
qualities of styh;. and the chief excellencies 
of which it is capable, when it is employed 
solely to instruct. His writings everywhere 
breathe pure taste in morals as well as in 
literature: and it may be said with truth, 
that not a single sentiment fuas escaped him 
which does not indicate the real elegance 
and dignity which pervaded the most secret 
recesses of his mind. He had lived, per- 
haps, too e.vclusively in the world of learning 
for the cultivation of his practical under- 
standing. Other men have meditated more 
deeply on the constitution of society, and 
have taken more comprehensive views of its 
complicated relations and infinitely varied in- 
terests. Others have, therefore, often taught 
sounder principles of political science; but 
no man more warmly felt, and no author is 
better calculated to uispire. tho.se generous 
sentiments of liberty, without which the 
most ju.st principles are useless and lifeless, 
and which. will, I trust, continue to flow 
through the channels of eloquence and poe- 
try into the minds of British youth. It has, 
indeed, been somewhat lamented that he 
should liave exclusively directed inquiry to- 
wards antiquities. But every man must be 
allowed to recommend most strongly his 
own favourite pursuits; and the chief diffi- 
culty as well as the chief merit is his, who 
first raises the minds of men to the love of 
any part of knowledge. When mental ac- 
tivity is once roused, its direction is easily 
changed; and the excesses of one writer, if 
they are not checked by public reason, are 



compensated by the opposite ones of his 
successor. " Wfuitever withdraws us from 
the dominion of the senses — whatever makes 
the past, the distant, and the fulure, pro- 
dorninati; ov»;r the present, advances us in 
the dignity of thinking beings.'''* 

It is not for me to attempt an estimate of 
those exertions for the advancement of know- 
ledge wliich iiave arisen from the (jxample 
and exhortations of Sir William .Jones. In 
all judgments pronounced on our contempo- 
raries it is HO certain tiiat we shall be ac- 
cused, and so probabh; tli;it v»e rnay be 
justly accused, of either partially bestowinj^, 
or invidiously withholding prai.se, that it 18 
in general better to atlernjit no encroach- 
ment on tlie jurisdiction of Time, which 
alone im])artially and justly estimatf^s the 
works of men. But it would be un|jardon- 
;i.ble not to s[ieak of the College at Calcutta, 
the original plan of which was rloubtless the 
most magnilicent attempt ever made for the 
promotion of learning in the East. I am not 
conscious thiat I am biassed either by per- 
sonal feelings, or literary prejudices when I 
say, th/'it I consider tfiat original plan as a 
wm: and noble proposition, the adoption of 
wdiich ill its full extent would have hari the 
happiest tendency in securing the good go- 
vernment of India, as well as in promoting 
the interest of science. Even in its ((resent 
mutilated slatfj we Iiave seen, at the last 
public exhibition, Siinscrit declamation by 
English youth ;t — a circumstance m extra- 
ordinary, t}i;it. if it be followed by suitable 
advance-s, it will mark an ejX)ch in the his- 
tory of learning. 

Among the humblest fruits of this spirit I 
take the liberty to mention the project of 
forming this Society, which occurred to me 
before I left Englano, but which never could 
li-'ive aflvancr;d cvi:n to its present state with- 
out your hearty concurrence, and which must 
depend on your active co-operation for all 
hopes of future success. 

You will not suspect mg of presuming to 
dictate the nature and object of our common 
exertions. To be valuable they mu.st be 
spontaneous; and no literary society can 
subsist on any other principle than tJat of 
equality. In the observations which I shall 
make on the plan and subject pf our in- 
quiries, I shall offer myself to you only as 
the representative of the curiosity of Europe. 
I am ambitious of no higher office than that 
of faithfully conveying to India the desires 
and wants of the learned at home, and of 
stating the subjects on which they wisii and 
expect satisfaction, from inquiries which caa 
be pursued only in India. 

In fulfilling the duties of this mission, I 
shall not be expected to exhaust so vast a 
subject; nor is it necessary that I should at- 
tempt an exact distribution of science. A 
very general sketch is all that I can pro- 

* Dr. Johnson at lona. — Ed. 
t It must \)C romenitjercd that this was written 
in 1804.— Ed. 



400 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



mise; in whioli I shall pass over inuny sub- 
jects lapiJly, and dwell only on those parts 
ou which from my own habits of eludy I 
may think niyselt' least disijualiliod to oiler 
useful sui;iie.stions. 

The objeels of these inquiries, as of all 
human kiiowledi;e, are reducible to two 
classes, which, for want of moro significant 
and precise terms, wo must bo content to 
call '• Physical" and " Moral,"— aware of 
the laxity and ambiguity of these words, but 
not adecting a greater degree of exactness 
than is necessary for our immediate purpose. 

The physical sciences alibrd so easy and 
pleasing an amusement; they are so directly 
subservient to the useful arts* and in their 
higher forms they so much diMight onr ima- 
gination and flatter our pride, by the display 
of the authority of man over nature, that 
th'.Mc can be no nvi\\ of argunuMits to prove 
their uliliiy. and no want of powerful and 
obvious motives to dispose men to their cul- 
tivation. The whole extensive anil beautiful 
science of Natural History, which is the 
foundation of all physical Knowledge, has 
many additional charms in a country where 
so many treasures must still be unexplored. 

Tlie science of JMineralogy, which has 
been of late years cultivated with great ac- 
tivity in Europe, has such a palpable con- 
nection with the useful arts of life, that it 
cannot bi' necessary to recommend it to the 
attention of th(? intelligent and curious. India 
is a country which I believe no miiu'ralogist 
has yet examined, and wliicli wouUl doubt- 
less amply repay the labour of the first 
scientific adventurers who explore it. The 
discovery of new sources of wealth woukl 
probably be the result of such an investiga- 
tion ; and sonu>thing might perhaps be con- 
lribul(Hl towards the accomplishment of the 
ambitious i)rojecls of those philosojihers, who 
from the arraimomenl of earths antl mintuals 
have been bold enough to form conjectures 
respecting the general laws which have go- 
verned the past revolutions of our planet, 
and which preserve its parts in their present 
order. 

The Botany of India has been less ne- 
glected, but it cannot be exhau.sted. The 
higher parts of the siJience, the structure, 
the functions, the habits of vegetables, — all 
subjects intimately coiniected with the first 
of physical sciences, though, unfortunately, 
the most dark anil ililTicult, the philosophy 
of life, — have in general been too much .sa- 
crificed to objects of value, indeed, but of a 
value far inferior: and professed botanists 
have usually contented themselves witli ob- 
serving enough of plants to give them a 
name in their scientific language, and a 
plact? in their artificial arrangement. 

Much information also remains to be 
gleaned on that part of natural history which 
regards Animals. The manners of many 
tropical races must have binui imperfectly 
observed in a few iiuliviiluals separated 
from their f(>llows, and imprisoned in the 
unfriendly climate of Europe. 



The variations of temperature, the state 
of the atmosphere, all the appe;..rances that 
are comprehended inider tlu; words '•' wea- 
ther" and "climate," are the conceivable 
subject of a science of which no luilimcnts 
yet exist. It will }>robably r(H|uire thi; ob- 
servations of c(Mituries to lay the foumlations 
of theory on this subject. Theri^ can .scarce 
be any region of the world more favourably 
circumstanced for observation than India: 
for there is none in which the operation of^ 
these causes is more regular, more power- 
ful, or more immeiliately discoverable ia 
their effect on vegetable and animal nature. 
Tliose philoso})hers who have denied the in- 
fluence of dinuite on the human character 
were not inhabitants of a tropical country. 

To the members of the learned jirofession 
of nuulicine, who are necessarily sj)read 
over every part of India, all the above inqui- 
ries peculiarly, though not exclusively, be- 
long. Some of them an; eminent for science; 
many nnist be well-inf(n nied ; anil their pro- 
fessional education must have given to all 
some tincture of physical knowledge. With, 
even moderate preliminary ac(]uirement8 
they may be very useful, if they will but 
consider themselves as philosophical col- 
lectors, whose duty it is never to neglect 
a favourable opportunity for observations on 
weather and climate, to keep exact journals 
of whatever they observe, and to transmit, 
through their imm'ediate superiors, to ihe 
scientific depositories of (Jreat Hrilain, speci- 
mens of every mineral, vegetable, or animal 
production which they conceive to be singu- 
lar, or with respect to which they suppose 
themselves to have observed any new and 
important facts. If their previous studies 
have been imperfect, they will, tio doubt, be 
sometimes mistaken: but these mistakes 
are perfectly harmless. It is belter that ten 
useless specimens should be sent to Lon- 
don, than that one "Curious one should be 
neglected. 

But it is on another and still more im- 
portant subject that wo expect the most 
valuable assistance from our medical asso- 
ciates : — this is, the science of ]\ledicine 
itself. It must be allowed not to be quite 
so certain as it is important. But though 
every man ventures to .-cofF at its uncer- 
tainty as long as he is in vigorous health, yet 
the iiardiest sceptic becomes credulous as 
soon as his head is fixed to the pillow. Those 
who examine the history of medicine with- 
out either scepticism or blind admiration, 
will find that every civilized age, after all 
the fluctuations of systems, oi)inions, and 
modes of practice, has at length left some 
balance, however small, of new truth to the 
succeeding generation; and that the stock 
of human knowledge in this as well as in 
other departments is constantly, though, it 
must be owned, very slowly, increasing. 
Since my arrival here, I have had suflicient 
reason to believe that the practitioners of 
medicine in India are not unworthy of their 
enlightened and benevolent profession. — 



OPENING OF THE LITERARY SOCIETY OF BOMBAY. 



401 



From tli(!m, thnn'fore, I hope the public may 
;loiiv(!, ihioii^'h lliii medium of ihirt Society, 
irifoirnalioii ol' the hif^fiest value. I)iH(!aH(!s 
and moii<!S of cure unknown to Kuropcan 
phy.siciarirt may be di8clo3(!d to tlirm ; and 
if tlj(! (!aus(!8 of dis«;ase are mon; active in 
this coiinlry llian in Knf^land, i(;rn(!(iicH are 
em|)loy(;<l and diseases subdued, at Iciast in 
Bome cases, with a certainty which mi:,'ht 
excite; the wondiT of tlu! rruist HuccM^ssful 
practitiotHMS in Europe. Hy full and faithful 
narratives of their modes of treatment thisy 
will conrjuer that distrust of new j)Ians of 
cure, anci that incredulity resptictin^ what- 
ever is uncommon, which sometimes prevail 
amon*? our En^^lish pliysicians; which art; 
the natural result of much (ixperiencc- and 
many disapnointmr-nls ; and which, thou;,di 
individuals have often just reason to corn- 
plain of their indiscriminate aj)plicalion, an; 
not ultimately injurious to IIk; pro^^ress of 
the medical art. They never finally pre- 
vent the ado|)tion of just theory or of use- 
ful practice : th(!y retard it no lonj^er than is 
necfjssary for such a severe trial as })re- 
cludes all fulnrr; doubt. Even in thfjir ex- 
cess, thijy are wholtjso'me correctives of the 
opposite excesses of credulity and dot,'ma- 
tism; fhey are safcfrnards apainst exajr^'era- 
tion and quackery; they are tests of utility 
and truth. A i)hiloso[)hical physician, who 
is a r'!al lover of his art. ou;,'ht not, thereforf!, 
to desire the extinction of these dispositions, 
thou;j;h h(! may suffer temporary injustice 
from iheir infliiencr!. 

Those objects of our irirpiiries which 1 
have calhid ''Moral" (employini^ that term 
in the sf!nse in which it is contradistinguished 
from "Physical") will chiefly corn[)rehend 
the past and present condition of the inhabi- 
tants of the vast country which surrounds 
us. 

To bejfin with their present condition : — 
I take the libfsrly of very earnestly recom- 
mending a kind of resr-arch, which has 
hitherto been either neglected or ordy car- 
ried on for the information of Government, 
— I mean the investigation of thosi- facts 
which are the subjects of political arithmetic 
and statistics, and w?iich are a part of the 
foundation of the science of Political Econo- 
my. The rnunbers of the people; the num- 
berof births, marria^'es, and (heaths ; the pro- 
portion of children who are reared to matu- 
rity; the distribution of the people aecordini; 
to their occupations and castes, and especi- 
ally accordinf^ to the threat division of agri- 
cultural and manufacturing'; and the re- 
lative state of th"8e circurnslances at dif- 
ferent periods, which can only be ascertained 
by permanent fables, — are the basis of this 
important part of knowledj^e. No tables of 

fiolilieal arithmetic have yet br;en made pub- 
ic from any tropical country. I need not 
expatiate on the importance of the informa- 
tion which such tables would be likely to 
afford. I shall mention only as an example 
of their value, that they must lead to a de- 
cisive solution of the problems with respect 
51 



to the influence of polyf^amy on population, 
and th(! su|)j)ose(i oiif^in of that practice in 
th(! disprojjorlioned number of tJu; sexes. 
Hut in a country wh(!r(j (ivery part of the 
iiystem of manners and institutions difl'crs 
from those of Europe?, it is irnjiossible fo 
foresee,' the exle-nl and variety of the new 
results which an accurate survey might pre- 
sent to us. 

These inquiries are naturally followed by 
those which r«!;rard the subsistence of tho 
p(!0|)le; thr; orif^in and distribution of public 
wealth; the wa'ics of every kind of labour, 
from lh(i rudest to the most refined ; the 
pric(! of commoditi(!s, and esj)ecially of pro- 
visions, which necessarily re^nlates that of 
all others; the modes of the tenure and 
occupation of land ; the profits of trade; the 
usual and extraordinary rales of interest, 
which is the i)ric(! paid for the hire of 
mon(!y ; the nature and extent of domestic 
commerce, everywh(;re the greatest and 
most profitable!, though the most diflicult to 
be ascertaineel ; those of fore-ign traflic, more 
easy to be determineel by the; accounts of 
exports anel impe)rts; the contributions by 
which the <!xp(!rises of government, of chari- 
table;, h;arneej, and religious founelations are 
deifraye-d ; the laws and custejrns whiedi re'gu- 
late; all the-sr; gre'at obje-cts, and the; (luctua- 
tiejii whie;ii has be;e!n ejbse'rve-d in all eir any 
of them at different time-sand unde-r elifferent 
circumstances. Tlie^se; are Home; of the; points 
towards which I shoulil vetry earnestly wish 
to direct the c;jriosity of our intelligent 
countrymen in India. 

These inquiries have the advantage of 
being easy and open to all men of good 
se^nse. Tne-y do not, like aritiepjarian and 
philological researches, reejuire great previ- 
ous erudition and constant refenenee to ex- 
tensive libraries Theiy require nothing but 
a resolution to observe facts attentively, and 
to redate; the^m aceurate-ly ; anel whoever feels 
a disposiliejn to asc(;riel from facts to princi- 
pl<;8 will, in general, find sufficie;nt aid to 
nis understanding in the great work of Dr. 
Smith, — the most permanent monument of 
philosophical gejtiius which our nation has 
produceei in the pre;sent age. 

They have thf; further advantage of b<;ing 
close'ly anel intimately connected with the 
professional pursuits anel jjublic duties of 
every Englishman who fills a civil office in 
this country: they form the ve;ry science of 
administration. One of the; first requisites 
to the right aelministration of aelistrict is the 
knowledge of its po|)ulation, inelustry, and 
wealth. A magistrate ought to know the 
condition of the country which he superin- 
tends; a collector ougnt to understand its 
revenue; a commercial resident ought to be 
thoroughly acquainteel with its commerce. 
We only desire that part of the knowledge 
which they ought to posseas should bo com- 
municated to the world.* 



[* " The F.nKJish in India are too fjimiliar with 
that country to fuel much wonder in most parts 
2i2 



402 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANKOUS ESSAYS. 



I will not prottMul to nrtirm that no jwrt of 
this kuowloilirt' ought to bo continod to CJo- 

of it, niul nro too iinntsionily roniuH'tcil with it to 
tiiko a luiiioiial mion-st iii iis luinuio tli-si'ripiioii. 
To ilu-so i)list;u'li"s must ln> opposi'il both i\ soiiso 
of iluiy luul a prospiu-t of ropmaiion. The scr- 
▼aiiis of the C'omp.mv would quaiiiy llu'iusolves 
for the ptMl'orin;\ni-o ot' thoir puhlii* iluiioa, l>y ool- 
loriiuiT ilio nuist iiiimiio !u>-ouius of iho iiis!ri>-ls 
which ilu-y niiminisicr. The pubhcaiion ol sucli 
nccouiiis must oftou disiiiiijuish ilio iiuiivn,lu:tls, 
niui always ilo i-reilit to tin- mriiiorious hoily of 
■which tlu'y aro a part. Kvoii tlu> most d iViJoiii 
mairisiraio or coUootor miijht onlarge or i-onoct 
liie ariii'lt's rolaiins; to his dislrici and lU'iL^hhour- 
hood. ill the hiioly puhlisliod cJa/.i-lliMT ol liuliu; 
and, liy the coiumuiiicanou of such maiiMJaN. the 
very laud:ililo and valuahlo essay of IMr. llniit- 
ilton miiilit, in sueoessivo editions, sjrow int.> n 
conipjeto system of liuhan topo<;raphy. . . . Meri- 
torious publications by servants of the Kasi India 
Company, have, in our opinii>n. peculiar elaiins 
to liberal commeiiilation. The price which (neat 
Britain pays to the inhabitants o( India for iier do- 
minion, is the si-enriiy ilnit iheir g<>ver;nnent shall 
he ndministered by a class o( respectable men. 
Ill fact, they are jxovcnicd by a ureater proportion 
of sensible and honest men, than could fall to their 
lot undiT the i;overnmeiit of their own or of any 
other nation. Wiihout this superiority, and the 
securiies which exist for ns eoiiiimiaiiee, in the 
condition of the pers<>ns, in ilieir now o.\cel!ent 
education, in their geiu-ral respect for the public 
opinion of IX free eouniry, isi the protection nf 
forded, and the restraint imposed by the press and 
by Parliainent, all reirulaiions for the luiimiiis- 
iration of India would be nuiiatory, and the 
wisest system of laws would be no more than 
waste paper. 'The means ol' exeentiiii:: the laws. 
are in the character of ilic administrators. To 
keep that character pure, they must be taufjlit to 
respect iheniselves; and they ought to feel, that 
distant as they are, they will be npnhuided and 
protected by their country, when they deserve 
comniciulatioii, or reniiire defence. Their public 
is remoie, and ouahi to make some eompensation 
for distance by proniptiiude and v.c-.A. The prin- 
cipal object lor which the Ivist India I'ompanv 
e.xists in the newly inodilied system (.)t ISKl, — V.i\] 
is to provide a safe body of electors to liulian olli- 
cers. lioth in the orisjinal appoiiiimenis, and in 
subsequent prefermeni, it was ihoujilu that there 
was no medium between iireservino; iheir power, 
or transferrin!: the patronage to the Crown. I'noii 
the whole, it cannot be denied that they are toler- 
ably well adapted to perform these functions. 
They are sulliciently numerous and eonnocted 
wiih the more respectable classes of the eoininu- 
nitv, to exempt their patronage from the direct 
influence of the Crown, and to spre;.d their choice 
S(> widely, as to alVord a reasonable probability of 
sutlicient personal merit. l\luch — perhaps eiioii;;h 
— has been done by legal regulations, to guard 
prelerinent from great abuse. I'erhaps, indeed, 
the spirit of activity aiul emulaiiiin may have lieen 
weakened by prcenntions against the operation 
of personal favour. Hut this is. no doubt, the safe 
error. The Company, and indeed any branch of 
the Indian administration in Europe, can do little 
directly tor India : they are far too distant for 
much direct administration. The great duty 
which they have to perform, is to control their 
servants and to punisii delinquency in deeds ; but 
•as the ehiel" principle of their administration — to 
guard the privileges of these servants, to maintain 
their dignity, to encourage their merits, to animate 
those principles of self-respect and honourable am- 
bition, which are the true securities of honest and 
fiVectnal service to the public. In every govorii- 
ment, the character of the subordinate otiiccrs is 



vernmont. I nni not so intoxiontcil hv phi- 
lo80]>hionl pirjinlico as to mtiiiiiaiii that llin 
siift'ty of 11 stiilo is to Ih» tMitlaiipMcii for I In? 
unitilioatioii of seioiitilio ouriosity. 'I'lioiiyh 
I ant fat from thiiikitiii that this is I lie ilc- 
parttiKMit in which sci'ivt-y is most nsoful, 
yi't 1 ilo not pri>siinn> to twoliuio it. l^it K-l it 
ht« nviuMnlxMCil, tiiat wivat(>vt>r iiifoiinalioii 
is tims ooiiliiu>d to n (iiivonimoiil may, for 
all jnirposi's of seioiioe^, ho snpju'sivl not to 
oxist. As loiij^ as tht> stHMi>oy is thonuht 
important, it is of oonr.s(> shut tip Iroin most 
of thoso who oonlil turn it to hcst aeeinint ; 
and whtMi it ooast>s to ho gnanloil wiih jt>a- 
lonsy. it is as rirotMually st'Otiroil iVoin all 
nsrfnl o.xamination hy tho mass of iiliioial 
InmhtM" niuliM' wliioh it is nsnally hnritnl : for 
this irason. alitor a voiy short tini(\ it ia as 
niurh lost lo tlu< (iloviMtimont it.'^flf as it is 
to iho i>nhlio. A Iraiisicnt ouriosity. or tho 
nooo.ssity of illuslratiiiL; sonio lomiiorary mat- 
ttM-. may iiuluoo a ]niblio ollieor to ilig for 
knowlctlgo iiiultM- tho heaps of rnhhislt that 
otii'timbor his otlioo ; hut 1 havo mysolf 
known inloUigont jmhiio otlii-ors ooiitont 
thomsolvos with tho vory iiiforior infofnia- 
tion ooiilainoil in printod books, while thoir 
sholvi-s orroantvl uiulor tho woighl of RISS., 
whioh wouKl bo moro instiuciivo if thoy 
oouKl be ivad. Further, it must beobservetl, 
that ]inbliealion is always the best seourity 
to a (lovernmenl tliat they are not di'c«MvtHl 
hy tlu> rt^ports of thiMr siMvants ; iiiid wliere 
those servants act at a disttmoe the imjunt- 
anoo of sneh a seourity for tlieir veiaeily is 
very srreat. For tho truth of a manuseript 
report they never can have a better warrant 
than tho lione.sty of ono servant who pro- 
pares it, and of another wlio examines it; 
but for the truth of all long-mieontested nar- 
ii\tioiisof importiiiit faets in printed aeeounts, 
published in eonntries where they may bo 
eoiitradiotod, we have the silent Ii-slimony 
of every man who might be j>romi't(>d by 
interest, prejndiee. or humour, to ilisputo 
them if they were not tine. 

1 have already saiil that all eommum'oa- 
tions merely made to (Jovornntent aro lost 
to seience ; while, on the other hand, per- 
haps, the knowledge oommunieatoil to tho 
public is that of which a (lOvornmeiit may 
most easily avail itself, and on which it may 
most siHMirely rely. 'I'his loss to science is 
v«M'V great ; for the jMiiiciples of jiolitical 
ocontMuy have been iiives!ig-.iti\l in Europe, 
and the application of them to such a coun- 
try as India must be one of the most curious 
tests which could be contrived of their truth 
anil universal operation. Every thiiio- hero is 
new ; and if they are fouml hero also to bo 
the true principles of natural suosistence and 
wealth, it will bo no longer possible to dis- 
pute that thoy are the gtMioral laws which 

of great moment; hut the privileges, the oliarac- 
ter and the importance of the civil and military 
establishments, are, in the last result, the only con- 
ceivable sceuriiy for the preservation and good 
government of India." — Eiiinburgk Jxevicw, vol. 
.vxv. p. 435. — Ed.] 



OPENING OF THE LITEltAItY SOCIETY OF BOMBAY. 



403 



every whore f^overn Ihis important part of 
the rriov<;rrif;;ilH (»( the Hocial rnachiin;. 

It huH b';(;M lately oljHf-rvcd, tliat ''if \\\i; 
various Htati'K ol Kuropo kfj)l and publif-lnid 
aiiMually an r;xa(;t account ol tlimr pojjula- 
lion, notiiif^ c.ariifuliy in a Hccofid colunui llir; 
exact ii^a at which tho children die;, thirt 
second column would tthow the relative 
merit of tin; ^^over/irnenls and the cornpaia- 
tivo happinoHS of their Kubjr;ctH. A Hirnple 
arithmetical Hiatement would then, perhapn, 
be more conclu»ive tlian all the ar/^umentH 
which could he produced." I agree with 
the iiif^rjiiinus wrilrjrH who have »Uf;f^eKted 
this idea, and I think it rnuht appear per- 
fectly evid<;nt lliat the number of cliildren 
reared to maturity munt be anion;,' llie tehtB 
of the ha()piri»!HH of a KOci«;ty, though the 
number of children born cannot be so con- 
sidered, and i« often the companion and 
one of tlie cauHrss of public miwi^ry. It may 
be affirmed, without the risk of exagg(;ra- 
tion, that every accuiate compariHon of the 
state of different countries at trie wirrie time, 
or of the same country at different times, 
is an approach to ihat slate of things in which 
the marjifrjht palpable iiiterf;Ht of every Co- 
vernment will be ihe prosperity of its sub- 
jects, which never has been, and which 
never will bf,', advancr;d by any other means 
than those of hurnariily and justice. The 
pr(;valence ol' justice; would not indeed be 
universally insured by such a conviction; 
for bad governments, as well as bad men, as 
often act against their own obvious interest 
as against that of others: but the chances 
of tyranny must be diminished when tyrants 
are compelle-d to 8(;e that it is folly. In the 
mean time, the ascertainrnr;nl oi every new 
fact, the discovery of every new principle, 
and even thi; diffusion of jirinciples known 
before, add to that great body of slowly and 
reasonably formed public opinion, which, 
however weak at first, must at last, with a 
gentle and scarcely sensible coercion, compel 
every Government to pursue its own real 
interest. This knowledge is a control on 
subordinate agents for Government, as well 
as a control on Government for their subjects: 
and it is one of those which has not the 
slightest tendency to produce tumult or con- 
vul>ion. On the contrary, nothing more 
clearly evinces the necessity of that firm 
nrotecling pow<!r by which alone order can 
tje secured, 'i'he security of the governed 
cannot exist without the security of the go- 
vernors. 

Lastly, of all kinds of knowletlge, Political 
Eccnomy has tho greatest tendency to pro- 



mole f|uiet and safe improvement in tho 
gene'ral condition of mankind ; because it 
shows that improvement is the inter<!st of 
thf; gfjvernrnent. and lhat stability is the in- 
terest of tiic j)eople. 'J'fie extraoidinary and 
unfortuiiiJte event;-* of our times have indeed 
damjjed the s;inguine liojies of grjod men, 
and tilled ihr-m with doubt and fear: but in 
all possible case-s the counsels of this science 
are at least safe. They are adapted to all 
forms of government : they ref|uiie only a 
wise and just administration, 'iliey require, 
as the first j)rinciple of all prosperity, lliat 
peifrjct se-eurity of persons and property 

, which can only exist where the supreme 
authority is stable. 

I On th'.'se principles, nothing can be a 
means of im|)rovement which is not alw> a 

[ means of preservation. It is not only absurd, 

, but contradictory, to speak of sacrificing the 
present generation for the sake of posterilj. 
The moral order of the world is not so dis- 
posed. It is impossible to promote the in- 
t<;rest of future generatioi<s by any measures 
injurious to the present; and h(; who labours 

[ indu.striousjy to prfnnotr! tfi'; honour, the 

j safety, and the prosp(;iity of his own coun- 
try, by innocent and la'wful means, may be 

, assured lhat he is contributing, probably as 
much as the order of nature will permit a 
private individual, towards the welfare of all 
mankind. 

Tfiese hopes of improvement have sur- 
vived in my breast all the calamities of our 
European world, and are not extingui.shed 
by lhat genrnal condition of national insecu- 
rity which is tlie most formidable enemy of 
improvement. Founded on such principles, 
they are at least perff'ctly innocent : they 
are such as, even if tliey were visionary, an 
admirer or cultivator of letters ought to b« 
pardoned for cherishing. Without them, 
literature and philosojjhy can claim no more 
than the highest rank among the amuse- 
ments and ornaments of liuman life. With 
these hopes, they assume the dignity of being 
part of that discipline under which the race 
of man is destined to proceed to the highest 
degree of civilization, virtue, and happiness, 
of which our nature is capable. 

On a future occasion I may have tho 
honour to lay before you my thoughts on the 
principal obji-cts of inquiry in the geography, 
ancie-nt and modern, the language's, the lite- 
rature, the necessary and elegant arts, the 
religion, the authentic history and the anti- 
quities of India; and on the rnode in which 
such inquiries appear to me most likely lo 
bo conducted with succcbb. 



404 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



lUubiciac C&allicac. 



A DEPETs^CE OE THE ERENCII llEYOLUTKiN 



ENGLISH ADMIRERS, 

AGAINST THK ACrUSATIONS OV THK. lUGIIT HON. KDMUNll mniKF.. INCT.VPINC; 1»0ME 
STKimUlliS ON THK LATF. rKODlurnoN OF MON^l. OK CAl.ONNU. 



INTRODUCTION, 



TiiF. l;\tt> opinions of l\lr. I'luko fnvnishod 
more matter of astonishniiMit to ihoso who 
had distantly obstMvi'd, tluiu to tlioso who 
had oonvi'ily t'xaminoil, tho systom of his 
foimor political hfo. An abhoriiMico for iib- 
strart politios, a prodilortion for aristoi'iacy, 
and a liri^ad of ninovation, havo over bt>on 
auionn' tlio most .s;\oivd aitii'los of his piiblii" 
orofd : and it was not Iiki>Iy that at his af;v 
ho shonld abandon, to tho invasion of anda- 
cions novt>hi(>s, opinions whiidi ho liad ro- 
coivod so (Mily, atul niaintainod so loiii^'. — 
whii-h had bi>(Mi foitiliod by thr applanso of 
thoi^ri-at, and iho assoiit of iho \vist\ — whioh 
ho had dirtatod to so many ilhislrious pupils, 
andsnppoitod ai::ainst so many ilistiiiiinislu'd 
oppoiuMiis. Men who oaily attain on\iiuMU'o, 
roposo in thoir lirst oivod, to tlio nojiloct of 
tho proi>ross of thi> Imnian mind snbsoquont 
to its adoption ; aiul when, as in tho prosont 
oaso, it has burst foitli into action, tliry ro- 
pard it as a Iransiont madiu^ss, woitl\y only 
of pity or dorisiou. Tlioy mistake it for a 
iiiountain torront that will pass away with 
tho storm that iravo it birth ; they know not 
that it is tho stroam of human opinion in 
oiniie I'olnbilif ai'um, which tho accession of 
every day will swell, and which is destined 
to sweep into tlie same oblivion tho rosist- 
auco of K>ariiod sophistry, and of powerful 
oppression. 

l?ut there still remained ample matter of 
astonishment in the Philip|iic of Mr. iinrke.* 
He m'ijht dt>plore lht> sani;niiiary excesses, — 
he miiiht deride the visionary policy, that 
seemed to him to tarnish the' lustre "of tho 
Revolution: but it was hard to suppose that 
he would e.xhaust ajjainst it every epithet of 
oonlumely and opprobrium that language 

• Tho speech on tho Army Estimates, 9ih Fob. 
1790.— Eu. 



can furnish to iudiiiiiatiou ; that the rape of 
his ileclamatiou wouKt not tor one moment 
be suspended, and that his heart winild not 
betray one faint ^low of triumph, at the 
spltMulid and glorious tlelivery of so j:;; rent a 
people. All was invective: tlie author'^ and 
admirers of the Revolution, — every man who 
ilid not execrate it, even his own most eu- 
liiihteneil and accomplished friends, — were 
devoted to odium and ii;iion\iny. 'l'ht> speech 
did not stoop to ari;nmenl ; the whole was 
dojiinatical and authoritative: the cause 
set>med ilecided williout iliscussion, — the 
anathema Inlniinaled befon* trial. 

Hut the ground of the opinions of this 
famous speech, which, if we may bi^lieve a 
foreign journalist, will form an epoch in the 
history of the eccentricities of the human 
njind, was impatiently expected in a work 
soon after annouuccil. 'J'he nauie of the 
author, the imimrtauce of the subject, and 
the siiignlai ity of his opinions, all contribntiul 
to inllame the public curiosity, which, ihongh 
it langnisheil in a subsequent ilelay, has been 
revivcvl by the appt'araiice, and will be re- 
warded by the perusal of the work.* 

It is ceitainly in every respect a perform- 
ance, of which to form a correct estimate 
would prove one of the most arduous ellorts 
of critical skill 

" Woscnrrolycan prniso it.orlilnim'it tooinmlt." t" 
Argument, every where ilexterous and spe- 
cious, sometimes grave and profound, clothed 
in the most rich and various imagery, and 
aided by the most pathetic and picturesque 
description, speaks the opulence and the 
powers of that mind, of which age has 
neither dimmed the discernment, nor en- 

• Tiie l\otltniions on tho lievohuioii in Franco, 
puWlialied in 1790. — ilo. 
t Roialianon. — Eu. 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



4M 



fe^blcd tlin fancy — nollhor rnprcBsod llio 
ardour, nor ri;irro\v«!d (Iks i;iti;jj(!. Virulfuit 
ciicorniurriK o/i urh.'iiiity ;uid iii/larnrriutory 
h!iniiif^ii<!H;i;(aiiiht violence, liotrjiliijH (jf riiorul 
and reli;^i(»iis rnyHticisrri, Ijelhir ad;i|)l(!(l (o 
tho .arriiiwtrnoiil than to tln! conviction of an 
iticnjdiilouH iv^c, lliou^^h lluiy iriay lonw! Ihc 
lari;^uor of atlention, can ni;v(!r ixt dignified 
by Ific approbation of IIk; nridcMHtandini^. 

or till! Hcnatc :ui(l jxioplc of France, Mr. 
Unrkc'H Ian<;ua;^(! i8 such as rriif.du have; been 
expected tovvardrt a country wliicli his fancy 
haH j)(!opl(!d only with i)lotH, aHHaHHinatioiiH, 
and fnassacn^H, and all the Ijrood of din; 
chimeras which are the offspriti^ of a prolific 
irna;^ination, f^oadt-d by an ard(Mil and de- 
]uih;d scnsibiiily. 'I'lie f^Iimpses of brinevo- 
lenco, whicli irradiatt; this gloom of invec- 
tive, arisr; only from (.vncrons illusion, — from 
misj^niiled and rriispla(!(;d corrijiassion. His 
elorpictic(! is not at hfisure to dr;nlor(! the fat(! 
of befj^an'd artinaiis, and famisiK-d peasants, 
— the victims of suspended industry, and 
languishing; commercf!. The sensibility vvhieh 
8e<!ms S(!arcd by lln; homely miseries of the 
vulgar, is attracted oidy by the sjdiMidid sor- 
rows of royiilly, and agonises at the sl(;ri- 
dcrest i)ang that assails the he-art of sottish- 
n(!ss or j)rostitulion, if they are })lacr'd by 
fortune on a lhron<!.* 'J'o the JMiglish friends 
of Frrnich freedom, his language is contempt- 
uous, illilxiral, and scurrilous. In one of the 
ebbinj^s of his fervour, he is (lispos(fd not to 
dispute; -'their good int(;rilioiis :" but he 
abounds in intem|)erato sallies and ungene- 
rous insinuations, wliich wisdom ouglit to 
have clieejked, as ebullitions of passion, — 
which g(!nius on^dit to have disdained, as 
weapons of (ronlroversy. 

'J'fKsarrangeirieiit of his work is as singular 
as the matter. Avading himself of all the 
privileges of ej)istolary effusion, in their 
utmost latitudr) and laxity, he interruols, 
dismissfis, and resumes argument at plea- 
Bure. His subject is as extensive as political 
science: his allusions and excursions rf;ach 
almost r!V(!ry region of human knowledge. 
It must be confessfHl that in lliis rnisc(dlanc- 
ous and desultory warfare, the supfMiority 
of a man of genius over common men is in- 



* " Thn vuli^nr ci'irnoiir wliich has hp.cn niisfid 
with such tnalijjriani iirt H;;aiiiHt dio friendjiof frr«- 
dom, as ilie apuMil' s of tiirliulr-ncc and Kf;(iiiion, 
lias not <;v(:n Mparfd die obsruriiy of inv narnt!. 
To BtraiigcrH I ran only vindicate rriyHulf liy de- 
fyirif; the audiors of Kiich clamrmrH lodiKCOvr^rone 
pasaaijc in diiH volume not in (he hii^hest def^ree 
lavouralile lo pi'.acj- atid 8tal)le £>ov(rninent : diose 
to whom I am known would, f lielievc, lie hIow 
to itnpiiie any scn'inicniH of vioh;ii<o (o a temper 
which die partiality of my (ricnds miiHi conleBH lo 
be indolent, and the hoHiiiiiy of enemicB will not 
deny lo he mild. 1 have heen accuHcd, hy valiialiU; 
friends, of ireaiini; with unj/cneronn leviiy the mis- 
fortunes of the Royal Kamily of I'"rance. They 
will not however Kuppone irie cnpahlc of delihc- 
rately viohiliriK the haerediiesH of misery in a pa- 
lace or a c.oiiaKe ; and I Hineercly lament that I 
ehould have heen he'rayed into exprcssiotifl which 
admitted ihat coriHiruciioa." — (Advertisement to 
ke Uiird edition.) — Ed. 



finite. He can cover the most ignominioujB 

retreat by a briinTTTrt allusion^ ho can jjarade 
his argtim<;nts with masterly generalship, 
vvIkmc tliey are strong; ho can t^scape lioin 
an ujitcnubit; position into a s])lr;ndid dr;cla- 
rnalitjii ; Ikj (-an sap the most impregnable 
conviction by patho.s, and put to flit;hl a hobt 
of syllogisms with a suecr ; absolvr.-d from 
the laws of vulgar method, ho can advance 
a group of magnificent horrors to mako a 
brea<'.h in our hearts, through which the most 
undisciijlined rabble of arguments may enter 
in triumph. 

Analysis and method, like tho discipline 
and armour of modfsrn nations, correct in 
somt! measure! the in<!(jijaliti(!S ol controver- 
sial dexterity, and level on the int<;llectual 
field the giant and the dwarf. Let us then 
analyse the j)roduction of JVIr. liurke, and, 
dismissing what is extraneous and ornament- 
al, we shall discover ctjrtain leading (jues- 
tioris, of which the decision is iiuJispi.-nsablo 
to till! jKiint at issue. The natuial order of 
tlies<! topics will dictatf! tin; method of reply, 
Mr. IJiukf!, availing himself of the indefinite 
and etjnJvocal term ' ll<;volution,' has alto- 
g(;lher rej)i(jbat(;(l that transaction. The first 
(pn;slion, lli(;r(,'foie, that arises^ regards the 
geiKiial expr;diency and necessity ol a Kevo- 
liition in FraiKie. This is followed by the 
discussion of the composition and conduct 
of the National Asst-mbly, of the popular ex- 
ce8S(!S which attended the Revolution, and 
of the new Constitution that is to result from 
it. 1'he conduct of its English adminirs 
forms the last topic, though it is with ihelori- 
cal inversion first treated by Mr. Ihjrke; aa 
if the propriety of ap])iobation should bo de- 
termined befort! the discussion of the merit 
or demerit of what was ai)proved. in pur- 
suance of this analysis, the following sec- 
tions will comprise the Bubstanco of our refu- 
tation. 

SiiCT. I. 7'he fJeneral Expediency arul Ne- 
ccsxiiy of a RevcAulion in France. 

Skct. H. The Composition and Character of 
the National Assembly considered. 

Skct. III. The Popular Excesses which at- 
tended, or followed the Revolution. 

Skct. IV. The new Constitution of France. 

Skct. V. The Corducl of its English Admi- 
rers justified. 

With this reply to Mr. Burke will be 
mingl<:d some strictures on the late publica- 
tion of M. de CaloniK!.* Tl'at minister, who 
has for some time exhibited to the eyes of 
indignant Europt! the spectachi of an exiled 
robber living in th(! most sj)leridid im[)unity, 
has, with an effrontery that beggars invec- 
tive, assumed in his work the tone of afflicted 
patriotism, and delivers his pollul(;d Philip- 
j)ics as the oracles of per.sccufed virtue. Ilia 
work is more' methodical than that of hitt 

• De I'Eial de la France. London, 17'J0.— Eo. 



406 



IMACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAi'S. 



coailjnior.* Of liis financial calculations it 
nuiv bo ivinaikoil, itiat in a work piolVssoclIy 
poiHilar \\\c\ ad'ord the strongt'st prosnnip- 
tioM of fraiul. Tlioir extent and intiieaey 
seem contrived to e\toit assent from pnMIc 
indolence; for men will rather believe than 
examine them. His inferences are so ont- 
ra^eonsly incredible, that most men of sense 
will thinlv it more safe to trust their own 
plain conclnsions than to enter such a laby- 
rinth of tinancial sojihistry. The oidy part 
of his production that here demands reply, 
is that wiiich relates to ijeneral political 
(piestions. Remarks on what he hasolfered 
concerning them will naturally liiid a place 
under the correspoudiui::: sections of the re- 
ply to INIr. Rnrke. Its most important view 
is neither literary nor argmnenlative : it ap- 
peals to judgments more decisive than those 
of criticism, and aims at wielding weapons 
more formidable than those of logic. It is 
the manifesto of a Coxuiler-Revolntion, and 
its obvious object is to inllame every passion 
and interest, real or supposed, that has re- 
ceived any shock in the establishment of 
freeilom. He probes the bleeding wounds 
of the ^^•-<^.•^>s, the nobility, the priesthootl, 
and llie great judicial aristocracy : he adjures 
one bodv by its dignity degrailed, another 
by its inlieritance plnndered, and a third by 
its authoritv destroyed, to repair to the holy 
banner of his philanthropic crnsade. Con- 
fident in the protection of all the monarchs 
of Europe, whom lie alarms for the security 
of their thrones, and, having insured the 
moderation of a fanatical rabble, by giving 
out among them t.Se savage irar-tr/ioop of 
atheism, he alreatly fancies himself in full 
march to Paris, not to reinstate the deposed 
despotism (tor he disclaims the purpose, and 
who would not trust such virtuous disavow- 
als !) but at the head of this army of priests, 
mercenaries, and fanatics, to dictate, as the 
tutelary genius of France, the establishment 
of a just and temperate freedom, obtainetl 
without commotion and without cariiagi% and 
equally hostile to the interested ambition of 
demagognes and the lawless authority of 
kings. Crusades were an etrervescence of 
chivalry, and the modern St. Francis lias a 
knight for the conduct of these crnsatlers, 
who will convince Mr. Hnrke, that the age 
of chivalry is not past, nor the irlory of Knrope 
gone for ever. The Compte d' Artoi.s,t that 
scion worthy of Henry the Great, the rival 

* 1( cannot lie denied liiiii the produciion of M. 
de Calomie is 'cloiiuenl, utile,' and rertaiiily very 

* inslnieiive ' in *hat regards Itis own oharncitT 
nnd do<ii;iis. But it ooniains one instance ot his- 
torical iiinorance so cgroijiinis, that 1 eaniiot resist 
quolinj; it. In his long discussion of the preien- 
sions ol the .\ssenitiiy to the title of a ' National 
Conveniion,' he (Seduces the origin of that word 
li-oni Siotlaiid, wlicro lie inturinsus (p. 3-8), " On 
|lii donna le nom de Conveniion Ecossoise ; le 
resuliat de sesdelilierations fat apprile 'Covi7iaiit,' 
€t ccux qui I'avoient souscrit ou qui y ndheroient 
' Coveitii^iters .' ' " 

t * Ce digne rejeton du grand Henri-' — Calonno. 
•l^n nouveau modeic de la Chevalcrie Fran5oise.' 

• Ibid. pp. 413—111. 



of the Bayards and Sidneys, the new model 
of French knighthood, is to issue tVom Turin, 
with ten thousaiul cavaliers, to ileliver the 
peerless and immaculate Antoinetla of Aus- 
tria from the durance vile in which she has 
.so long been immured in the Tuilleric^s, from 
the swords of the discourteous knights of 
I'aris, and the spells of the sable wizards of 
democracy. 



/^ 



SECTION I. 



The General Expediency and Nccessitii of a 
Revolitiion in France. 

It is asserted in many passages of Mr. 
Burke's work, though no where with that 
]U-ecision which the importance of the asser- 
tion demanded, that the French Uevolution 
was not only in its parts reprehensible, but 
in the whole was absurd, inexpedient, and 
unjust : yet he has nowhere exactly informed 
lis what he understands by the term. The 
'French Kevolntion,' in its most popular 
sense, perhajis, woiini be understood in Eng- 
land to consist of those sjilendid events that 
formed the prominent jiorlion of its exterior, 
— the Parisian revolt, the capture of the 
Bastilt>, and the submission of the King. 
But these memorable events, though they 
strenathened and accelerattnl, could not con- 
stitute a political revolnlion, which must in- 
clude a change of govt-rnment. But the 
term, even when liniited to that meaning, i.s 
equivoc^tl and wide. It is cajiablt^ of three 
setises. The King's recognition of the rights 
of the States-CJeneral to a share in the legis- 
lation, was a change in the actual govern- 
ment of France, where the whole legisla- 
tive and executive power liad, without the 
shaik>w of an interruption, for nearly two 
centuries been enjoyed by the ciown ; in 
that sense the meeting of tlie States-(»eneral 
was the Revolution, and the 5th of May was 
its tcra. The union of the three Orders in 
ontjrassembly was a most important change 
in the forms and spirit of tlie legislature; 
this too may be called the Kevolntion, and 
the 23d of .Imie will be its a:;ra. This body, 
thus united, are forming a new Constilntion ;* 
this may be also called a Bevtilntion, because 
it is of all the political changes the most im- 
portant, and its epoch will be determineil by 
the conclusion of the labours of the Naiional 
Assembly. Thus equivocal is the import of 
Mr. Burke's expressions. To extricate them 
from this ambiguity, a rapiil survey of these 
events will be necess;irv. It will prove, too, 
the fairest and most forcible confutation of 
his arguments. It will best demonstrate the 
necessity aiul justice of all the successive 
changes in the state of France, which formed 
what is called the 'Revolnlion.' It will dis- 
criminate legislative acts from popular ex- 
cesses, and distinguish transient confusion 

• The Vindicise Galicse was published in April, 
1791.— Ed. 



A DEFFATE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



407 



from pRrmaneiit establiphment. It will evince 
the futiiily and fallacy of attributing to the 
conspiracy of individuals, or bodies, a R<'VO- 
lutiori which, whether it be beneficial or inju- 
rious, was produced only by j;,'eneral causes, 
and in which the most conspicuous individual 
produced little real efTect. 

The Constitution of France resembled in 
the earlier stages of its progress the Golhic 
governments of Europe. The history of its 
decline n:\d the causes of its extinction are 
abundantly known. lis infancy and youth 
were like lh<^se of the English government. 
The Champ de Marx, and the WiUc-mi<ie- 
mol, — the tumultuous assemblies of rude 
conquerors, — were in both countries melted 
down into representative bodies. But the 
downfall of the feudal aristocracy happening 
in France before commerce had elevated 
any other class of citizens into importance, 
its power devolved on the crown. Prom the 
conclusion of the fifteenthcenfury the powers 
of the States-General had almost dwindled 
into formalities. Their momentary re-ap- 
pearance under Henry III. and Louis XIIL 
served mdy to ilhisliale their insignificance: 
their lotui disuse speedily succeeded. 

The intrusion of any popular voice was not 
likely to be tolerated in the reign of Louis 
XIV. — a reign v.hich has been so often cele- 
brated as the zenith of warlike and literary 
splendour, but which lias always appeared 
to me to be the consummation of whatever 
is afflicting and degrading in the history of 
the human race. Talent seemed, in that 
reign, robbed of the conscious elevation, — 
of the erect and manly port, which is its 
noblest associate an<l its surest indication. 
The mild purity of Fenelon, — the lolly spirit 
of Bossuet, — the masculine mind of Boileau, 
the sublime fervour of Comeille, — were con- 
founded by the coiUagion of igjiominious and 
Jndiecrimi.'iate servility. It seerneiTlnfif the 
Tepresefiiatlve majesty' of the genius a jd 
intii|lect of man were prostjaic' before the 
snrme of a sariguinary amf dissgjute t^'ray^, 
wTTo practis'^rTIie corryption of courts with- 
out their mildness, and incnired the^guilt of 
wars wTlliout their glory. Ills highesf'piaTse 
is lo have supported the stage trick of Royalty 
with effect : and it is surely diflicult to con- 
ceive any character more odious and despica- 
ble, than that of a puny libertine, who, under 
the frown of a strumpet, or a monk, issues 
the mandate that is to murder virtuous citi- 
zens, — to desolate happy and peaceful ham- 
lets, — to wring agonising tears from widows 
and orphans. Heroism has a s[)leridour that 
almost atones for its excesses: Vmt what shall 
we think of him, who, from the luxurious 
and dastardly security in which he wallows 
at Versailles, issues with calm and cruel 
apathy his orders to butcher the Protestants 
of Languedoc, or to lay in ashes the villages 
of the Palatinate ? On the recollection of 
Buch scenes, as a scholar, I blush for the 
prostitution of letters, — as a man, I blush for 
the patience of humanity. 

But the despotism of tliis reign was preg- 



nant with the great events which l.ave sig- 
nalised our age : it fostered that literature 
which was one day destined to destroy it. 
The profligate conquests of Louis have event- 
ually prov(;d the acquisitions of humanity- 
and his usur|)ations have served only to add 
a larger portion to the great body of freemen. 
The spirit of his {)olicy was inherited by his 
succesfror : the rage of conquest, repressed 
for a while by the torpid despotism of Fleury, 
burst forth with renovaterl violence in the 
latter part of the reign of Louis XV. France, 
exhausted alike by the misfortunes of one 
war, and the victories of another, groaned 
under a weight of impost and debt, which it 
was equally difficult to remedy or to endure. 
But the profligate expedients w ere exhausted 
by which successive ministers liad attempted 
to avert the great crisis, in which the credit 
and ])ower of the government must perish. 

The wise and benevolent administration 
of M. Turgot,* though long enough for his 



*"I/oiii8XVL called to his councils die two 
most virniom men in his doininioris, M. 'I'urgot 
and M. de Lamoigiion Malesherhes. P"ew diings 
could iiave been rii'ire unexpected than that such 
a protnotion should have liccn made; and still 
fewer have more di.scrediied the i-a^aciiy and hum- 
tjled the wisdom of man than that so linle {;'>•"! 
should ultimately have sprunii from so clorious an 
occurrence. M. 'l'urL;(jt appears beyond most 
other men to have lieen guided in the exertion of 
his oriiiinal genius atid comfirehensive iiilellect by 
impartial and indelaiigahle benevolence. He pre- 
ferred nothing to the discovery of truth imt the 
interest orinankind ; and he was ignorant of no- 
thing of which he did not forego the aitMinment, 
that he might gain time for the practice of his duly. 
Co-operating with the illustrious men who laid 
the foundation of the science of political economy, 
his writings were distingiiii^hed irom liieirs l»y the 
sitnpliciiy, the geometrt'cal order, and precision of 
a mitid without passion, intent only on the pro- 
"rces of reason towards truth, 'ihe character of 
M. Turgot considered as a private philosopher, or 
as an inferior magistrate, seems to have approached 
more tiear the ideal model of a perfect sage, than 
that of any other man of I lie modern world. IJut 
he was destined rather to instruct than to reform 
mankind. Like Bacon (whom he so much re- 
sembled in the vast range of his intellect) he came 
inio a court, atid like Bacon, — thouiih from far 
nobler causes, — he fill. The noble error of sup- 
jKJsiig men to be more disinterested and etdighl- 
ened than they an;, betrayed him. 'i'hough he 
had deeply studied human nature, he disdtiined 
that discretion and dexterity without which wis- 
dom must return to her cell, and leave the do- 
minion of the world to cuntiing. 'i'lie instriimenta 
of his benevolence depended onotlters: but llie 
sources of his own hafipiness were independent, 
and he left behitid him in the minds of his friends 
that enihusiasiic attachment and profound rever 
ence with which, when superior attainments were 
more rare, the sages of antiquity inspired their 
disciples. The virtue of M. de Latnoignon was 
of a Jcs- perfect but of a softer and more natural 
kind. Descended irom one of the most illustrious 
families of the French magistracy, he was early 
called to higli offices. He employed his influence 
chiefly in Ii2htening the fetters which impeded the 
free exercise of reason ; atid he exerted his com age 
and his eloquence in defigndifig the peojde againsi 
ojipres.'-ive taxation. While he was a minister, he 
had prepared the means of abolishing arbitrary 
imprisonment. No part of science or art wu 



408 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



own glory, was too short, ami perhaps too 
early, for those salutary ami grand relorms 
wiiK-h his gLMiins had ooiicfivcd, and his vir- 
tue would have eli'eeled. The aspect of 
purity and talent spread a natural alarm 
amonu the minions of a court ; and ihey easily 
succeeded in the expulsion of such rare and 
obnoxious intiuilers. The maiiiiiticent am- 
bition of i\L de Vergennes, the brilliant, pro- 
fuse, and rapacious career of M. de Caloinie, 
the feeble and irresolute violence of M. de 
Brienne, — all contributed tht>ir share to swell 
this (inancial embarrassment. The deficit, 
or inferiority of the revenue to the expenili- 
ture, at length rose to the enormous sum of 
115 millions of livres, or about 4,750,000i. 
annually.* This was a ilisproportion be- 
tween income and expense with which no 
government, and no individual, could long 
continue to exist. 

In this exigency there was no expedient 
left, but to guarantee the mined credit of 
baidcrupt despotism by the sanction of the 
national voice. The States-GeiuMal were a 
dangerous mode of collecting it: recourse 
was, therefore, had to the Assembly of tiie 
Notables : a mode well known in the History 
of France, in which the King summoned a 
number of individuals, selected, at his discre- 
tion, from the mass, to advise him in great 
emergencies. They were little belter than 
a popukrr Privy Council. They were neither 
recognised nor protected by law : their pie- 
carious and subordinate existence hung on 
the nod of despotism. 

The Notables were accordingly calleil to- 
gether by M. de Calonne, who has now the in- 
consistent arrogance to boast of the schemes 
which he laid before them, as the moilel of 
the Assembly whom he traduces. He pro- 
posed, it is true, the equalisation of imposts 
anil the abolition of the pecuniary exemp- 
tions of the Nobility and Clergy; and the 
ditference between his system and that of 
the Assembly, is only in what makes the 
sole distinction in human actions — its end. 
He would have destroyed the privileged Or- 
ders, as obstacles to ilespotism : tlict) have 
destroyed them, as derogations from free- 
dom. The object of his plans was to facili- 
tate fiscal oppression : tlie motive of theirs is 
to fortify general liberty. They have levelled 
all Frenchmen as men : he woulil have level- 
led them as slaves. The Assembly of the 



fortisn to his elegant lei,<!iiro. His virtue was 
wiihout efPirt or system, and his tienovolcncc was 
proiio to ditViise itself in a sort ot" pleasantry niui 
even drollery. In this respect lie rcseinhlod Sir 
Thonias More ; and ii is remarkaUle that ihis play- 
fulness — the natural companion of a simple and 
imiocpiit mind — attended lioih these illusirious 
men lo the scaflold on which they were judicially 
murdered." — MS. Ed. 

* For this we have the authority of I\l. de Ca- 
lonne himself, p. 5C>. This was tlie !*^ount pre- 
sented lo the Noiahles in A|)ril, 1787T He, in- 
deei), makes some deductions on account of part 
of this deficit heiiig expirahle: hut this is of no 
consequence lo our purpose, which is to view the 
influem-e of the prcscttt urgency, — the political, 
not (he iinnnciiii. state of die question. 



Notables, however, soon gave a memorable 
proof, how liangerousare all public meetiiigR 
of men, even without legtil powers of con- 
trol, to the permanence of ilespotism. They 
h;id been assembled by M. de Calonne to 
admire the plausibility ami splemlour of liis 
speculations, and to veil the extent and atro- 
city of his rapine : but the fallacy of the one 
and the protligacy of the other were ilelected 
with equal ease. Illustrious oratois, who 
have since found a nobler sphere for their 
talent.s, in a more free ami pow erful Assem- 
bly, exposed the plunderer. Detesteil by 
the Nobles and Clergy, of wliose privileges 
he had suggested the abolition ; nmlerniined 
in the favour of the Qneen, by his tittack on 
one of her favourites (Breteuil); exjiosed to 
the fury of the people, and dreading the 
terrors of judicial prosecution, he ."speedily 
sought refuge in England, without the recol- 
lection i>f one virtue, or the applause of one 
party, to console his retreat. Thus ilul the 
Notables destroy their creator. Little ap- 
peareil to be done to a superlicial ob.-server : 
but to a ilisceniiiiir eye, all was dt)ne; lor 
the dethroned authority of Tublic Opinion . 
was restored. y 

The succeeding Ministers, uninslructrd by 
the example of their jiiedecessors, by the 
destruction of public credit, ami by the fer- 
mentation of the popular mind, hazarded 
measures of a still more preposterous and 
perilous description. The usurpation of some 
,';hare in the sovereignty by the Parliament 
of Paris had become popular and vem-iable, 
because its tendency w;is useful, ami its 
exercise virtuous. That body liatl, as it is 
well known, claimed a right, which, in iact, 
amounted lo a negative on all the acts of the 
King: — they contended, that the registration 
of his edicts by them was neces.'^ary lo give 
them force. They wouki, in that case, have 
possesseil the same share of legislation as 
the King of England. It is unueces.sary to 
descant on the historical fallacy, and political 
inexpediency, of doctrines, uhieli would vest 
in a narrow aristocracy of lawyers, w lio had 
bought their places, such extensive powers. 
It cannot be denied that their resistance had 
often proved salutary, ami was some leeble 
check on the capricious wantonness of tles- 
potic exaction : but the temerity of the 
Minister now assigned them a more important 
part. They refused to register two edicts 
for the creation of imposts, averring that the 
power of imposing taxes was vesleti only in 
the national representatives, and claiming 
the inmiediate convocation of the States- 
General of the kingilom: the j\linister ba- 
nished them to Tioyes. But he soon found 
how much the French were changeti from 
that abject and frivolous people, which had 
so often endured the exile of its magistrates: 
Paris exhibited the tumult and clamour of ,i 
London mob. The Cabinet, which could 
neither advance nor recede with safety, had 
recourse to the expedient of a comjiulsory 
registration. The Duke of Orleans, and the 
1 magistrates who protested against this exe- 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



401 



crable mockery. wt;re exilcfl or imprisoned. 
But all th«;Ki; hiickiiied expedients of de«pot- 
iam wfiie in vain. These niiw^i^lu^, which 
merit notice only as thfjy illustrate the pro- 
gressive enert^y of Public Opinion, were lol- 
lowed ljy evcenls still less e(jnivocal. LcUrcs 
de Cachet were isijued aj^ainst MM. d'Es- 
prernenil and Gof^slard. They took r<du;^e 
111 the sanctuary of justice, and the Parlia- 
ment pronounced thiiin under the safej^iiard 
of the law and the Kinj^. A deputation was 
sent to V<;rsailles, to entreat his Majesty to 
listen to saj^e counsels; and Paris expected, 
with im[)atient solicitude, the result. When 
towards midnij^ht, a body of two thousand 
troops marched to the palace where the Par- 
liament were s(;ated, and their Commander, 
enterinf^ into the Court of Peers, demanded 
his victims, a loud and unanimous acclama- 
tion repli(.'(l, — "We an; all d'Espremenil and 
Goeslard !" These maj^istrates surrendered 
themselves; and the satellite of despotism 
led them off in triumph, amid the execra- 
tions of an aroused and indij^nant peoi)le. 
These spectacles were not without their 
effect: the spirit of resistance spread daily 
over France. The intermediate commis.iion 
of the States of Breta<.nie, the States of Dau- 
phine, and many other public bodies, beiran 
to assume a new and menaciny tone. The 
Cabinet was dissolved by its own feebleness, 
and M. Neckar was recalled. 

That Minister, probably uprifrht, and not 
illiberal, but narrow, pusillanimous, and en- 
tanf^led by the habits of detail* in which he 
had been reared, possessed not that erect 
and intrepid spirit, — those enlarjred and ori- 
ginal views, which adapt themselves to new 
combinations of circumstances, and sway 
in the f^reat convulsions of human affairs. 
Accustomed to the tranijuil accuracy of com- 
merce, or the elefrant amusements of litera- 
ture, he was called on to 

•' Ride ill the wliirlwind, and direct the storm. " + 

He seemed superior to his privacy -while he 
was limited to it, and would have been ad- 

i'udged by history erjual to his elevation had 
le never been elevated.}: The reputation of 
few men, it is true, has been exposed to so 
severe a test; and a {.'onerous observer will 
be disposed to scrutinize less ri}(idly the 
claims of a statesman, who has retired with 
the applause of no parly, — who is detested 
by the aristocracy as the instrument of their 
ruin, and despised by the democratic leaders 
for pusillanimous and fluctuating policy. Rut 

* The laie reiebraind Dr. Adam Smi'h. always 
held this opinion of N<;ckar, whom h« had known 
intimatfily when a icinlter in Parifl. lie predicted 
the fall (if his fame when his lalenis should be 
broMKht to the test, and always emphaiirally said, 
" He is hut a man of detail." Ai a time when 
the commerfijil nhilities of Mr. Eden, the present 
Lord Auckland, were ihe iherne of profuse eulotry, 
Dr. Stniih characterized him in the same words. 

t Adflison, The Campaisjn. — Ed. 

t Major privato visus. diim privatus fuit. et om- 
nium consensu capax imperii, nisi imperasset. — 
Tacitus, liibt. lib. i. cap. 49. 
52 



1 had the character of M. Neckar possessed 
more originality or decision, it could have 
bid little influence on the fate of Fiance. 
'I'he minds of men had received an impulse ^ 

land individual aid an<l individual opposition 
were (.-qually vain. His viev. s, no doubt, 

} extended only to palliation; but he was in- 
volved in a stream of opinions and events, 
of which no force could resist the cui rent, and 
no wisdom adequately predict the termina- 
tion. He is rej^iesenled by M de Calonne 
as the I>ord Sunderland of Louis XVI. seduc- 
ing th(! King to destroy his own power: but 
he liad neither genius nor boldness for such 
designs. 

To return to our rapid survey : — The au- 
tumn of 1788 was peculiarly (lislin;^uished by 
the (iiilighteiied and disinterested jjatriotism 

I of the Slates of Dauphine. Tht.y furnished, 
in many respects, a model hr the future 
senate of France. Like them they deliberated 
amidst tfie terrors of minisl<-iial vengeance 
and military execution. Tln-y annihilated 
the absurd and destructive distinction of 
Orders; the three estates were melted into 
a Provincial Assembly; they deciared, that 
the right of imposing taxes resided ultimately 
in the States-Ceneial of Fiance ; and they 
voted a deputation to the King to solicit the 
convocation of tluit Assembly. Dauphine 
was emulously imitated by all llie i^rovincea 
that still letained the sliadow of Provincial 
States. The Slates of Langiiedoe, of Velay, 
and Vivaioi.t, the Tiers Etalof Provence, and 
all the Municipalities of Bntagiic, adopted 
R milar resolutions. In Provence- and Bre- 
tagnc, where the Nobles and Cleiyy, trem- 
bling for their privileges, and the Parliaments 
for their jurisdiction, attempted a feeble re- 
sistance, the fermentation was jiecuJiarly 
strong. Some estimate of tlie li-rvour of 
public sentiment may be fornx d from the 
reception of the Count de Mnnbiau in his 
native [iiovincie', wlier*; the buigetses of Aix 
assigned him a body-guard, w hei e ihe citizens 
of Marseilles crowned him in lln' theatre, 
and where, under all the tenors of despot- 
ism, he received as numerous r rd tumult- 
uous proofs of attachment as over were 
bestowed on a favourite by the enthusiasm 
of the most free people. M. Cain man, the 
Governor of Provence, was even reduced to 
implore his interposition with the jiopulace, 
to appease and prevent their exa.^hes. The 
contest in Brelagne was moie violent and 
sanguinary. She had preserved her inde- 
pendence more than any of those provinces 
which had been united to the crown of 
Fiance. The Nobles and Clergy jjossessed 
almost the whoh; power of the States, and 
their obstinacy was so great, that their depu- 
ties did not take their seats in the National 
Assembly till an advanced period of its pro- 
ceedings. 

The return of M. Neckar, and the recall 
of the exiled magistrates, restored a mo- 
mentary calm. The personal reputation of 
the minister for probity, /animated the 
credit of France. But the finances were too 
2K 



410 



MACKINTX^Sil S M1SC£LL.\NE01 S ESSAYS. 



irremt\liably embarrassoil for |v»lJiative9; 
and the fasioiuatinir idea ot" tho Siates-llene- 
n\J, prt'scntrd to llio pnMio imagination by 
Cio unwary xoal of tho l\ulian>ent, awaktMi- 
Ovl recollootions of anoiont fivtvlom, anvl 
prosivots ot" Inlnro splondour. which tl»o 
virtHO or ropuhuity of no nunister oouKl 
biini^h. Tht* ooiiwKWtion of that body was 
rt^solvtsl on: but many dithcuhios rosjvoting 
tho nuvto of oK'oting and const itnting it re- 
n»aint\I, wluoh a second Assembly ol Nota- 
bles was sun\nuuied to decide. 

The Thirvl Kstato demanvled representa- 
tives ev]ual to those of the other two Orvlers 
jointly. They rtHjnirevl that the nnn\ber 
should be rciiulated by the ivpnlation of the 
districts, and that tho three Orders should 
vote in one Assembly. All the committees 
into which the Notables were divided, ex- 
cept that of which Monsuur was President, 
decided apxitist the Thii\l Kstate in every 
one of thc'se {xjrticulars. They were strenu- 
ously sup{H>rted by the i\\rliument of Tans, 
who, too late sensible of the suicide into 
which thi\v had been betrayed, laboured to 
render th» Assembly im^x)tent, after they 
were u^iable to prevent its meeting. But 
their etforts were in vain: M. Neckar, whe- 
ther actuated by respect for justice, or desiiv 
of popularity, or yieKling to the irresistible 
torrent of public sentiment, advised the King 
to adopt the projxisiliosisof the Thirvl Kstate 
in the two tirst |Mrticulars, and to lt>ave the 
Ijist to be decided by tho States-General 
themselves. 

Letters-Ritent were acconlingly issued on 
the 24lh o( January, 17811, for assembling 
the States-Cieneral, to which were annexed 
regulations for the detail of their elections. 
In the consiliuent assiMiiblies of the several 
provinct's, Ividliagvs, and constabularies of 
the kingdom, the progress of the public mind 
became still more evident. The Clergy and 
Nobility ought not to be denied the praise 
of having emulously s;icriticed their pecu- 
niary privileges. The instructions to the re- 
presentatives breathed every where a spirit 
of freedom as ardent, though not so liberal 
and eidightened, as that which has since 
preside^! in the deliberations of the National 
Assembly. Paris was eminently conspi- 
cuous. The union of talent, the rapid com- 
munication of thought, and the frequency 
of those numervHis assemblies, where men 
learn their force, and compare their wivng-s, 
ever make a great capital the heart ihat cir- 
culates emotion and opinion to the extremi- 
ties of an empire. No sooner had the convo- 
cation of the States-lieneral been announced. 
than the battt'ries of the press were opened. 
Pamphlet succeeded iximphlet, surpassing 
each other in boldness and elevation ; luul 
the advance of Paris to light and freeilom 
was greater in three months than it hail been 
m almost as many centuries. l\H*trines 
were univers;»liv received in ^lay, which in 
Jannary would liave been ileemed treason- 
able, and which in March had been de- 



ridevl as tho visions of a few deluded ftt> 
uatics.* 

It was aujid this rapid ditfuaiou of light, 
and increasing fervour o( public sentiment, 
that the States-CIeneial as-MMubled at Ver- 
s;iilles on the 6ih ol May, I7S!>, — a day which 
will piMlxibly be acci>nnted by posterity on« 
of the most memorable in the annals of tho 
human race. Any detail ot the parade ami 
ceremonial of their assembly would ho 
totally foreign to our pnrjH>se, which is not 
to narrate events, but to seize their sj>irit. 
and to mark their nitlnence on the political 
pixHiivss fivm which the Kevoluiioii was to 
arist*. The preliminary operation necessjuy 
to constitute the Assembly g^ave rise to the 
tirst givat question, — the mode of aulhenli- 
caiing the couMnissions of the deputies. It 
was coiitendtnl by the Clergy and Nobles, 

' that accorvliiig to ancient ns;igv, each larder 
should separately sciutiuize and authenti- 
cate the commissions of its own deputies. It 
was aiguevl by tlu> Commons, that, on gvne- 
ral principles, all Onlers, having an equal 
interest in the purity of the national repit*- 
sentative, had an ei)ual right to takt< cogni- 
zance of the authenticity ot the commissions 
of all the members who composed lln» body, 
and therefore to scrutinize them in common. 
To the authority of prt>c«\lent it was an- 
swered, that it would establish too much; 
lor in the ancient Staled, their examination 
of jvnvers was snboivlinate to the revision 
of Koval Commiss;»ries, — a subjection too 
degrading and injurious tor the free and 
vigilant spirit of an eniightencil age. 

This controversy involved another of more 
magnituile and importance. If the Orderg 
united in this scrutiny, they were likely to 

i continue in one Assembly ; the separate 
voices of the two tii-st Orders w onUl be anni- 
hilated, and the importance of the Nobility 
and Clergy reduced to that ot ilieir imlivi- 
dual sutlrages. This great revolnlion was 
obviously meditated by the leaders of the 
Commons. They were seeondcil in tho 
chamber of the Noble.'^se by a minority 
eminentlv distinguished tor rank, character, 
and talent. The obscure and useful jxirtioii 
of the Clergy were, tVom their situation, ac- 
cessible to popular sentiment, and naturally 
coalesced with the Commons. JMany who 
favoured the division of the Legislature in 
the oixlinary arrangements of gxivernment. 
were convinced that the graiul and radical 
reforms, which the situation o{ France de- 
manded, could only be elleeted by its union 
us one Assembly. t So many prejudices were 

* The principles of Ireedom hail long been un- 
iUmsioovI, perhaps luMter than in any couniry of tha 
world, hv iho philosoplu-rs ol Kraiioi'. li wa-s as 
natural tliat ilu-v slumKl iiavc lu'on nioro dilijitMiily 
t-iiliivaicd in that kinmioni ilian ii; Hnulaiul, as 
iliat the si-itMU'o of incilu-iiie slionld l>o iv\<s uiulor- 
stood and valnod amonsi simple and viiroiiMis. than 
amoiij; luxurituis and ciircelilcd nations. l>m ilia 
pros»ress whii-li we have iioiii'od was ur.'.^mg llio 
less instriuMod part otsiH'ioiy. 

t " II n'osi pas douttnix que pour auiourd'hui, 



A DKFKNCE OK Till-: FKKNCfl UKVOMmOV. 



411 



I 



U) ])>'. v;lnfjlJi«^lfl<l, — w> iriJiriy «liffir!tjllj«f» U) 
hn Hxtrni'iiiiiUtd, Huch ohtttinat'! JwtbitH to U? 
«XlirjKiit<;<l. a(i<l «o forrrii')ahl<; a jx;w<;r U/ b<; 
r<?»i«t<;(l, lliiil lh';f« wst»» an obvioiiH u*-.(u:%*^i\.y 
to ctmci'idmU: th<j lotc<s of llio n-Adrrniin^ 
body. Id a t.^r<;at r<!Volutiori, ijvoiy <;xj><;<li«;ot 
ou^^fil to r.tcilitaKj charij.^0 ; in an o«tablihh<!<l 
(invt:nirni:ii\. f.v.ry tiling ou^^fit to rt'.iitli-.r it 
(liifi('At\l. H'rtiC! thorJiviHion of a )»'f(i»)alijr<!, 
which ill an rfHtablich'^'l jjovitniimtiil, tnny 
^'tvi: a b<;i(';ficial Htahihty to tho law«^ rrin«t, 
in amorn'mt of rovohition, ho proiK^rtionahly 
Jnjnrioii«j hy foitifyint^ ahij*j and unn<;rvJ;i{/ 
nttorm. fn a rovohjtioo, th'; r,'norrii«-'« of 
frfjuioffi 'Ant lixUunsii and all jKr.vrMH aro 
lluiniiinn to boiinitoo; un<it:r nn OHbihlihh- 
mont h'^r cui-mu-M aro intor/ial, and powor 
i» Ihnri-Ahn; lo ho dividod. Jiul h';«id<;t» this 

onoral (;on«id<;ralion, tlio «fal(5 of Vthu<;i; 

iirni«h';d olh'jrH of moro local and I'srnpj- 
rary cjyjitncy Tho StatoK-Oonoral, m-Aiiiu, 
by ni'AKind'! OrdorK, woro a Ujdy from which 
no Huhftantial reform (^juld ho htiyu\. Tiut 
two firwt ()filt:rn woro iuUtntnUai m tho por- 
pctiiity of ovory abii»wj tluit v/a» to bo ro- 
Jormod : thoir j)0«»<o»»»ion of two oqual and 
ind«} pond cot voi<;cH rriu«t havo ron/lorod tho 
oxorlionsof tho Cornmonf irn{>'it';/it and nu- 
gatory, Arirl a r^iWtitl'iii h<;tv,'0<fn th<f Ah- 
w.m\>\y and iho Crown would probably havo 
limited itrt illii»»ivo roforrni to s'ifno ti'^rry 
f*;illiiilivo«, — til/; price of hnancial di(Wfrnl;ar- 
rdmm'uil. 'i'he nUito of a nation lolled into 
compbwienl wjrvitudo by Kuch jKdty <-/)ii('j:ti- 
•iori», i» far more hopeloKH than tliat of tliow; 
wluj ^rofin under the rnoHt gallinj.^ de«{X;tiHrn ; 
and trie f;/>ndition of France; woulil Iiave been 
more irremediable tfian ever. 

Such rcMnt)u\fi(i,n pruJuced an iinlverHal 
conviction, that the fjuestion, whether the 
Stateii-^Jeneral were to vote individually, or 
in Orders, wawaqueHtion, whether they were 
or were not lo produ^^s any imrx^rtant benefit. 
Guided by thowj view«, ana animated by 
public KUpjKirt, th/j ('Annmoiin sflhered in- 
flexibily to their principle of incorpf*ration. 
They a/lopted a pro vi wry orj^mizJttion, but 
RtudioucJy <leclined wlutever might H^^ern to 
»upiK>H'3 lej(al (;x'tnUiii<'^;, or to arroj^ate Win- 
stilutional [nrMnrn. Tho NobIe«, Ichh politic 
or tirnid, declarfjrl therntwdveK a le;.^ally con- 
stituted Order, and prowjcdod to dincuBS the 

que p'»iirc«it<> premiere tenue iin« Charnbre IJrii'i'ic 
n'ail cuj prefcralde et peut-^;lre nextntalrf ; ii y 
avoit larit d«; difficulicuA HurinimUir, lant d<; pre- 
jiig''»( 4 vaiocr'!, larit fl<j UHCuiw-.n k fairr;, de «•] 
vifsiliftf* haMiiid<;ti a derar.-itier, une puitfuance kI 
forlc a fj,iiUiu\r, tn un wot, lant a diiiniire '-A 
jirni'jue. tirut h. crl:er."—"(ye noijvcl ordre dc 
cl)'>«';« que voiiti avez fait eclorre, loui c;la voiit 
en i-ten bi'rn •nirn n'a jamaiii pu na'iire f)ij<; de la 
reunion de louien lei pert*oririe(», de frm leu ueri'i- 
rncntM, et de tout) le« fy/iurH." — Di'^eoum de ,M. 
I>ally-'l'olleridal a V \mif.ruU\i:i: .S'a'ionaie, 31 
AoiJt, H'i'^ darnusc* VuIcj-.h Ju»»iiri';atif<(, pp. lO**, 
lOG. 'f'tii<» paxHage i« in more than one re«if>ect 
rcmarkaMe. Ii fully evinf;e« the fy^ivieiion of 
the author, that chant'eii were neeewxary jjreat 
enoujfh to de<!erve the name of a Revolinion. and, 
conxideridi^ ihe r< xpeet of Mr. I'urke for hiji au- 
thority, ought u> have weight with hun. 



tff'^at object* of their convf>calir«), Tlw 
Clerj^y affected to pntnt;rv«' a rried,Ht//f iaj cfia- 
infAcr, mill to f^/nciliate ihn liti^'/ii'iinit vUiUnn 
of the two li/mtile Ordern, 'Ihe Omtmoun, 
faithful t/» their xyiitem, remainerl in a wi«« 
and manleily inactivity, which tacitly re- 
proach'rd the arro{.fant a»()«umpl;on of tho 
Nohle«, while it left no pretext lo calumniate 
their own w/ndnct, j^ave lime for tfw; incrifawj 
of the {K>pular fervour^ and dmtrewMid tJwj 
0>urt by the delay of hnaricjal aid. Heveral 
(•/»fi(ii\niUny plain* v/ere proj;o/x,d by lh« M»- 
ninter, and n'jiwAi'A by ttwj twu;/htineM of 
the Nobility atid the {j'dicy of the Onnmonn. 

Titnn iriiHii'ul tfie p«5riod het'/,«;<-;i the 5th 
of May and the 12lh of June, v, lien llw |K»- 
pular leaderW; animated by public hupjxjrt, and 
('j>ur<'Aotm of the maturity of tt»i,-ir w;herne«, 
■,iM^ntni;i\ a more rewdute lr;no. The Third 
EfAiiUi then commenced the t-r.nithiy of c/wi- 
riuKwmn.^ cumrnoned tho Nohle» and Clergy 
to Ti'imr to ffie Hall of the State»-Ceneraj, 
and u',m\vi-i[ that the abwnc<j of the depu- 
ties of wime di»lricl« a'ld clamt'H of cttiVAfTin 
(•Am\<[ not pr';clu/l« them, who inrrnnd tjie 
repre»<f;(tative» of ninety-fix huodredlhs of 
the nation, from conKtiti>iling llu^rnbclve* a 
National AMntuniAy. 

Thew; deeinive m«a«ure» iMrayed th« de- 
Hign» of the O^urt. and fully illu<ilrate tliat 
bounty and liberality for which I>ouiH XVI. 
}w» been «o idly celebrati^d, 'i'lttt feeble 
Prince, v.\u)V, public charsw-ier vaiied with, 
every iUicttVilion in hi* Cabinet, — the in»trti' 
ment alike of the ambition of Vergennef, 
the prodigality of Calonne, and the Ofttenta^ 
tiouK [x^pularity of Neckar, — Jj;ff hitherto 
yielded to tfir; ernl/arraiwment of th'- i'lu'AUCf'.n, 
and the chruimr o( tfu; people. 'Jfw cabal 
tfiat ret-iined its ■rinctttniunt over his mind, 
peroiitted tyinc-wti^on;} which th->' hoped to 
make va,in, and fkttered th(;o;v;j've» with 
frustrating, by the f/^nte«t of ktiuggling Of- 
dern. all id'-a of f.ubstai.tial reform. liut no 
B'wnerdirl the A^wmbly betrav any «ymptorn 
of activity and vigour, than tn/;ir alarrnn f>«- 
carne ry^nspicuoiis in the Koyal conduct. Tho 
OunpU: d'Artois. and tfi« otrjr;r Prif/C<;« of tho 
Bl'><>d, published the boldeet manifestoes 
Against tfirj Anntimh\y', th« crtsdit of M. 
Neckar at Court declined every day; the 
I{/>yalists in the cliarnber of the Noblesse 
sf^'jke of nothing lefs tlian an imj^eachrrujnt 
of the OKomoriB for high-tre?iV;n, and an 
immediate (liswdutioii of the I-jta'.'rs; and a 
vast milit'iry force and a trf»mendou» park 
of artillery were collected from all j^rts of 
tfu; kingdom toA-aidh Ver^ailJes and Paris. 
Under thew? rnenaiiing and inauHjnciriUS cif- 
•cumstatKMjs. the meeting of the Slates-Gene- 
ral was prohibited by t fie King's order till a 
lUiyal S<Jssiori. which was de»»ined for the 
twffuty-iit'A'A)U(( but not held till the twenty- 
lhir<l of June, luwl taken \)Vdct. On r<fpair- 
ing to their Hall on the twentieth, the Com- 
mons found it invest<vl with wddiers, and 
thems<jlves excluderl by tfie j.oint of the 
Iwyonet, They were summoned by th.^ii 
Pre»i/Jent to a Tennih-Cr/urt, w beic they wera 



412 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



reduced to hold thoir assembly, and which 
they rendered funions as the scene of their 
unanimous and memorable oath, — never to 
separate till they had achieved the regenera- 
tion ot" France. 

The ]\oyal Session thus announced, cor- 
responded with the new tont? ot" the Court. 
Its exterior was marked by the gloomy and 
ferocious liaughtiness of despotism. The 
Royal Puppet was now evidently moved by 
ditlerent persons from those who had prompt- 
ed its Speech at the opening of the States. 
lie probably now spoke both with the same 
spirit and the same heart, and felt as little 
lirmness under the cloak of arrogance, as he 
hail bs^en coiiscions of sensibility amidst his 
j)rofessions of ad'eciioii ; he was probably as 
leeble in th(> one as he hail been cold in the 
other: but liis language is some criterion of 
the system of his jMompters. This speech was 
distinguished by insulting couilescension and 
ostentatious menace. He spoke not as the 
Chief of a free nation to its sovereign Legisla- 
ture, but asa Sultan to his Divan. Heannulled 
and prescribed deliberations at pleasure. He 
afTected to represent his will as the rule of 
their conduct, and his bounty as the source 
of their freedom. Nor was the matter of 
bis harangue less injurious than its manner 
was olFensive. Insteail of containing any 
concession important to public liberty, it in- 
dicated a relapse into a more lofty despotism 
than had before marked his pretensions. 
Tithes, feudal and seignorial rights, he con- 
secrated as the most inviolable property ; and 
of Leitrcs dc Cachet themselves, by recom- 
mending the regulation, he obviously con- 
demned the abolition. The distinction of 
Orders he considered as essential to the Con- 
6titutiou of the kingdom, aiul their present 
union as only legitimate by his permission. 
He concluileil with commautling them to 
separate, and to assemble on the next day 
in the Halls of their respective Orders. 

The Ci)imnons, however, inflexibly ad- 
hering to their principles, and conceiving 
themselves constitutetl as a National Assem- 
bly, treated these threats and injunctions with 
equal neglect. They remained assembled 
in the Hall, which the other Orders hatl 
quitted in obedience to the Royal command; 
and when the Marquis de Breze, the King's 
Master of the Ceremonies, reminded them 
of his Majesty's orders, he was answered by 
M. Bailly, with Spartan energy, — "The Na- 
tion assembletl has no ortlers to receive." 
They proceeded to pass resolutions declara- 
tory of adherence to their former decrees, 
and of the personal inviolability of the mem- 
bers. Th(! Royal Session, which the Aristo- 
cratic party had expected with such triumph 
and conlidence. proved the sevt-rest blow to 
their cause. Forty-nine members of the No- 
bility, at the head of whom was M. de Cler- 
mont-Tonnerre, repaired on the 26th of June 
to the Assembly.* The popular enthusiasm 



* It deserves remark, that in tliis number were 
Noblemen who have ever bcea considered as of 



was inflamed to such a degree, that alarms 
were either felt or affected, for the safety of 
the King, if the iniion of Oi'ders was delayed 
The union was accordingly resolved on; and 
the Duke of Luxembourg, Piesideiit of the 
Nobility, was authorisetl by his IMajesly to 
announce to his Ordi-r the rei]iu\st and even 
command of the King, to unite tlu-mselves 
with the others. He remonstrated with the 
King on the fatal consequences of this step. 
"The Nobility," he remarked, "were not 
fighting their own battles, but those of iho 
Crown. The sui)port of lh<? monarchy was 
inseparably connected with the division of 
the Slates-General: divided, that body was 
subject to the Crown; united, its authority 
was sovereign, and its force irresistible."* 
The King was not. however, shaken by these 
considerations, and on the following day, no- 
tified his pleasure in an official letter to the 
Presidents of the Nobility and the Clergy. 4 
gloomy and reluctant obetlience \\as yielded 
to this mantlate, and the union of the Na- 
tional Representatives at length promised 
some hope to France. 

But the general system of the Governmenl 
formed a suspicious and tremendous con- 
trast with this appkuuled concession. Nev? 
hordes of foreign mercenaries were sum- 
monetl to the blockade of Paris aiul Versail- 
les, from the remotest provinces; an im- 
mense train of artillery was disjjosed in all 
the avenues of these cities; iind seventy 
thousand men already invested the Capital, 
when the last blow was jiazardtd ugainst 
the public hopes, by the ignominious banish- 
ment of M. Neckar. Events followed, the 
most unexampled and memorable in the 
annals of mankind, which histoiy w ill record 
and immortalize, but, on which, the object 
of the ])olitieal reasoner is only to speculate. 
France was on the brink of civil \^ar. 'J'ho 
Provinces were ready to march immense 
bodies to the rescue of their repnseiitatives. 
The courtiers and their minions, princes 
and princesses, male and femiile favourite.*, 
crowded to the camps with which th<'y had 
invested Versailles, and stimulated the fe- 
rocious cruelty of their mercenaries, by ca- 
resse.i, by largesses, and by promises. Mean 
time the people of Paris revolted ; the French 
soldiery felt that they were citizens ; and the 
fabric of Despotism fell to the ground. 

These soldiers, whom posterity will cele- 
brate for patriotic heroism, are stigmatized 
by Mr. Burke as "base hireling deserters," 
who sold their King for an increase of pay.t 



ihe mo(h'r<Uc party. Of t!ie.«e may l>e mentioned 
M.M. Lallv, Virieii, and CU'rmDiii-'i'ennerre, 
none of wiiom oerluiiily can be accused of demo- 
craiie enthusiasm. 

* 'I'liese remarks of M. do Luxeniboiirg are 
equivalent to a iliou.sand defenres of liie Revolu- 
tionists against Mr. Burke. 'I'liey unanswerably 
prove that the division of Orders was supported 
o?iIy as necessary to palsy the efforts of the Legis> 
laiure against the Despotism. 

t Mr. Burko is sanctioned in this opinion by an 
antliority not the most respectable, tliai of his late 
countryman Count Dalton, Commander of th« 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



413 



Thif position ho ovory where asserts or in- 
siiiuati'S : but nolhiiig seems more false. 
Had the (h'fectioii been coiitiiKui to Paris, 
there might have been some sp(.'ciousneKS 
in the acensalion. The cxehoquer of a fac- 
tion mi<iht have been etjnal to the corrnp- 
tioti of the f^iiards: the activity of iiitrij^nie 
might have seduced the troo[)s cauloiicd in 
the neighbourhood of the capital.. But what 
policy, or fortune, could pervade by their 
agents, or donatives, an army of one hundred 
and fifty thousand men, dispersed over so 
great a monarchy as France. The spirit of 
resistance to uncivic commands broke forth 
at once in every part of tlie empire. The 
garrisons of the cities of Jlemies, Bourdeaux, 
Lyons, and Grenoble, refused, almost at the 
same moment, to resist the virtuous insur- 
rection of llieir fellow-citiz(Mis. No largesses 
could liave seduced, — no intrigui.'S could 
hav(! r(;ached so vast and dividi;d a botly. 
Nothing but sympathy with the national 
spirit could have j)roduced their noble dis- 
obedience. The n^mark of Mr. Hume is 
here most ap|)licable, '•' that wliat depends 
on a few may be often attributed to chance 
(secret circumstances); but that the actions 
of great bodies must be ever ascribed to 
general cau.sos." It was the apprehension 
of Montes(|uieu, that the spirit of increasing 
armies would t((rminat(; in converting Euroix; 
into an irnmi'iise camp, in changing our arti- 
sans and cultivators into military savag(>s, 
and reviving the age of Altila and Genghis. 
Events are our precf^ptors, and France has 
taught us»t}iat this evil contains in itself its 
own remedy and limit. A domestic army 
cannot bo increased without increasing the 
number of its ties with the people, and of 
the channels by which jKjpular sentiment 
may enter. Every man wdio is added to the 
army is a new link that unites it to the na- 
tion. If all citizfMis were compelled to be- 
come soldiers, all soldiers must of necessity 
adopt the feelings of citizens; and despots 
cannot increase their army without admit- 
ting into it a greater number of men inte- 
rested in destroying them. A small army 
may have sentiments different fiom the great 
bocfy of the people, and no interest in com- 
mon with them, but a numerous soldiery 
cannot. This is tlie barrier which Natur(j 
lias opposed to the increase of armies. They 
cannot be numerous enough to enslave the 
oeople, without becoming the people itself. 
The efTecIs of lais truth have been hitherto 
conspicuous only in the military defection 
of France, because the enlightened sense of 
general interest has been so much more dif- 
fused in that nation than in any other des- 
potic monarchy of Europe: but thtjy must 
be felt by all. An elaborate discipline may 
for a while in Germany debase and brutalize 
soldiers too much to receive anyirnpressions 



Auatriaii troops in the Npthnriands. In Spptem- 
ber, 178;), lie aiidirossecl the Rf'f^itnftnt de Lignc, 
at BniPHels, in diesc terms : — " J'espcre que vous 
n'imiierez jarnaiH cos ladies Fratijoia qui ont 
abandonnc Icur Souverain ! " 



from their fellow men: artificial and local 
institutions are, however^ too feeble to resist 
th(! energy of natural causes. 1'he consti- 
lution of man survives the transient fashions 
of despotism ; and the history of the next 
century will probably evince on liowfiail and 
loitering a basis the military tyrannies of 
Europe stand. 

The pretended seduction of the troops by 
the promise of incr(;ased pay, is in every 
view contradicted by facts. 'J'his increase 
of pay did not originate in the Assembly; it 
was not ev(;n any part of their policy ; it was 
prescribed to them by th(j instructions of 
lh(!ir constituents, before the rne(!ting of the 
States.* It could not therefore be the pro- 
j(!ct of any cabal of demagogu(;s to seduce 
the army : it was the decisive and unani- 
mous vnic<! of thii nation ; and if there was 
any conspiracy, it must have been th.at of 
the peo])l(!. What had (hsmagogues to offer ? 
The soldiery knew that the tSlules must, in 
obedienc(! to their instructions, increase their 

Eay. This increase could, therefore, have 
(!en no temptation to them; for of it they 
felt themselves already secure, as the na- 
tional voice had prescribed it. It was in 
fact a necessary j)art of the system which 
was to raise the army to a body of respect- 
able citizens, from a gang of nieiidicant ruf- 
fians. An increase of j)ay must infallibly 
operate to limit tlie increase of aimiesin the 
North. This inducMice hasbi en already felt 
in the N(!therlands, which ioitunc seems to 
have restored to Leopold, that they might 
furnish a school of revolt to German soldiers. 
The Austrian troops have tliere murmured 
at their comparative indigence, and have 
supported their plea for increase of pay by 
the examphj of France. The snme example 
rmist operate on the other armies of Europe: 
and the solicitations of arni'Mi juititionera 
must be hi-ard. The indigent desjiots of 
Gf-rmany and the North will feel ii limit to 
their military rage, in th(; scantiness of their 
exche(]uer. They will be compelled to re- 
duce the nimiber, and increase the j)ay of 
their armies : and a new barrier will be op- 
posed to the progress of that depopulation 
and barbarism, which philoso])herB have 
dreaded from the rapid iiicrea,s(' of military 
force. These remarks on the sj)irit which 
actuated the French army in tlieir unexam- 
pled, misconceived, and calumniated con- 
duct, are peculiarly important, as th(!y serve 
to illustrate a j>rincii)le, which cannot too 
frequently lie presented to view, — that in 
the French Revolution all is to be attributed 
to general causes infiuencing the whole body 
of the people, and almost nothing to the 
schemes and the ascendant of individuals. 

But to return to our rapid sketch : — it was 
at the moment of the Parisian iev(»lt, and of 
the defection of the army, that, the whole 
power of France devolved on the National 
Assembly. It is at that moment, therefore, 
that the discussion commences, whether that 



• Calonne, p. ',\W 
2k2 



414 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



bodj' ought to have re-established and re- 
formed the goviM*iineiit wliich events had 
subverted, or to luive pioccedeil to the esta- 
blishment •)( a now eonstilutioii; on the gene- 
ral principles of reason and IVeedom. The 
arm of the ancient Government had been 
palsied, and its powei reduced to a mere 
formality, by events over which the As- 
semblj' possessed no control. It was theirs 
to decide, not whether the monarchy was 
to be subverted, for that had been already 
elfected, but whether, from its ruins, frag- 
ments were to be coUectetl lor the recon- 
struction of the political edilieo. They had 
been assembled as an ordinary Legisla- 
ture under existing laws: they were trans- 
formed by these events into a National Con- 
vention, anil vested with powers to organize 
a government. It is in vain that their adver- 
saries contest this assertion, by appealing to 
the deficiency of forms;* it is in vain to de- 
mand the legal instrument that changed their 
constitution, and extended their powers. 
(Accurate forms in the conveyance of power 
are prescribed by the wisdom of law, in the 
regular adminislratioh of stales: but great 
revolutions are too immense for technical 
formality. Ail the sanction ihat can be 
hoped for in such events, is the voice of the 
people, however informally and irregularly 
expressed. This cannot be pretended to 
liave been wanting in France. Every other 
species of antiiority was annihilated by popu- 
lar acts, but that of the States-General. On 
them, therefore, devolved the duty of exer- 
cising their unlimited trust,t according to 
their best views of general interest. Their 
enemies have, even in their invectives, con- 

* "This circumatnnce is tlius shortly slated liy 
Mr. BurUe, (p. 212): — I can never consider this 
Assembly as anything else than a voluniary asso- 
ciation of men, who have availed themselves of 
circumstances to seize upon the power of the State. 
They do not hold tiie authority they exerci.-^e under 
any constitutional law of the State, 'i'hey have 
departed from the instructions of the people that 
sent them." The same arguinciu is treated hy M. 
de Calonne, in an expanded memorial of foriy- 
f>>ur pages, (314 — 358), against the pretensions of 
the Assembly to be a Convention, with much 
unaTailing intjenuity and labour. 

t A distinction made l)y l\Ir. Burke between the 
ahstmcl and moral c<nnpetency of a Leirislatf.re 
(p. 27), has l)een iinich extolled by his admirers. 
To me it seems only a novel and objectionable 
mode of distinsnishing' between a right nnA the cx- 
fiedieiicy of using it. But the mode of illustrating 
ilie distinction is far more pernicious than a mere 
novelty of phrase. This moral competence is sub- 
ject, says our author, to '■ fiith, justice, and fixed 
fundamental policy:" thus illus'rated, the distinc- 
tion appears liable to a double objection. It is false 
that the ahstraci competence of a Legislature ex- 
tends to tiie violation of faith and justice : it is false 
that its moral competence does not extend to the 
most fundamental policy. 'I'hus to confound fun- 
damental policy with faith and justice, for the sake 
of stigmatizing innovators, is to stab the vitals of 
morality. There is only one maxim of policy 
truly fundamental — ilie good of the governed; 
and the stability of that maxim, rightly understood, 
demonstrates the mutability of all policy that is 
eubordiimin to it. 



fessed the subsequent adherence of the people, 
for they have inveighetl against it as the in- 
fatualion of a dire lanalicisni. The authority 
of the Assembly was then first eoiderrcd on 
it by public confidence; iuid its acts have 
been since ratified by jjublic appiobation. 
Nothing can betray a disposition to indulge 
in punyaiul technical sophistry more stionglyj 
than to observe with M. de Calonne, "that 
this ratification, to be vtilid, ought to have 
been made by France, not in her new or- 
ganization of municii)alities, but in her ancient 
division of bailliages and provinces." The 
same 2?i</hri(/Ha/.s act in bolli forms; the ap- 
probation of the 7nen legitimatizes the govern- 
ment : it is of no importance, wlu'ther they 
are assembled in bailliages or in muiucipali- 
lies. 

If this latitude of informality, lliis subjec- 
tion of laws to their principle, and of govern- 
ment to its source, are not permitted in 
revolutions, how are we to justify the assumed 
authority of the English Convention of 1688? 
"They did not hold the authority they exer- 
cised under any constitutional law of the 
State." They were not even legally elected, 
as, it must be confessed, was the case with 
the French As.sembly. An evidt iit, though 
irregultir, ratification by the peojile, alone 
legitimatized their acts. Yet they possessed, 
by the confession of Mr. Burke, an authority 
only limited by prudence and virtue. Had 
the people of England given instructions to 
the members of that Convention, its ultimate 
measures would probnbly have departed as 
much from those instructions as the French 
Assembly have deviated from those of their 
constituents; and the public actpiitscence in 
the deviation would, in all likelihood, have 
been the same. It will be confessed by any 
man who has considered the public temper 
of England at the landing of William, tliat 
the majority of those instructions would not 
have proceeded to the deposition of James. 
The first aspect of these great changes per- 
plexes anil intimidates men too much for just 
views and bold resolutions: it is by the pro- 
gress of events that their hopes avc embold- 
ened, and their views enlarged. This influ- 
ence was felt in France. The people, in an 
advanced period of the Revolution, virtually 
recalled the instructions by which the feeble- 
ness of their political infancy had limited the 
power of their representatives ; for they sanc- 
tioned acts by which those instructions were 
contradicted. The formality of instructions 
was indeed wanting in England ; but the 
change of public sentiment, from the opening 
of the Convention to its ultimate decision, 
was as remarkable as the contrast which has 
been so ostentatiously displayed by M. de 
Calonne, between the decrees of the National 
Assembly and the first instructions of their 
constituents. 

We now resume the consideration of this 
exercise of authority by the Assembly, and 
proceed to inquire, whether they ought to 
nave reformed, or destroyed their govern- 
ment 1 The general question of innovation 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



415 



18 an exhausted common-place, to which the 
genius of Mr. Huike hiis been able to add 
nolliin^- biit ;-.pli;ndour of (jlofjnenee and feli- 
city ol illustration. It has loii;^ been so 
notoriously of this nature, that it i.s placed 
by J^ord Hacon arnony the sportive cont(;sts 
which are to exercise rhetorical skill. No 
man will support the extreme on either sich;: 
perpetual change and immutable establish- 
ment are (equally indefensible. To descend 
then.dbre from these barren generalities to a 
nearer view of the question, let us state it 
more precisely : — Was the civil order in 
Fiance corrigible, or was it necessary to de- 
etroy it 1 Not to mention the extirpation of 
the feudal syst(;rn, and the abrogation of the 
civil and criminal code?, we have first to con- 
sider the destruction of the three great cor- 
porations, of the Nobility, the Church, and 
the Parliaments. These three Aristocracies 
were the i)illar8 which in fact formed the 
government of France. The question then 
of forming or destroying these bodies was 
fundamejital. 

There is one general principle applicable 
to them all adopted by the French legislators, 
— ihat the existence of Orders is nqtugnant 
to the principles of the social union. An 
Order is a legal rank, a body of men com- 
bined and endowed with privileges by law. 
There are two kinds of inequality: the one 
personal, that of talent and virtue, the source 
of whatever is excellent and admirable in 
society ; the other, that of fortune, which 
must exbit, because property alone can 
^tinaulatc to labonrj^andjlabour, if it were 
/not nec(!ssa'ry to the existence, would be iii- 
/ dispensable to the happine.ss of man. Hut 
I though it be necessary, yet in its excess it is 
the great malady of civil society. The ac- 
cumulation of that power which is conferred 
by wealth in the hands of the few, is the 
perpetual source of oppression and neglect to 
the mass of mankind. The power of the 
wealthy is farther concentrated by their ten- 
dency to combination, from which, number, 
dispersion, indigence, and ignorance equally 
preclude the poor. The wealthy are formed 
into bodies by their professions, their differ- 
ent degreeeof opulence (called ''ranks"), their 
knowledge, and their small number. They 
necessarily in all countries administer govern- 
ment, for they alone have skill and leisure 
for its functions. Thus circumstanced, no- 
thing can be more evident than their incvita- 
Jjlo.prep.otjd'Jrance in the pohtical scale. .The 
/preference of partial to general interests is, 
/ however, the greatest of all public evils. It 
' should therefore have been the object of all 
laws to repress this malady; but it has been 
their perpetual tendwicy to aggravate it. 
Not content with the inevitable inequality 
wf fortune, they have superadded to it hono- 
rary and political distinctions. Not content 
with the inevitable tendency of the wealthy 
to combine, they have embodied them in 
clas-^es. They have fortified those conspira- 
cies against the general interest, which they 
ought to have resisted, though they could 



not disarm. Laws, it is said, cannot equalize / 
men; — No: but ought they for thut reason ' 
to aggravate the inc;quality which ihey can- 
not cure? Laws cannot insjiire uinnixed 
jjatriotism : but ought Ihey for that reason to 
I'ornent that corporalion spirit vxhicdi is its 
most fatal enemy? "All professional com- 
binations," said Mr.Hurke, in one ol his late 
speeches in Parliament, "are dangerous in a 
free state." Arguing on the same jjrinciple, 
the National Assembly has proc* eded I'ur- 
th(?r. They have conceived ihat the laws // 
ought to create no inequality of combination, 
to recognise all only in their c;i|acily of citi- 
zens, and to offer no assistance to ihe natural 
prepond(;ran{;e of partial ov(;r general interest. 

But, besides the general source of hostility 
to Orders, the particular circumstances of 
P' ranee presented other objections, which it 
is necessary to consider mon; in detail. 

It is in the fiist ])lace to b(j remark(.'d, that 
all the bodies and institutions of the king- 
dom participated in the spirit of the ancient 
government, and in that view were incapable 
of alliance with a free constitution. They 
w<;re tainted by the d(!spotism of v\ hich they 
had been either m(;mbers or instrmnenta. 
Absolute monarchies, like every other con- 
sistent and permanent government, assimi- 
late every thing with which they are con- 
necter! to their own genius. The Nobility, 
the Priesthood, the .Judicial Aristocracy, were 
unfit to be members of a free government, 
because their corporate character had been 
.formed under arbitrary establishments. To 
have preserved these grfiat corporations, 
would be to have retained the seeds of re- 
viving despotism in the bosom of freedom. 
This remark may merit the attention of Mr. 
liurke, as illustrating an important difference 
between the French and English Revolu- 
tions. The Clergy, the Peerage, and Judi- )| 
cature of England had imbibed in some de- 
gree the sentiments inspired by a government 
in which freedom had been eclipsed, but not 
extinguished. They were therefore (jualified 
to partake of a more stable and improved 
liberty. But the case of France was differ- 
ent. These bodies liad there imbibed every 
sentiment, and adopted every habit under 
arbitrary power. Their preservation in Eng- 
land, and their destruction in P'rance, may 
in this view be justified on similar grounds. 
It is absurd to regard the Orders as remnants 
of that free constitution which France, in 
common with the other Gothic nations of 
Europe, once enjoyed. Nothing remained 
of these ancient Orders but the name. The 
Nobility were no longer those haughty and 
powerful Barons, who enslaved the people, 
and dictated to the King. The Ecclesias- 
tics were no longer that Priesthofxl before 
whom, in a benighted and superstiticjs age, 
all civil power was impotent and mute. 
They had both dwindled into dependents 
on the Crown. Still less do the opulent and 
enlightened Commons of France resemble 
its servile and beggared populace in the six 
teenth centuiy. Two h mdred years of im- 



416 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



interrupted exercise had legitimatized abso- 
lute authority as much as prescription can 
consecrate usurpation. The ancient French 
Constitution was therefore no farther a mo- 
del than that of any foreipi nation which 
was to be juJged of alone by its utility, and 
possessed in no respect the authority of esta- 
blishtnent. It had been sncceetled by an- 
other government ; and if France was to re- 
cur to a period antecedent to her servitude 
for legislative models, she niiiiht as well 
ascend to the 8Dia of Clovis or Charlemagne, 
as be r(>gulated by the precedents of Henry 
III. or Mary of Medicis. All these forms ot' 
government existed only historically. 

These observations include all the Orders. 
Let us consider each of them successively. 
The devotion of tlie Nobility of France to 
the Monarch was inspired equally by their 
sentiments, their interests, and their habits. 
'■ The feudal and chivalrous spirit of fealty,"' 
so long the prevailing passion of Europe, was 
still nourished in their bosoms by the mili- 
tary sentiments from which it first arose. 
The majority of them had still no profession 
but war, — no hope but in Royal favour. The 
youthful and indigent filled the camps; the 
more opulent anti mature partook the splen- 
dour and bounty of the Court : but they were 
equally dependents on the Crown. To the 
})Ieiiitnde of the Royal power were attached 
those immense and magnificent privileges, 
which diviiled France into distinct nations; 
which exli biled a Nobility monopolizing the 
rewards and ofHces of the State, and a peo-. 
pie degrailed to political helotism.* INIen 
do not cordially resign such privileges, nor 
quickly dismiss the sentiments which they 
have inspired. The ostentatious sacrifice of 
pecuniary exemptions in a moment of gene- 
ral fermentation is a wretched criterion of 
their genuine feelings. They aflected to be- 
stow as a gift, what they would have been 
speeilily compelled to abandon as an usurpa- 
tion; and they hoped by the sacrifice of a 
part to purchase security for the rest. They 
have been most justly stated to be a band of 
political Janissaries,t — far more valuable to 
a Sultan than mercenaries, because attached 
to him by unchantreable interest and indeli- 
ble sentiment. Whether any reform could 
have extracted from this body an element 
which might have entered into the new Con- 
stitution is a question which we shall consi- 
der when that political system comes under 
our review. Their existence, as a member 
of the Legislature, is a question distinct from 
their preservation as a separate Order, or 
great corporation, in the State. A senate of 
Nobles might have been established, though 
the Order of the Nobility had been destroyed ; 
and England would then have been exactly 
copied. But it is of the Order that we now 
speak; for we are now considering the de- 

* I say political in contrndistinclinn to civil, for 
Vn the latter sense the assertion would have been 
untrue. 

I See Mr. Rous' excellent Thoughts on Go- 
vernment. 



struction of the old, not the formation of tha 
new government. The suppression of tha 
Nobility has been in England most absurdly 
coidbuiule'l with the prohibition of titles. 
The union of the Orders in one Assembly 
was the lirst step towards the destruction of 
a legislative Nobility: the abolition of their 
feudal rights, in the memorable session of 
the 4th of August, 1789, may be regarded as 
the second. They rt^tained after these mea- 
sures no distinction but what was jnuely 
nominal; and it remained to be determined 
what place they were to occupy in the new 
Constitution. That question was decided by 
the decree of the 22d of December, in tlio 
same year, which enacted, that the Electoral 
Assemblies were to be composeil without 
any reg-ard to rank; and that citizens of all 
Orders were to vote in them intliscriminately. 
The tlistinction of OriliMs was thus destroyeil : 
the Nobility were to form no part of the new 
Constitulion, and were strijiped of all that 
they had enjoyed under iheold government, 
but' their titles. 

Hitherto all had passed mnioticed, but no 
sooner did the Assembly, faithful to their 
principles, proceed to extirpate the external 
signs of the ranks, which they no longer 
tolerated, than all Einope resounded with 
clamours against their Utopian and levelling 
madness. The "incredible'"* decree of the 
19lh of June, 1790, for the suppression of 
titles, is the object of all these invectives; yet 
without that measure the Assembly would 
certainly have been guilty of the grossest in- 
consistency and absurdity. An untitled No- 
bility forming a member of the State, had 
been exemplifieil in some commonwealths 
of antiquity; — such were the Patricians in 
Rome : but a titled Nobility, without h'gal 
privileges, or political existence, would have 
been a mon.ster new in the arnials of legisla- 
tive absunlity. The power was possessed 
without the bauble by the Roman ari.sto- 
cracy: the bauble would have b(>en reve- 
renced, while the power was trampled on, 
if titles had been spared in France. A titled 
Nobility is the most undisputt>d progeny of 
feudal barbarism. Titles had in all nations 
cJcnotcd o£iccs : it was reserved for Gothic 
Europe to attach them to ranks. Yt>t this 
conduct of our remote ancestors admits ex- 
planation ; for with them oflices were here- 
ditary, an<l hence the titles denoting them 
became hereditary too. But we, who have 
rejected hereditary oOice. retain an usage to 
which it gave rise, and which it alone couKl 
justify. So egregiously is this recent origin 
of a titled Nobility misconceived, that it has 
been even pretended to be necessary to the 
order and existence t)f society ; — a narrow 
and arrogant mistake, which would limit all 
}X)litical remark to the Gothic states of Eu- 
rope, or establish pjeneral principles on events 
that occupy so short a period of history, and 
manners that have been adopted by so slen- 
der a portion of the human race. A titled 

* So called by M. de Calonne. 



A DKFKN'CE OF THE FRKNCH REVOLUTION. 



417 



Nfobiliiy warf equally unknown to tlu; splen- 
did mofiai chics of Ahui, and lo ihu manly 
uimplicity of tlifj anci'Mit comrnonwi alths.* 
ft aioxf; fior/i the prMcuIiar circMiinstanccs of 
niodorii Kriropn; and y(!l il« )ir'Cff*«:ty is now 
urijicU.-d on lini basis of univr;isul cxpi'iii-nci;. 
as if thuHt: other nMiowncd and ])o!is!i<;u 
Htat<!H w(!if! (dfacfid from the records of Jiis- 
tory, and banished from ihe sorncly of na- 
tions. "Nobility ifl the Corinthian t%i{)ital 
of nolifth'jd flates:" — the aujiunt fabric of 
// society is deformnd and encumbered by 
I such Colhic ornarncnls.. The massy Doric 
that sustains it is Labour; and the s[)!end;d 
variety of arts and talents that solaco and 
embellish life, form the d(;corations of its 
Corinthian ana Ionic caj)itals. 

Other motives benides the extirpation of 
feudality, disposed the French Legislature 
to the suppression of titles. To <^ivo sta- 
bility to a popular (government, a (h.'mocratic 
cluiracler must be formed, and democratic 
sentiments inspired. The «(;nviment of 
equality which titular distinctions have, 
perhaps, mort; than any other caus", extin- 
guished in Europe, and without which 
democratic forms are impotent and short- 
lived, was to lie revived ; and a free ^govern- 
ment was to be established, by carryin;^ the 
spirit of equality and fre(;dom into the fiM.-l- 
ings, the maruiers, and the most familiar 
intercourse of men. The bad;^f;8 of ine- 
quality, which were perpetually inspirinf.^ 
sentiments adverse to the spirit of the go- 
vernment, were therefore destroyed, as dis- 
tinctions which only served to unfit the 
Nobility for obedience, and the people for 
freedom, — to keep alive the discontent of 
the one, and to perpetuate the servility of 
the other, — to deprive the one of the mode- 
ration that sinks them into citizens, and lo 
rob the other of the spirit that e.valts them 
into free men. A simple example can alone 
dispel inveterate prejudices. Thus tliou;.dil 
our ancestors at the Revolution, when they 
deviated from the succession, to destroy the 

f)reiudice of its sanctity. Thus also did the 
egifilators of France feel, w lien, by the abo- 
lition of titles, they gave a mortal blow to 
the slavish prejudices which unfitted their 
country for freedom. It was a practical as- 
sertion of t?iat equality which h:id bf;en 
consecrated in the Declaration of Rights, 
but which no abstract assertion could luive 
conveyed into the spirits and the hi-arts of 
men. It procr^i'ded on the principle tha.1 
the security of a revolution of [rovcnimcnt 
can only arise from a revolution of cAaroc/c/-. 

* Aristocratic bodice did indeed exiai in the an- 
ticiU world, but title* were inikriown. Though 
they posaoH.'ied poIitic.il privilcK's. yel os diew 
did not afl' ct ilie mnyineTn, ihry liad not the f^atnc 
inovitahle tcii(!<rir:y to laiiii die public characior 
as titular di.siinciions. 'J'hcsc hodics too l)eirig in 
general opf;n to properly, or ojfit:e, rliey are in no 
respect to lie compared to the Nobles of Europi;. 
They might aff-ct ihe/orm* of a free fjovernniciit 
as mufh, but they did not in the same proportion 
injure the spirit of freedom. 
53 



I To these reasonings it has been opposed. 
j that hereditary distinctions ore the rnoriu 
: treasure of a slate, by which it excites u/id 
I rewards public viilue and public service, and 
I wh'ch. without national injury or biuden, 
0]}erat('s with resistless force on gcn<'rouH 
minds. To this I answer, that of pcrxonal 
(listinctions this descrij)tion is most Iruej 
j.but that this iTsoral tr'-asury of honour is in 
I fact impoverished by the irnprovid(.'nl profu- 
sion that has made tliern hereditary. The 
{xifssession of honours by tlmt multitude, 
I who have iidierit(;d but not acfjuircd thf-m, 
engros.«e8 and dej)recialefi th'se ii:c(iitives 
and rewards of virtue. Werr; ifn-y puiely 
peisonal, thi;ir value would be doubly en- 
hanc(.'d, as the possessors would be Icwer 
w hile the distinction was more honouiable. 
P(MWjnal distinctions then every wise state 
will cherish as its surest and noblest re- 
source; but of hereditary title, — at least in 
thecircumslanc(;sof Fnuice,"* — the abolition 
seems to have been just arul politic. 

The fatr; of the Church, tin; si'cond groat 
corporation lliat sustained tin; French d(spo- 
tism, has pe'culiarly provoked the indi;,'na- 
tion of Mr. Burke. The di6.solulioM of the 
Church as a body, the resumption of its 
territori:Tl revenues, and the new orgam'/.a- 
tion of the priesthood, appear to him (o be 
dictated by the union of robbery and irre- 
ligion, to glut the rapacity of stockjobbers, 
and to gratify the ho.slility of atheists. Ail 
th(! outrages and pro.scriptions of ancient or 
modern tyr.aiils vanish, in his opinion, in 
compariftf)n with this confiscation of the pro- 
neity of the Galliean Chuich. Principles 
riad, it is true, been on this subject exj^lored, 
and reasons had been urged by mf;n of ge- 
nius, which vulgar men deemed irresistible. 
But with those reasons Mr. Hnike will not 
deign to combat. "You do not imagine, 
Sir," says he to liis corref-pcjudfint, "that I 
am going to compliment this mixcrahle de- 
r^cripiion of pnmons with any long discuii- 
sion ?"t What immediately follows this_ 
contemptuous passage is so outrageously of-' 
fensive to candour and urbanity, that an 



* I have been groshly misunderstood by those 
who have suppoHcd this fjiialificaion an avHunu'd 
r)r a(Ti!(;!ed reserve. I believe the pritifiple only 
as fjtialified by liic circutiistances of diflcrent tia- 
tioiiH. 

t The Aldje Maury, who is not Iosb rr mark- 
aide for the liiry of elofjunnt deflani;i'i';ti, ilian 
for ilie inept parade of liit-Joiical enidiioii, ai- 
leiiiplcd in the deliatn on iliis Hubjeci lo trn'-r the 
<i|iifiioii liijjlicr. Hthh: lawvern. accordinjj i<i iiiin, 
Iiad in!4iiiii!ii('i! it lo ilif; (lipinan HtiipiT<>r"f, and 
againt)t it was pointed the tnaxini of she civil 
law, " Oiniii:i leneH C;c.^ar irnperio. fic.! n<in 
domiiiio." Louis XIV. and Loiii-t XV. had, if 
we may believe liitti, both Ijcen a«H;ii!t'd ly iliis 
Maeliinvelian doctrine, and ijoili haij r^'pulfi'd it 
wiili maijiianimoiifi indignation. 'flie ifrirned 
Al>be committeil only one mistake. The doHfiois 
of Rome and I' ranee had indeed l)cen poisoned 
with the idea that they were ilie i/nin'-diate pro- 
prietors of lUcir subjects' estates. 'I'hai opinion 
IS execrable and flnrjitious ; but it i^* not. as wo 
shall see, the doctrine of the French Icgislalor.i 



418 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



honourable adversary will disilain to avail 
liimsolf of it. The ]>assag(i itself", lunvcviT, 
doinaikls a paiiso. It alimlos to an opinion, 
of which I iriist IMr. Hiirko did not know tho 
orii::in. Tiiat tho Ciinroh lamls were national 
proj)i>rty was not lirst assiMtoil amoni;' the 
Jacobins, or in tho Palais Koyal. Tho au- 
thor of that opinion, — tho master of that 
wretched description of persons, whom Mv. 
Hnrko disdains to encounter, was one whom 
he mi;L:;ht have combated with glory, — with 
conlidence of triumph in victory, and with- 
out fi'ar or shaun' in iK^feal The author of 
that opinion was Turcot ! a name now too 
high to bo o.\alti\l by eulogy, or depresseil 
by invective. That benevolent and philo- 
sophic statesman delivered it, in the article 
<' lAmiulatiou" of the Encyclopedie, as the 
calm auti disinterested opinion of a scholar, 
at a moment when he could have no object 
in palliating ra[)acity, or prompting irreligion. 
It was no doctrine contrived for the occasion 
by the agent.s of tyranny : it was a principle 
discovered in pure and harmless specula- 
tion, by one of the best and wisest of men. 
1 adduce the authority of Tnrgot, not to op- 
pose the arguments (if there had been any), 
but to counteract the insinuations of Mr. 
Burke. Th.> authority of his as,<ertions 
forms a prejuilice, which is thus to be re- 
moved before we can hope for a fair audi- 
ence at the bar of Rea.son. If he iuvsinuates 
th^i (lagiliousness of these opinions by the 
supposed vileuess of their origin, it cannot 
bo unlit to pave the way for their reception, 
by assigning to them a more illustrious 
pedigree. 

But dismissingthe genealogy of doctrines, 
let us examine their intrinsic value, and 
listen to no voice but that of truth. '-Are 
the lands occupied by the Church the pro- 
perty of its members T'' Various considera- 
tions present themselves, which may eluci- 
. date the subject. 
1/' It has not hitherto been supposed that any 
class of public servants are proprietors. — 
They are salaried* by the State for the per- 
formance of certain duties. Judges are paid 
for the distribution of justice; kings for the 
execution of tho laws; soldiers, where there 
is a mercenary army, for public ilefence ; 
and priests, where there is an established 
religion, for public instruction. The mode 
of their payment is indiflerent to the ques- 
tion. It is generally in rude ages by land, 
and in cultivated periods by money. But a 
territorial pension is no more property than 
a pecuniary one. The right ot the State to 
regulate the Siilarics of those servants whom 
it pays in money has not been disputed : 
and if it has chosen to provide the revenue 
of a certain portion of land for the s;ilary of 
another class of servants, wherefore is its 
right more disputable, to resume that land, 
and to establish a new mode of payment ? 



• " lis sent ou galaries, on inendinns. ou vo- 
Icurs," — was the expression of M. Mirnbeau re- 
■pecting tlie priesthood. 



in the early history of Europe, before fiefs 
became hereditary, great laiiiled estates 
were bestoweil by the sovereign, on condi- 
tion of military service. By a similar te- 
nure did the Church hold its lands. No 
man can pruve, that because the Stale has 
intrusted its ecclesiastical servants with a 
portion of laud, as the source and security 
of their jjcn^ions, they are in any respect 
more the proprieiors of it, than tho other 
servants of the Slate are of that portion of 
the rin-enue from which they are paid. 

The lands of the Church possess not the 
most simple and indispensable recpiisites of 
projierty. They are not even pri'teiuleil to 
be ludd for the bcnrfit of those who enjoy 
them. This is the obvious criterion between 
private pro[ierty and a pension for public 
service. The destination of the lirst is avow- 
edly the comfort and happiness of the indi- 
vidual who enjoys it : as he is conceived to 
bo the sole judge of this happiness, he pos- 
sesses tho most unlimited rights of enjoy- 
ment, of v-ilienation, and even of abuse. But 
the lands of the Church, destined for the 
su|ii)ort of public servants, exhibited none 
of these characters of property. They were 
ii.alienable, because it would have been not 
less absui\I for the priesthood to have ex- 
ercised such authority over these lauds, than 
it would be for seamen to claim the property 
of a Heel which they manned, or soldiers that 
of a fortress they garrisoned. 

It is confessetl that no individual priest 
was a proprietor, and that the utmost claim 
of any one was limited to a possession for 
life of his stipend. If all the priests, taken 
intlivitlually, were not proprietors, the priest- 
hood, as a body, cannot claim any such right. 
For what is a body, but an ;rggregate of indi- 
viduals ? and what new right can be cun- 
veyed by a mere change of name '? Nothing 
can so forcibly illustrate this argument as 
the case of other corporations. They are 
voluntary associations of men for their own 
benefit. Everv member of them is an abso- 
lute sharer in tlieir property : it is therefore 
alienated and inherited. Corporate property 
is here as sacred as individual, because in 
the ultimate analysis it is the same. But 
the priesthood is a corporation, endowed by 
the country, and destined for the benefit of 
others: hence the members have no sepa- 
rate, nor the body any collective, right of 
property. They are only intrusted with the 
administration of the lands from which their 
salaries are paid.* 

It is fi-om this last circumstance that the 
leg^l semblance of property arises. In char- 
ters, bonds, and all other proceedings of law, 
these salaries are treated with the same for- 
malities as real property. ''They are iden- 
tified," says Mr. Burke, " with the mass of 

* This ndtnits a familiar illustration. If n land- 
holder chooses to pay his steward for tho collec- 
tion of his rents, by permitting him to possess t»^ 
farm farads, is ho conceived to have resigned his 
property in the farm? Tho caso is prcciocly 
similar. 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



419 



privatn property;" and it muHt bo corifoBKt.'d, 
that if wo are to limit our viow to iorrri, this 
laiii^uaf^'o iH correct. lint Ihn ropugtiarico of 
llicrto ibrrrialitieH tohfgal truth proccMjds from 
a ver)' obvious cau.so. If estatcH arc vested 
in the clergy, to them most unquestionably 
ought to be iiitrust<;d the protection of thcjse 
estates in all contests at law ; and actions 
for tliat purpose can oidy be maintained 
with facility, simplicity, and effect, by the 
fiction of their being jiroprietors. Nor is this 
the only case in which the spirit and the 
forms of law are at variance resj)ecting pro- 
perty. Scotland, where lands still are held 
b) (<;udal tenures, will aflbrd us a remarka- 
ble example. There;, if we extend our views 
no further than legal forms, the " superior" is 
to be regardiid as the prof)rietor; vviiile IIk; 
real proprietor appears to be oidy a tenant for 
life. In this case, the vass;d is formally 
stript of the pro[)erty which ha in fact en- 
joys : in the other, the Church is formally 
invested with a property, to which in reality 
it liad no claim. Tlie argument of Prescrip- 
tion will appear to be altogether untenable; 
for prescription implies a certain period 
during which the rights of property have 
been exercised ; but in the case before us 
they never were exercised, because they 
never could be supposed to exist. It must 
be proved that these possessions were of thf; 
nature of j)roperty, b(;for«j it can follow that 
they ar(j protected by prescription ; and to 
pl(;ad the latter is to take for granted the 
question in dispute.* 

When the British Islands, the Dutch Re- 
public, and the German and Scandinavian 
Slates, reformed their ecclesiastical esta- 
blishments, the howl of sacrilege was the 
only armour by which the Church attempted 
to protect its pretended property : the age 

* There are persons who may not relish the 
mode of reasoning here adopted. They contend 
that properly, being liie creature of oivil society, 
may he resumed hy that piihiic will wliich created 
it; and on this principle they justify the National 
Assernhly of France. But such a justification is 
adverse to the principles of that Assembly, for they 
have consecrated it as one of the first maxims of 
their Declaration of Rights, " that the .State can- 
not violate properly, except in cases of urgent 
neceamly, and on condition of previous indemnifi- 
cation." This defence too will not justify their 
selection of Church property, in preference of all 
others, for resumption. It certainly ought in this 
view to have fallen eoually on all citizens. The 
principle is besides false in the extreme to which 
It is assumed. Property is indeed in some sense 
created by an act of the public will : but it is by 
one of those fundamental acts which constitute 
Boeiety. 'J'heory proves it to be essential to the 
social slate. Experience proves that it has, in 
some degree, existed in every age and nation of 
the world. But those public acts which form and 
endow corporations are subsequent and subordi- 
nate ; they are only ordinary /"arpc/fienta of legisla- 
tion. The property of individuals is estaljlished 
on a general principle, which seems coeval with 
civil society itself : but corporate bodies arc instru- 
ments fabricated by the legislator for n uprrific 
purpose, which ought to tic preserved while they 
are beneficial, amended when they are impaired, 
and rejected when the) become useless or injurious. 



was too tumulluous and unlettered for dis- 
cussions of ab.stract jurisprudence. Hiis 
howl seems, however, to have fallen into 
early contempt. The Treaty of W<;stplialia 
secularised many of the most 0[)ul(;nt bene- 
fices of (Jermaiiy, un(l<;r the; mediation and 
guarantee of the first Catholic poweis of 
Kuroi)e. In our own island, on the abolition 
of episcopacy iti Scotland at the Revolution, 
the revenues of the Church peaceably d(!- 
volved on the sovereign, and he denoted a 
jjortion of th(;m to the support of the new 
establishment. When, at a still latr-r period, 
the Jesuits were suppressed in most Catholic 
monarchies, the wealth of that foirnidable 
and opulent body was fiverywhere seized by 
the sovereign. In ail thi^se memorable ex- 
amj)l(;s, no traces are to be discovf.-rcd of 
the pretended property of the Church. Tlie 
salaries of a class of public servants were 
resumed by the Slate, when it ceased to 
(Ic.nm iheir service, or the mode of it, useful. 
That claim, now s(j forcibly urged by M. de 
Calonnf!, was probably liltle respecled by 
him, wh<;n he lent his agency to the destruc- 
tion of the Jesuits with such peculiar activity 
and lancour. The fiacrr-dness of their pro- 
perty could not have strongly impressed one 
wlio was instrumental in degrading the mem- 
bers of that renowned and accomplished 
society, the glory of Catholic p]urope, from 
their superb endowments to the rank of 
scanty and beggarly pensioners. The reli- 
gious horror which the priesthood had at- 
lachffd to spoliation of Criurch property has 
long been dispelled; and it was reserved for 
Mr. Burke to renew tLat cry of .«acrilege, 
which, in the darkness of the sixteenth cen- 
tury, had resounded in vain. No man can 
be expected to oppose arguments to epithets. 
When a definition of sacrilege is given, con- 
sistent with good logic and plain English, it 
will bo time enough to discuss it. Till that 
definition (with the Greek Calends) comes, 
I should as soon dispute about the meaning 
of sacrilege as about that of heresy or witch- 
craft. 

The whole subject is indeed so clear that 
little diversity of opinion could have arisen, 
if the cpiestionof tne inviolability of Church 
property had not been confounded vvith the 
claims of the present incumbents. The dis- 
tinction, though neither stated by Mr. Burke 
nor M. de Calonne, is extremely simple. 
The State is the proprietor of the Churcli 
revenues; but its faith, it rnay be said, is 
pledged to tiiose who have entered into the 
Church, for the continuance of the incomrw, 
for which they have abandoned all other 
pursuits. The right of the State to arrange 
at its pleasure the revenues of any future 
priests may be confessed ; while a doubl 
may be entfsrtained, whether it is competent 
to change the fortune of those to whom il 
has solemnly promised a certain income foi 
life. But these distinct subjects h;ive bee,i 
confounded, that sympathy with siifreriii2 
individuals might influence opinion on a 
general question, — that feeling for the de- 



420 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



gradation of its hierarchy might supply the 
place of argument to establish the property 
of the Church. In considering this subject 
distinctly, it cannot be denied, that the mild- 
est, the most equitable, and the most usual 
e.xpedient of civilized states in periods of 
emergency, is the reduction of the salaries 
of their servants, and the superfluous places. 
This and no more has been done regarding 
the Church of France. Civil, naval, and 
military servants of the State are subject to 
such retrenchments in a moment of diffi- 
culty. Neither the reform of a civil office, 
nor the reduction of a regiment, can be 
effected without wounding individuals.* But 
all men who enter into the public service 
must do so with the implied condition of sub- 
jecting their emoluments, and even their 
official existence, to the exigencies of the 
State. The great grievance of such de- 
rangements is the shock they give to family 
sentiments. This was precluded in the in- 
stance under discussipn by the compulsory 
celibacy of the Romish Church ; and when 
the debts of the clergy are incorporated with 
those of the State, and their subsistence 
insured by moderate incomes, though Sensi- 
bility may, in the least retrenchment, find 
somewhat to lament, Justice will, in the 
whole of these arrangements, discover little 
to condemn. To the individual members of 
the Church of France, whose hopes and en- 
joyments have been abridged by this resump- 
tion, no virtuous mind will refuse the tribute 
of its sympathy and its regrets. Every man 
of humanity must wish, that public exigen- 
cies had permitted the French Legislature to 
spare the income of the present incumbents, 
and more especially of those whom they still 
continue in the discharge of active functions. 
But these sentiments imply no sorrow at the 
downfall of a great coi-poration, — the impla- 
cable enemy of freedom, — at the conversion 
of an immense public property to national 
use, — or at the reduction of a servile and 
imperious priesthood to humble utility. The 
attainment of these great objects console us 
for the portion of evil that was, perhaps, 
insei)arable from it, and will be justly ap- 
plauded by a posterity too remote to be 
moved by comparatively minute afflictions. 

The enlightened observer of an age thus 
distant will contemplate with peculiar asto- 
nishment the rise, progress, decay and down- 
fall of spiritual power in Christian Europe.t 
It will attract his attention as an appearance 
which stands alone in history. Its connection 
in all stages of its progress with the civil 
power will peculiarly occupy his mind. He 
will remark the unpresuming humility by 
\yhich it gradually gained the favour, and 
divided the power, of the magistrate, — the 

* This is precisely the case of " damnum ab- 
sque injuria." 

t Did we not dread the ridicule of political pre- 
diction, it would not seem difficult to assign its 
period. Church power (unless some Revolution, 
auspicious to priestcraft, should replunge Europe 
into ignorance) will certainly not survive the nine- 
teenth century. 



haughty and despotic tone in which it after- 
wards gave law to sovereigns and their sub- 
jects, — the zeal with which, in the first 
desperate moments of decline^ it armed the 
people against the magistrate, and aimed at 
re-establishing spiritual despotism on the 
ruins of civil order; and he will point out 
the asylum which it at last found from the 
hostilities of Reason in the prerogatives of 
that temporal despotism, of which it had so 
long been the imj^lacable foe. The first and 
last of these periods will prove, that the 
priesthood are servilely devoted when they 
are weak : the second and third, that they 
are dangerously ambitious when strong. In 
a state of feebleness, they are dangerous to 
liberty: possessed of power, they are dan- 
gerous to civil government itself. But the 
last period of their progress will be that 
which will appear to have been peculiarly 
connected with the state of France. 

There can be no protection for the opulence . 
and even existence* of an European priest- 
hood in an enlightened period, but the throne. 
It forms the only bulwark against the inroads 
of reason : for the superstition which once 
formed its power is gone. Around the throne 
therefore they rally ; and to the monarch 
they transfer the devotion which formerly 
attached them to the Church; while the 
fierceness of priestlyt zeal has been suc- 
ceeded by the more peaceful sentiments of 
a courtly and polished servility. Such is, in 
a greater or less degree, the present condi- 
tion of the Church in every nation of Europe. 
Yet it is for the dissolution of such a body 
that France has been reproached. It might 
as well be maintained, that in her conquests 
over despotism, she ought to have spared the U 
strongest fortresses and most faithful troops 
of her adversary : — for such in truth were 
the corporations of the Nobility and the 
Church. The National Assembly have only 
insured permanence to their establishments, 
by dismantling the fortresses, and disbanding 
the troops of their vanquished foe. 

In the few remarks that are here made on 
the Nobility and Clergy of France, we con- 
fine ourselves strictly to their political and 
collective character : Mr. Burke, on the con- 
trary, has grounded his eloquent apology 
purely on their individual and moral charac- 
ter. The latter, however, is totally irrele- 
vant; for we are not discussing what place 
they ought to occupy in society as indivi- 
duals, but as a body. We are not consider- 
ing the demerit of citizens whom it is fit to 
punish, but the spirit- of a body which it is 
politic to dissolve. 

The Judicial Aristocracy formed by the 
Parliaments, seems still less susceptible of 
union with a free government. Their spirit 
and claims were equally incompatible with 
liberty. They had imbibed a spirit con- 
genial to the authority under which they had 
acted, and suitable to the arbitrary geniua 
of the laws which they had dispensed ; while 

* I always understand their corporate existenC8> 
t Odium Tkeologicum. 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



421 



they retained those ambiguous and indefinite 
claims to a share in the legislation, which the 
fluctuations of power in the kingdom had in 
Bome degree countenanced. The spirit of a 
corporation was from the smallness of their 
numbers more concentrated and vigorous in 
Ihem than in the Nobles and Clergy; and 
whatever aristocratic zeal is laid to the 
charge of the Nobility, was imputable with 
tenfold force to the ennobled magistrates, 
•who regarded their recent honours with an 
enthusiasm of vanity, inspired by that bigoted 
veneration for rank which is the perpetual 
character of upstarts. A free people could 
not form its tribunals of men who pretended 
to any control on the legislature. Courts of 
justice, in which seats were legally purchas- 
ed, had too long been endured : judges who 
regarded the right of dispensing justice as a 
marketable commodity, could neither be fit 
organs of equitable laws, nor suitable magis- 
trates for a free state. It is vain to urge with 
Mr. Burke the past services of these judicial 
bodies. It is not to be denied that Montes- 
quieu is correct, when he states, that under 
bad governments one abuse often limits an- 
other. The usurped authority of the Parlia- 
ments formed, it is true, some bulwark 
against the caprice of the Court. But when 
the abuse is destroyed, why preserve the 
remedial evil ? Superstition certainly alle- 
viates the despotism of Turkey: but if a 
rational government could be erected in that 
empire, it might with confidence disclaim 
the aid of the Koran, and despise the remon- 
strances of the Mufti. To such establish- 
ments, let us pay the tribute of gratitude for 
past benefit ; but when their utility no longer 
exists, let them be canonized by death, that 
their admirers may be indulged in all the 
plenitude of posthumous veneration. 

The three Aristocracies — Militar}'^, Sacer- 
dotal, and Judicial — may be considered as 
having formed the French Government. — 
They have appeared, so far as we have con- 
sidered them, incorrigible. All attempts to 
improve them would have been little better 
than (to use the words of Mr. Burke) "mean 
reparations on mighty ruins." They were 
not perverted by the accidental depravity of 
their members ; they were not infected by 
any transient passion, which new circum- 
stances would e.vtirpate : the fault was in 
the essence of the institutions themselves, 
which were irreconcilable with a free gov- 
ernment. 

But, it is objected, these institutions might 
have been gradually reformed:* the spirit 
of freedom would have silently entered ; 
the progressive wisdom of an enlightened 
nation would have remedied, in process of 
time, their defects, without convulsion. To 
this argument I confidently answer, that these 
institutions would have destroyed Liberty, 
before Liberty had corrected their spirit. 
Power vegetates with more vigour after 
these gentle prunings. A slender reform 

>■ — — 

* Burke, pp. 248— 252. 



amuses and lulls the people : the popular 
enthusiasm subsides; and the moment of 
effectual reform is irretrievably lost. ,Np 
important political improvement was ever 
obtahicd in a period of frahquillity. The. 
"corrupt interest of the governors is so strong, i 
and the cry of the people so feeble, that it l 
were vain to expect it. If the efTervescence 
of the popular mind is suffered to pass aw ay 
without effect, it would be absurd to expect 
from languor what enthusiasm has not ob- 
tained. If radical reform is not, at such a 
moment, procured, all partial changes are 
evaded and defeated in the tranquillity 
which succeeds.* The gradual relbrrn that 
arises from the presiding principle exhibited 
in the specious theory of Mr. 13urke, is be- 
lied by the experience of all ages. What- 
ever excellence, whatever freedom is dis- 
coveiable in governments, has been iufusect_ 
into iheni by the shock of a revolution ; and 
their subsequent progress has been only the 
accumulation of abuse. It is hence that the 
most enlightened politicians have recognised 
the necessity of- frequently recalling their 
first principles ; — a truth equally suggested 
to the penetrating intellect of Machiavel, by 
hie experience of the Florentine democracy, 
and by his research into the history of an- 
cient commonwealths. Whatever is good 
ought to be pursued at the moment it is at- 
tainable. The public voice, irresistible in a 
period of convulsion, is contemned w^ith im- 
punity, when spoken during the lethargy 
into which nations are lulled by the tranquil 
course of their ordinary affairs. The ardour 
of reform languishes in unsupported tedious- 
ness : it perishes in an impotent struggle 
with adversaries, who receive new strength 
with the progress of the day. No hope of 
great political improvement — let us repeat it 
— is to be entertained from tranquillity ;t 
for its natural operation is to strengthen all 
those who are interested in perpetuating 
abuse. The National Assembly seized the 
moment of eradicating the corruptions and 
abuses which afflicted their country. Their 
reform was total, that it might be commen- 
surate with the evil : and no part of it was 
delayed, because to spare an abuse at such 
a period was to consecrate it; and as the 
enthusiasm which carries nations to such 
enterprises is short-lived, so the opportunity 
of reform, if once neglected, might be irre- 
vocably fled. 



* "Ignore-ton que c'cst en aiiaquant, en ren- 
versant tous les abus a la fois, qu'on. pent esporer 
de s'en voir delivre sans retour; que les refbrnies 
lentes ct partiellcs ont toujours fini par ne rieii re- 
former ; enfin, que I'abus que I'on conserve de- 
vient I'appui et bienlot le restaurateur de tous 
ceux qu'on croioit avoir deiruits?" ^- Adrcsse 
aux Francois, par I'Eveque d'Autun, 11 Fevrier, 
1790. 

t The only apparent exception to this principle 
is the case where sovereigns make important con- 
cessions to appease discontent, and avert convul- 
sion. This, however, rightly undersiood, is no 
exception ; for it arises evidently from the same 
causes, acting at a period less advanced in the 
progress of popular interposition. 
2L 



422 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



But let us ascend to more general princi- 
ples, and hazard bolder opinions. Let us 
grant that the state of France was not so 
desperately incorrigible. Let us suppose 
that changes far more gentle, — innovations 
far less extensive, — would have remedied 
the grosser evils of her government, and 
pl.aced it almost on a level with free and 
celebrated constitutions. These concessions, 
though too large for truth, will not convict 
the Assembly. By what principle of reason, 
or of justice^ were they precluded from as- 
piring to give France a government less im- 
perfect than accident had formed in other 
states? Who will be hardy enough to as- 
sert, that a better constitution is not attain- 
able than any which has hitherto appeared 1 
Is the limit- of human wisdom to be estimat- 
ed in the science of politics alone, by the 
extent of its present attainments? Is the 
most sublime and difficult of all arts, — the 
improvement of the social order, — the allevia- 
tion of the miseries of the civil condition of 
man, — to be alone stationary, amid the rapid 
progress of every other — liberal and vulgar 
— to perfection ? Where would be the atro- 
cious guilt of a grand experiment, to ascer- 
tain the portion of freedom and happines.s, 
that can be created by political institutions 1 

That guilt (if it be guilt) is imputable to 
the National Assembly. They are accused 
of having rejected the guidance of experi- 
ence, — of having abandoned themselves to 
the illusion of theory, — and of having sacri- 
ficed great and attainable good to the magni- 
ficent chimeras of ideal excellence. If this 
accusation be just, — if they have indeed 
abandoned experience, the basis of human 
knowledge, as well as the guide of human 
action, — their conduct deserves no longer 
any serious argument: but if (as Mr. Burke 
more than once insinuates) their contempt 
of it is avowed and ostentatious, it was 
surely unworthy of him to have expended 
so much genius against so preposterous an 
insanity. But the explanation of terms will 
diminish our wonder. Experience may, 
both in the arts and in the conduct of human 
life, be regarded in a double view, either as 
finishing models, or principles. An artist 
who frames his machine in exact imitation 
of his predecessor, is in the first sense said 
to be guided by experience. In this sense 
all improvements of human life, have been 
deviations from experience. The first vision- 
ary innovator was the savage who built a 
cabin, or covered himself with a rug. If 
this be experience, man is degraded to the 
unimprovable level of the instinctive ani- 
mals. But in the second acceptation, an 
artist is said to be guided by experience, 
when the inspection of a machine discovers 
to him principles, which teach him to im- 
prove it ; or when the comparison of many, 
both with respect to their excellences and 
liefects, enables him to frame one different 
from any he had examined, and still more 
perfect. In this latter sense, the National 
Assembly have perpetuedly availed them- 



.selves of experience. History is an im- 
mense collection of experiments on the na- 
ture and effect of the various parts of va- 
rious governments. Some institutions are 
experimentally ascertained to be beneficial ; 
some to be most indubitably destructive ; a 
third class, which produces partial good, ob- 
viously possesses the capacity of improve- 
ment. What, on such a survey, was the 
dictate of enlightened experience ? Not 
surely to follow any model in which these 
institutions lay indiscriminately mingled; but, 
like the mechanic, to compare and generalize, 
and, guided equally by experience, to imi- 
tate and reject. The process is in both cases 
the same : the rights and the nature of man 
are to the legislator what the general pro- 
perties of matter are to the mechanic, — the 
first guide, — because they are founded on the 
widest experience. In the second class are 
to be ranked observations on the excellences 
and defects of all governments which have 
already existed, that the construction of a 
more perfect machine may result. But ex- 
perience is the basis of all: — not the puny 
and trammelled experience of a statcsnmn by 
trade, who trembles at any change in the 
tricks which he has been taught, or the routine 
in which he has been accustomed to move; 
but an experience liberal and enlightened, 
which hears the testimony of ages and na- 
tions, and collects from it the general princi- 
ples which regulate the mechanism of so- 
ciety. 

Legislators are under no obligation to re- 
tain a constitution, because it has been found 
^' tolerably io answer the common purposes 
of government." It is absurd to expect, but 
it is not absurd to pursue perfection. It is 
absurd to acquiesce in evils, of which the 
remedy is obvious, because they are less 
grievous than those which are endured by 
others. To suppose that social order is not 
capable of improvement from the progress 
of the human understanding, is to betray the 
inconsistent absurdity of an arrogant confi- 
dence in our attainments, and an abject dis- 
trust of our powers. If, indeed, the sum of 
evil produced by political institutions, even 
in the least imperfect governments, were 
small, there might be some pretence for this 
dread of innovation — this horror at any re- 
medy, — which has raised such a clamour 
over Europe. But, on the contrary, in an 
estimate of the sources of human misery, 
after granting that one portion is to be attri- 
buted to disease, and another to private vices, 
it might perhaps be found that a third equal 
part arose from the oppressions and coriup- 
tions of government, disguised under various 
forms. All the governments that now exist 
in the world (except that of the United Slates 
of America) have been fortuitously foimed : 
they fire not the work of art. They have 
been altered, impaired, improved and de- 
stroyed by accidental circumstances, beyond 
the foresight or control of wisdom. Their 
parts thrown up against present emergencies 
formed no systematic whole. It was cer- 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



423 



tainly not to have been presumed, tliat these 
fortuitous products should have surpassed 
the works of intellect, and precluded all 
nearer approaches to perfection. Their origin 
without doubt furnishes a strong presump- 
tion of an opposite nature. It mi<4ht teach 
us to expect in them many discordant prin- 
ciples, many jarring forrn.s, much unini.xed 
evil, and much imperfect good, — many in- 
stitutions which had long survived their mo- 
tive, and many of which reason had never 
been the author, nor utility the object. Ex- 
perience, even in the best of them, accords 
with such cvpectations. 

A government of art. the work of legisla- 
tive intellect, reared on the immutable basis 
of natural right and general happiness, which 
should combine the excellences, and exclude 
the defects of the various constitutions which 
chance has scattered over the world, instead 
of being precluded by the perfection of any 
of those forms, was loudly demanded by the 
injustice and absurdity of them all. It was 
time that men should learn to tolerate nothing 
ancient that reason does not resjHicf, and to 
shrink from no novelty to which reason may 
conduct. It was time that the human powers, 
so long occupied by subordinate objects, and 
inferior arts, should mark the commence- 
ment of a new ajra in history, by giving birth 
to the art of improving government, and in- 
creasing the civil happiness of man. It was 
time, as it has been wisely and eloquently 
said, that legislators, instead of that narrow 
and dastardly coasting which never ventures 
to lose sight of usage and precedent, should, 
guided by the polarity of reason, hazard a 
bolder navigation, and discover, in unex- 
plored regions, the treasure of public felicity. 

The task of the French legislators wa.s, 
however, less hazardous. The philosophers 
of Europe had for a century discussed all 
objects of public oxjonomy. The conviction 
of a great majority of enlightened men had, 
after many controversies, become on most 
questions of general politicp, uniform. A 
degree of certainty, perhaps nearly equal to 
that which such topics will admit, had been 
attained. The National Assembly were there- 
fore not called on to make discoveries : it was 
sufficient if they were not uninfluenced by 
the opinions, nor ex'empt from the spirit of 
their age. They were fortunate enough to 
live in a period when it was only necessary 
to affix the stamp of laws to what had been 
prepared by the research of philosophy. They 
will here, however, be attacked by a futile 
common-place. The most specious theory, 
it will be said, is often impracticable; and 
any attempt to transfer .speculative doctrines 
into the practice of states is chimerical and 
frantic. If by " theory" be understood vague 
conjecture, the objection is not worth discus- 
sion : but if by theory be meant inference 
from the moral nature and political si' te of 
man, then I assert, that whatever such iheor)' 
pronounces to be true, must be practicable; 
and that whatever on the subject is imprac- 
ticable, must be false. To resume the illus- 



tration from the mechanical arts : — geometry, 
it may be justly said, bears nearly the same 
relation to mechanics that abstract reasoning 
does to politics.* The moral forces which 
are employed in polities are the passions and 
interests of men, of which it is the province 
of metaphysics to teach the nature and 
calculate the strength, as mathematics do 
those of the mechanical powers. Now sup- 
pose it had been mathematically proved, that 
by a certain alteration in the structure of a 
machine, its effect would be iiicieased four- 
fold, wouUi an instructed mechanic hesitate 
about the change? Would he be deterred, 
because he was the first to discover it? 
Would he thus sacrifice his own advantage 
to the blindness of his predecessors, and the 
obstinacy of his contemporaries] Let us 
suppose a whole nation, of which the arti- 
sans thus rejected theoretical improvement: 
mechanics might there, a.s a science, be most 
profoundly understood, while as an art, it ex- 
hibited nothing but ludeness and baibarism. 
The principles of Newton and Archimedes 
might be taught in the schools, while the 
architecture of the people might not have 
reached beyond the cabins of New Holland, 
or the ship-building of the Esquimaux. In 
a state of political science somewhat similar 
has Europe continued for a great part of the 
eighteenth century. t 

All the great questions of geneiul politics 
had, as we have remarked, been neaily de- 
cided, and almost all the decisions had been 
hostile to estiiblished institutions; yet these 
institutions still flourished in all their vigour. 
The same man w ho cultivated liberal science 
in his cabinet was compelled to administer a 
barbarous jurisprudence on the bench. The 
same Montesquieu, who at Paris reasoned as 
a philosopher of the eighteenth, was com- 
pelled to decide at Bourdeaux as a mairislrate 
of the fourteenth century. The apostles of 
toleration and the ministers of the Inquisi- 
tion were cotemporaries. The torture con- 
tinued to be practised in the age of Becca- 
ria: the Bastile devoured its victims in the 
country of Turgot. The criminal code, even 
where it was the mildest, was oppressive and 
savage. The laws respecting rel igious opinion, 
even where there was a pretended toleration, 



* I confess rny obligation for this parallel to a 
learned friend, who though bo justly admired in 
the republic of letters for his exeellent wriiings, 
is still more so by his friends for the rich, original, 
and masculine turn of ihoufiht that animates his 
conversation. But tiic Coiitinuaior of the History 
of Philip III. little needs my praise. 

t Mechanics, because no passion or interest ig 
concerned in the perpetuity of abuse, always yield 
to scientific improvement: politics, for the con- 
trary reason, always resist it. It was the remark 
of Ilobbes, " that if any interest or passion were 
concerned in disputing the theorems of geometry, 
different opinions would be mnintained reeardiiiij 
llieni " It has actually happened (as if tr>;.i=tily 
the remark ot that great man) that under the ad- 
ministration of Turgot a financial reform, ground 
ed on a maihcmaiical demonstruiion, has been 
derided as visionary nonsense ! So much for iho 
sage preference of practice to theory. 



424 



MACKINTOSH S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



outraged the most evident deductions of 
reason. The tiue piiuciples of commercial 
policy, though they had been reduced to de- 
monstration, iufluenced the councils of no 
states. Such was the fantastic spectacle pre- 
sented by the European nations, who, philo- 
sophers in theory, and barbarians in practice, 
exhibited to the obs:!rving eye two opposite 
and inconsistent aspects of manners and opi- 
nions. But such a state of things carried in 
itsolf the seeds of its own destruction. Men 
will not long dwell in hovels, with the model 
■ of a palace before their eyes. 

Such was iiuleed in some measure the 
position of the ancient world. But the art 
of printing kul not then provided a channel 
by which the opinions of the learneil pa.ss 
insensibly into the popidar mind. A bulwark- 
then e.visted between the body of mankind 
and the reflecting few. They were distinct 
nations, inhabiting the same country; and 
the opinions of the one ([speak comparalivdij 
with modern times) liail little intluence oil 
those of the other. Bat that bulwark is now 
levelled with ths; ground. The convictions 
of philosophy insinuate themselves by a 
slow, but certain progress, into popular sen- 
timent. ■ It is vain for the arrogance of Jearn- 
ring to condemn the people to ignorance 
-by reprobating superficial knowledge. Tiie 
/people cannot be profound; but the truths 
V which regulate the moral aiul political rela- 
j? tions of man, are at no great distance from 
i the stnface. The great works in M'hich dis- 
Icoveries are contained cannot be read by the 
.people; but their substance passes through 
/ a variety of mimite and^ circuitous channels 
( to the shop and th:; hamlet. The conversion 
■*• of these works of unproductive splendour 
j into latent use and unobserved activity, re- 
f ssmbles the process of nature in the external 
'A world. The expanse of a noble lake, — the 
1 course of a majestic river, imposes on the 
; imagination by every impression of dignity 
and sublimity: but it is the moisture^that 
insensibly arises froin them which, giadu- 
ally mingling with the soil, nourishes all the 
luxuriaiicy of vegetation, and adorns the 
surface of the earth. 

It may then be remarked, that though li- 
beral opinions so long existed with defective 
establishniMits, it was not natural that this 
stale of things should be permanent. The 
phlIos;iphers of antiquity diil not, like Archi- 
meaes, want a spot on which to fix their 
engines ; but they wanted an engine where- 
with to move the moi-al world. The press 
is that engine, and has subjijcted the power- 
ful to the wise. The discussion of great 
truths has prepared a body of laws for the 
National Assembly: the dilFusioa of political 
knowledge has almost prepared a people to 
receive them; and good men are at length 
permitted to indulge the hope, that the mise- 
ries of the human race are about to be alle- 
viated. That hope may be illusive, for the 
grounds of its enemies are strong, — the folly 
and villany of men: yet they who entertain 
it will feel no shame ui defeat, and no envy 



of the triumphant prediction of their adver- 
saries; — "Mehercule malim cum Platone 
errar(>." Whatever be the ultimate fate of 
the French Revolutionists, the friends of 
freeilom must ever consider them as the 
authors of the grt>atest attempt that has hi- 
therto been made in the cause of man. They 
n(;v(M- can cease to rejoice, that in the long 
catalogue of calamities and crimes which 
blacken human annals, the year 1789 pre- 
sents one spot on which the eye of humanity 
may with complacence dwell. 



SECTION IL 



w 



Of the composition and character of the Na- 
tional Assembly. 

Events are rarely separated by the histo- 
rian from the character of those who are 
conspicuous in conducting them. From this 
alone they often receive the tinge which de- 
termines their moral colour. What is admired 
as noble pride in Sully, would be execrated 
as intolerable arrogance in Richelieu. But 
the degree of this intluence varies with the 
importance of the events. In the ordinary 
affairs of state it is great, because in fact 
they are only of importance to posterity, as 
they illustrate the characters of those who 
have acted distinguished parts on the theatre 
of the world. But in events which them- 
selves are of immense magnitude, the cha- 
racter of those who conduct them becomes 
of far less relative importance. No igno- 
miny is at the present day reflected on the 
Revolution of I6SS from the ingratitude of 
Churchill, or the treachery of Sunderland. 
The purity of Somers, and the profligacy of 
Spencer, are equally lost in the splendour of 
that great transaction, — in the sense of its 
benefits, and the admiration of its justice. 
No moral irbpression remains on our mind, 
but that whatever voice speaks truth, what- / ; 
ever hand establishes freedom, delivers the | / 
oracles and dispenses the gifts of God. f 

If this be true of the deposition of James 
II. it is far more so of the French Revolution. 
Among many circumstances which distin- 
guished that event, as unexampled in history, 
it was none of the least extraordinary, that 
it might truly be said to have been a Revo- '/ 
lution without leaders. It was the effect of 
gener.al causes operating on the people. It 
w^ag the revolt of a nation enlightened from 
a common source. Henoe it has derived its 
peculiar character; and hence the merits of 
the most conspicuous individuals have had 
little influence on its progress. The charac- 
ter of the National Assembly is of secondary 
importance indeed : but as Mr. Burke has 
expended so much invective against that 
body, a few strictures on his account of it 
will not be improper. 

The representation of the Third Estate 
was, as he justly states, composed of law- 
yer.=i', physicians, merchants, men of letters, 
tradesmen and farmers. The choice was, 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



425 



indeed, limited by necessity ; for except men 
of these ranks and professions, tiie people 
had no objects of election, the army and 
the Church being engrossed by the Nobility. 
"No vestige of the landed interest of the 
country appeared in this representation," for 
an obvious reason ; — because the Nobility of 
France, like the Gentry of England, formed 
almost exclusively the landed hiferest of the 
kingdom. These professions then could only 
furnish representatives for the Tiers Etat. 
They form the majority of that middle rank 
among whom almost all the sense and virtue 
of society reside. Their pretended incapa- 
city for political affairs is an arrogant fiction 
of statesmen which the history of revolutions 
]| has ever belied. These emergencies have 
never failed to create politicians. The subtle 
counsellors of Philip II. were baffled by the 
Burgomasters of Amsterdam and Leyden. 
The oppression of England summoned into 
existence a race of statesmen in her colonies. 
The lawyers of Boston, and the planters of 
Virginia, were transformed into ministers 
and negotiators, who proved themselves in- 
ferior neither in wisdom as legislators, nor in 
dexterity as politicians. These facts evince 
that the powers of mankind have been un- 
justly depreciated, — the difficulty of political 
affairs artfully magnified ; and that there 
exists a quantity of talent latent among men, 
which ever rises to the level of the great oc- 
casions that call it forth. 

But the predominance of the profession of 
1 the law, — that professsiou which teaches 
\ men •' to augur misgovernment at a distance, 
and snuff the approach of tjranny in every 
tainted breeze,''* — was the fatal source from 
which, if we may believe Mr. Burke, have 
arisen the calamities of France. The ma- 
jority of the Third Estate was indeed com- 
posed of lawyers. Their talents of public 
speaking, and their professional habits of 
examining questions analogous to those of 
politics, rendered them the most probable 
objects of popular choice, especially in a 
despotic country, where political speculation 
was no natural amusement for the leisure of 
opulence. But it does not appear that the 
majority of them consisted of the unlearned, 
mechanical, members of the profession. t 
From the list of the States-General, it would 
seem that the majority were provincial advo- 
cates, — a name of very different import from 
^'•country attorneys.'' and whose importance is 
not to be estimated by purely English ideas. 
All forensic talent and eminence is here 
concentrated in the capital : but in France, the 
institution of circuits did not exist; the pro- 
vinces were imperfectly united ; their laws 
various; their judicatures distinct, and almost 
independent. Twelve or thirteen Parliaments 
formed as many circles of advocates, who 
nearly emulated in learning and eloquence 
the Parisian Bar. This dispersion of talent 

* Mr. Burke's Speech on American Affairs, 
1775. 

t See an accurate list of ihem in the Supple- 
ment to the Journal de Paris, 3Ist of May, 1789. 
54 



was in some respect also the necessary effect 
of the immensity of the kingdom. No liberal 
man will in England bestow on the Irish and 
Scottish Bar the epithet "provincial" with a 
view of disparagement. The Parliaments 
of many provinces in France, presented aS 
wide a field for talent as the Supreme Courts 
of Ireland and Scotland. The Parliament of 
Rennes, for example, dispensed justice to a 
province which contained two million three 
hundred thousand inhabitants* — a popula- 
tion equal to that of some respectable king- 
doms of Europe. The cities of Bordeaux, 
Lyons, and Marseilles, surpass in wealth and 
population Copenhagen, Stockholm, Peters- 
burg, and Berlin. Such were the theatres 
on which the provincial advocates of France 
pursued professional fame. A general Con- 
vention of the British empire would yield, 
perhaps, as distinguished a place to Curran 
and Erskine, and the other eminent and ac- 
complished barristers of Dublin and Edin- 
burg, as to those of the capital : and on the 
same principles have the Thourets and Cha- 
peliers of Kouen, and Renne.s, acquired as 
great an ascendant in the National Assem- 
bly as the Targets and Camus's of the Pari- 
sian Bar. 

The proof that this " faculty influence," as 
Mr. Burke chooses to phrase it, was not m- 
juriously predominant, is to be found in the 
decrees of the Assembly respecting the judi- 
cial order. It must on his system have been 
their object to have established w hat he calls 
"a litigious constitution." The contrary has 
so notoriously been the case, — all their de- 
crees have so obviously tended to lessen the 
importance of lawyers, by facilitating arbi- 
trations, by the adoption of juries, by dimin- 
ishing the expense and tediousness of suits, 
by the destruction of an intricate and barba- 
rous jurisprudence, and by the simplicity in- 
troduced into all judicial proceedings, that 
iheir system has been accused of a direct 
tendency to extinguish the profession of the 
law. It is a system which may be con- 
demned as leading to visionary excess, but 
which cannot be pretended to bear very 
strong marks of the supposed ascendant of 
"chicane." 

To the lawyers, besides the parochial 
clergy, whom Mr. Burke contemptuously 
styles " Country Curates.''t were added, those 
Noblemen whom he so severely stigmatizes 
as deserters from their Order. Yet the depu- 
tation of the Nobility vho first joined ttia 
Commons, and to whom therefore that title 
best belongs, was not composed of men 
whom desperate fortunes and profligate am- 
bition prepared for civil confusion. In that 
number were found the heads of the most 
ancient and opulent families in France, — 
the Rochefoucaults, the Richelieus. the Mc\nt- 
morencies, the Noailles. Among them was 

* See a Report of the Population of France to 
the Naiional Assembly, by M. Biron de la Tour, 
Engineer and Geographer to the King, 1790. 

t It is hardly necessary to remark that curi 
means rector. 

2 Li 



426 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



M. Lally, who has received such liberal 
praise from Mr. Burke. It will be difficult 
to discover in one individual of that body any 
interest adverse to the preservation of order, 
and iho security of rank and wealth. 

Having thus followed Mr. Burke in a very 
short sketch of the classes of men who com- 
pose the Assembly, let us proceed to con- 
eider his representation of the spirit and 
general rules which have guided it, and 
which, according to him, have presided over 
all the events of the Revolution. " A cabal 
of philosophic atheists had conspired the abo- 
lition of Christianity. A monied interest, 
who had grown into opulence from the ca- 
lamities of France, contemned by the No- 
bility for their origin, and obnoxious to the 
people by their e.vactions, sought the alliance 
of these philosophers; by whose mfluence 
on public opinion they were to avenge them- 
selves on the Nobility, and conciliate the 
people. The atheists were to be gratified 
with the extirpation of religion, and the 
stock-jobbers with the spoils of the Nobles 
and the Church. The prominent features of 
the Revolution bear evidence of this league 
of impiety and rapine. The degraded es- 
tablishment of the Church is preparatory to 
the abolition of Christianity; and all the 
financial operations are designed to fill the 
coffers of the monied capitalists of Paris." 
Such is the theory of Mr. Burke respecting 
the spirit and character of the French Revo- 
lution. To separate the portion of truth that 
gives plausibility to his statement from the 
falsehood that invests it with all its horrors, 
will however neither be a tedious nor a diffi- 
cult task. 

The commercial or monied interest has 
in all nations of Europe (taken as a body) 
been less prejudiced, more liberal, and more 
intelligent than the landed gentry. Their 
?iews are enlarged by a wider intercourse 
with mankind ; and hence the important in- 
fluence of commerce in liberalizing the mo- 
dern-world. We cannot wonder then that 
this enlightened class ever prove the most 
ardent in the cause of freedom, and the most 
zealous for political reform. It is not won- 
derful that philosophy should find in them 
more docile pupils, and liberty more active 
friends, than in a haughty and prejudiced 
aristocracy. The Revolution in 1688 pro- 
duced the same division in England. The 
monied interest long formed the strength of 
Whiggism, while a majority of the landed 
gentlemen long continued zealous Tories. It 
is not unworthy of remark, that the pam- 
phleteers of Toryism accused the Whigs of 
the same hostility to religion of which Mr. 
Burke now supposes the existence in France. 
They predicted the destruction of the Church, 
and even the downfall of Christianity itself 
from the influx of heretics, infidels, and athe- 
ists, which the new Government of England 
protected. Their pamphlets have perished 
with the topic which gave them birth ; but 
the talents and fame of Swift have preserved 
his, which lurnish abundant proof of this co- 



incidence in clamour between the enemies of 
the English, and the detractors of the French 
Revolution. 

That the philosophers, the other party in 
this unwonted alliance between affluence 
and literature, in this new union of authors 
and bankers, did prepare the Revolution by 
their writings, it is the glory of its admirers 
to avow.* What the speculative opinions 
of these philosophers were on remote and 
mysterious questions is here of no import- 
ance. It is not as atheists, or theists, but as 
political reasoners, that they are to be con- 
sidered in a political revolution. All their 
writings, on the subjects of metaphysics and 
theology, are foreign to the question. If 
Rousseau has had any influence in promoting 
the Revolution, it is not by his Letters from 
the Mountains, but by his Social Contract. 
If Voltaire contributed to spread liberality 
in France, it was not by his Philosophical 
Dictionary, but by his Defences of Toleration. 
The obloquy of their atheism (if it existed) 
is personal : it does not belong to the Revolu- 
tion; for that event could neither have been 
promoted nor retarded by abstract discus- 
sions of theology. The supposition of their 
conspiracy for the abolition of Christianity, is 
one of the most extravagant chimeras that 
ever entered the human imagination. Let 
us grant their infidelit)' in the fullest extent : 
still their philosophy must have taught them 
that the passions, whether rational or irra- 
tional, from which religion arises, could be 
eradicated by no human power from the 
heart of man ; while their incredulity must 
have made them indifferent as to what par- 
ticular mode of religion might prevail. These 
philcsophers w-ere not the apostles of any 
new revelation that was to supplant the faith 
of Christ : they knew that the heart can on 
this subject bear no void, and they had no 
interest in substituting the Vedam, or the 
Koran for the Gospel. They could have no 
reasonable motives to promote any revolu- 
tion in the popular faith : their purpose was 
accomplished when the priesthood was dis- 
aimed. Whatever might be the freedom of 
their private speculations, it was not against 
religion, but against the Church, that their 
political hostility was directed. 

But, says Mr. Burke, the degraded pen- 
sionary establishment, and the elective con- 



* Mr. Burke's remark on the English Free- 
thinkers is unwonhy o( him. It more resembles 
the rant by which priests inflame the languid bi- 
gotry of their fanatical adherents, than the calm, 
ingenuous, and manly criticism of a philosojiher 
and a scholar. Had he made extensive inquiries 
among his learned friends, he must have found 
many who have read and admired Collins' incom- 
parable tract on Liberty and Necessity. Had he 
looked abroad into the world, he would have found 
many who still read the philosophical works of 
Oolingbroke, not as philosophy, but as eloquent 
and splendid declamation. What he means by 
" their successors," I will not conjecture: I will 
not suppose that, with Dr. Hurd, he regards David 
Hume as " a puny dialectician from tlie north !" — 
yet it is hard to understand him in any other 
sense. 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



427 



stitution of the new clergy of France is suf- 
ficient evidence of the design. The clergy 
are to be made contemptible, tLat the popu- 
lar reverence for religion may be destroyed, 
and the way thus paved for its abolition. It 
is amusing to examine the differc^nt aspects 
which the same object presents to various 
minds. Mr. Hume vindicates the policy of 
an opulent establishment, as a bribe which 
purchases the useful inactivity of the priest- 
hood. They have no longer, he supposes, 
any temptation to court a dangerous domi- 
nion over the minds of the people, because 
they are independent of it. Had that philo- 
sopnerbeen now alive, he must on the same 
principle have remarked, that an elective 
clergy and a scantily endowed Church, had 
a far greater tendency to produce fanaticism 
than irreligion. If the priests depend on the 
people, they can only maintain their influ- 
ence by cultivating those passions in the 
popular mind, which gave them an ascend- 
ant over it : to inflame these passions is their 
obvious ambition. Priests would be in a 
nation of sceptics contemptible, — in a nation 
of fanatics omnipotent. It has not therefore 
been more uniformly the habit of a clergy 
that depends on a court, to practise servility, 
than it would evidently be the interest of a 
clergy that depends on the people to culti- 
vate religious enthusiasm. Scanty endow- 
ments too would still more dispose them to 
seek a consolation for the absence of worldly 
enjoyments, in the exercise of a flattering 
authority over the minds of men. Such 
would have been the view of a philosopher 
who was indifferent to Christianity, on the 
new constitution of the Gallican Church. 
He never would have dreamt of rendering 
Religion unpopular by devoting her ministers 
to activity, — contemptible by compelling 
ihem to purity, — or unamiable by divesting 
her of invidious splendour. He would have 
seen in these changes the seeds of enthu- 
siasm and not of laxity. But he would have 
been consoled by the reflection, that the dis- 
solution of the Church as a corporation had 
broken the strength of the priesthood ; that 
religious liberty without limit would disarm 
the animosity of sects; and that the difl'u- 
sion of knowledge would restrain the extra- 
vagances of fanaticism. 

I am here only considering the establish- 
ment of the Gallican Church as an evidence 
of the supposed plan for abolishing Christi- 
anity : I am not discussing its intrinsic merits. 
I therefore personate a philosophic infidel, 
who, it would appear, must have discerned 
the tendency of this plan to be directly the 
reverse of that conceived by Mr. Burke.* 



* The theory ofMr. Burke on the siil)ject of re- 
ligions estalilishments, I am utterly at a Ios.s to 
coinpreheiid. He will not adopt the impious rea- 
soning of .Mr. Hume, nor docs he siipposii with 
VVarburton any "alliance between Church and 
State ;" for lie seems to conceive them to be origi- 
nally the same. When he or iiis admirers trans- 
late his statements (pp. 145, 14C,) into a series of 
propositions expressed in precise and unadorned 
English, they may become the proper objects of 



It is in truth rather a fanatical than an irre- 
ligious spirit which dictates the organization 
of the Church of France. A Jansciiist party 
had been formed in the old Parliaments 
through their long hostilities to the Jesuits 
and the See of Rome ; members of which 
party have in the National A.ssembly, by the 
support of the inferior Clergy, acquired the 
ascendant in ecclesia.stical affairs. Of this 
number is M. Camus. The new constitu- 
tion of the Church accords exactly with their 
dogmas.* The clergy are, according to their 
principles, to notify to the Bishop of Rome 
their union in doctrine, but to recogni.se no 
subordination in discipline. The spirit of a 
dormant sect thus revived in a new shape at 
so critical a period, — the unintelligible sub- 
tleties of the Bishop of Ypres thus influ- 
encing the in.stitutions of the eighteenth cen- 
tury, might present an ample field of reflec- 
tion to an enlightened observer of human 
affairs : but it is sufficient for our purpose to 
observe the fact, and to remark the error of 
attributing to the hostile designs of atheism 
what in so great a degree has arisen from 
the ardour of religious zeal. 

The establishment of the Church has not 
furnished any evidence of that to which Mr. 
Burke has attributed so much of the system 
of the National Assembly. Let us examine 
whether a short review of their financial 
operations will supply the defect. t t^' 

To the gloomy statement of French finance; 
offered by M. de Calonhe, let us oppose the 
report of M. de la Rochefoucault, from the 
Committee of Finance, on the 9th of Decem- 
ber, 1790, which from premises that appear 
indisputable, infers a considerable surplus 
revenue in the present year. The purity of 
that distinguished "person has hitherto been 
arraigned by no party. That understanding 
must be of a singular construction which 
could hesitate between the statements of the 
Due de la [{ochefoucault and M. de Calonne. 
But without using this argiimenium ad vere- 
cimdiam, we remark, that 'there are radical 
laulis, which vitiate the whole calculations 
of the latter, and the consequent reasonings 
of Mr. Burke. They are taken from a yeai 
of languishing and disturbed industry, and 
absurdly applied to the future revenue of 



argument and discussion. Tn their present state 
they irresistibly remiiid one of the observations 
of Lord Bacon : — " Pugnax enim phiiosophisB 
genus ct sophisticum illaqueat intellectuam'; at 
iliud alierum phantasiicuni, ct tumidum, et quasi 
poeiicum, niagis blanditur intellectui. Liest enim 
homini quasdam intellectus ambiiio non minor 
quam voluntatis, prtEseriim in ingeniis altis et elo 
vaiis." — Novum Organum, sect. xlv. 

* See the Speech of M. Sieyes on Religious 
Liberty, where he reproaches the Ecclesiastical 
Committee with abusing the Revolution for the 
purpose of reviving the seminary of Port Royal, 
See also M. Condorcet, Sur I'Instruction Pul)iique 

+ It may be remarked, that on the sul)ject of 
finance I have declined all details. They were not 
necessary to my purpose, which was to consider 
the Assembly's arrangements of revenue, mora 
with a view to their supposed political profligacy 
than to their financial talents. 



428 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS, 



peaceful and flourishing periods; — from a 
year in which much of the old revenue of 
the state had been destroyed, and during 
which the Assembly had scarcely com- 
menced its new scheme of taxation. It is 
an error to assert that it was the Assembly 
that destroyed the former oppressive taxes, 
which formed so important a source of reve- 
nue : these taxes perished in the expiring 
struggle of the ancient government. No 
authority remaining in France could have 
maintained them. Calculations cannot fail 
of being most grossly illusive, which are 
formed from a period when many taxes had 
failed before they could be replaced by new 
impost, and wlien productive industry itself, 
tJie source of all revenue, was struck with a 
momentary palsy.* Mr. Burke discussed 
the financial merit of the Assembly before 
it had b'jg-un its system of taxation. It is 
still premature to examine its general scheme 
of revenue, or to establish general maxims 
on the survey of a period which may be 
consideretl as an interregnum of finance. 

The only fiiKvncial operation which may be 
regarded as complete is their emission of 
assignats — the paper representative of the 
national property; which, while it facilitated 
the sale of that property, should supply the 
absence of specie in ortlinary circulation. On 
this, as well as most other topics, the predic- 
tion? of their enemies have been completely 
falsified. They predicted that no purchasers 
would be found hardy enough to trust their 
property on the tenure of a new and insecure 
establishment : but the national property has 
in all parts been bought with the greatest 
avidity. They predicted that the estimate 
of its value would prove exaggerated : but it 
has sold uniformly for double and treble that 
estimate. They predicted that the deprecia- 
tion of the assignats would in effect heighten 
the price of the necessaries of life, and fall with 
the most cruel severity on the most indigent 
class of mankind : the event has however 
been, that the assignats, supported in their 
credit by the rapid sale of the property which 
they represented, have kept almost at par; 
that the price of the necessaries of life has 
lowered ; and that the sufierings of the indi- 
gent have been considerably alleviated. 
Many millions of assignats, already com- 
mitted to the flames, form the most unan- 
swerable reply to the objections urged against 
them.j Many purchasers, not availing them- 
selves of that indulgence forgradual pa}'ment, 
which in so immense a sale was unavoidable, 
have paid the whole price in advance. This 
has been peculiarly the case in the northern 

* Mr. Burke e.xulls in the deficiency confessed 
by M. Vernei to amouni iu Augusi, 1790, to eight 
n:illions sleilini};. He follows it will) an invective 
ngainst the National Asseiiibiy, wiiich one simple 
reflection would have repiessod. The .'suppression 
of the frahelle alone accounted for almost half of 
that defKuency ! Its produce was estimated at 
sixty millions of iivres, or about two millions and 
a half sterling. 

t At this moment nearly one-third. 



provinces, where opulent farmers have been 
the chief purchasers; — a happy circumstance, 
if it only tended to multiply that most useful 
and respectable class of men, who are at: 
once proprietors and cultivators of the ground. 
The evils of this emission in the circum- 
stances of' France were transient; — the 
beneficial effects permanent. Two great 
objects were to be obtained by it ; — one of 
policy, and another of finance. The first 
was to attach a great body of proprietors to 
the Revolution, on the stability of which 
must depend the security of their fortunes. 
This is what Mr. Burke terms, making them 
accomplices in confiscation; though it was 
precisely the policy adopteci by the English 
Revolutionists, when they favoured the 
growth of a national debt, to interest a body 
of creditors in the permanence of their new 
establishment. To render the attainment 
of the other great object, — the liquidation of 
the public debt, — improbable, M. de Calonne 
has been reduced to so gross a misrepresenta- 
tion, as to state the probable value of the 
national property at only two milliards, 
(about eighty-three millions sterling,) though 
the best calculations have rated it at more 
than double that sum. There is every proba- 
bility that this immense national estate will 
spedily disburden France of the greatest part 
of her national debt, remove the load of im- 
post under whic-h her industry has gioaned, 
and open to her that career of prosperity for 
which she was so (evidently destined by the 
bounty of Nature. With these great benefits, 
with the acquittal of the public debt, and the 
stability of freedom, this operation has, it 
must be confessed, produced some evils. It 
cannot be denied to have promoted, in some 
degree, a spirit of gambling; and it may give 
an undue ascendant in the muincipal bodies 
to the agents of the paper circulation. But 
these evils are fugitive: the moment that 
witnesses the extinction of the assignats, by 
the complete sale of the national lands, must 
terminate them ; and that period, our past 
experience renders probable is not very re- 
mote. There was one general view, which 
to persons conversant with political economy, 
would, from the commencement of the ope- 
ration have appeared decisive. Either the 
assignats were to retain their value, or they 
were not : if they retained their value, none 
of the apprehended evils could arise : if 
they were discredited, every fall in their 
value was a new motive to their holders to 
exchange them for national lands. No man 
would retain depreciated paper who could 
acquire solid property. If a great portion of 
them should be thus employed, the value of 
those left in circulation must immediately 
rise, both because their number was dimin 
ished, and their security become more obvi- 
ous. The failure, as a medium of circulation, 
must have impioved them as an instrument 
of sale ; and their success as an instrument 
of sale must in return have restored their 
utility as a medium of circulation. This 
action and re-action was inevitable, though 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



429 



the slight depreciation of the assignats had 
not made its effects very conspicuous in 
France. 

So determined is the opposition of Mr. 
Burke to those measures of the Assembly 
which regard the finances of the Church, 
that even monastic institutions have in him 
found an advocate. Let us discuss the argu- 
ments which he urges for the preservation 
of these monuments of human madness. In 
support of an opinion so singular, he produces 
one moral and one commercial reason :* — " In 
monastic institutions Avas found a great 

{>ower for the mechanism of poHtic benevo- 
ence ; to destroy any power growing wild 
from the rank productive force of the human 
mind, is almost tantamount, in the moral 
worhi, to the destruction of the apparently 
active properties of bodies in the material." 
In one word, the spirit and the institutions 
of monachism were an instrument in the 
hand of the legislator, which he ought to 
have converted to some public use. I con- 
fess myself so far to share the blindness of 
the National Assembly, that I cannot form 
the most remote conjecture concerning the 
various uses which "have suggested them- 
selves to a contriving mind." But without 
expatiating on them, let us attempt to con- 
struct an answer to his argument on a broader 
basis. The moral powers by which a legis- 
lator moves the mind of man are his pas- 
sions; and if the insane fanaticism which 
first peopled the deserts of Upper Egypt 
with anchorites, still existed in Europe, he 
must attempt the direction of a spirit which 
humanity forbids him to persecute, and wis- 
dom to neglect. But monastic institutions 
have for ages survived the spirit which gave 
them birth ; and it is not necessary for any 
legislature to destroy " that power growing 
wild out of the rank productive force of the 
human mind," from which monachism arose. 
Being, like all other furious and unnatural 
passions, in its nature transient, it languished 
in the discredit of miracles and the absence 
of persecution, and was gradually melted in 
the sunshine of tranquillity and opulence so 
long enjoyed by the Church. The soul which 
actuated monachism had fled : the skeleton 
only remained to deform society. The dens 
of fanaticism, where they did not become 
the recesses of sensuality, were converted 
into the .styes of indolence and apathy. The 
moral power, therefore, no longer existed ; 
for the spirit by which the legislator could 
alone have moved these bodies was no more. 
Nor had any new spirit succeeded which 
might be an instrument in the hands of legis- 
lative skill. These short-lived phrenzies 
leave behind them an inert product, in the 
same manner as, when the fury and splen- 
dour of volcanic eruption is past for ages, 
there still remains a mass of Zawa to encumber 
the soil, and deform the aspect of the earth. t 



The sale of the monastic estates is also 
questioned by Mr. Burke on commercial 
principles. The sum of his reasoning may 
be thus expressed : — The surplus product of 
the earth forms the income of the landed 
proprietor; that surplus the expenditure of 
some one must disperse; and of wliat import 
is it to society, whether it be circulated by 
the expense of one landholder, or of a society 
of monks? A very simple statement fur- 
nishes an unanswerable reply to this defence. 
The wealth of society is its stock of pro- 
ductive labour. There must, it is true, be 
unproductive consumers, but, the fewer tneir 
number, the greater (all things else being 
the same) must be the opulence of a state. 
The possession of an estate by a society of 
monks establishes, let us suppose forty, un- 
productive consumers : the possession of the 
same estate by a single landholder only ne- 
cessarily produces one. It is therefore evi- 
dent that there is forty times the quantity of 
labour subtracted from the public stock, in 
the first case, than there is in the second. 
If it be objected that the domestics of a land- 
holder are unproductive, let it be remarked 
that a monastery has its servants; and that 
those of a lay proprietor are not profession- 
ally and perpetually unproductive, as many 
of them become farmers and artisans, and 
that, above all, many of them are married. 
Nothing then can appear, on plain commer- 
cial views, more evident than the distinction 
between lay and monkish landholders. It is 
surely unnecessary to appeal to the motives 
whicn have every where produced statutes 
of mortmain, the neglect in which the land 
of ecclesiastical corporations is suffered to 
remain, and the infinite utility which arises 
from changes of property in land. The face 
of those countries where the transfers have 
been most rapid, will sufficiently prove their 
benefit. Purchasers seldom adventure with- 



• Burke, pp. 232—241. 

t It is urged by Mr. Burke, as a species of inci- 
dental defence of monachism, that there are many 
modes of industry, from which benevolence would 



out fortune ; and the novelty of their acqui- 
wilh tne ardour of im- 
provement. 



sition inspires them 



No doubt can be entertained that the 
estates possessed by the Church will in- 
crease immensely in their value. It is vain 

rather rescue men than from monastic quiet. This 
must be allowed, in one view, to be true. But, 
though the laws must permit the natural progress 
which produces this species of labour, does it fol- 
low, that they ought to create monastic seclusion ? 
Is the existence of one source of misery a reason 
for opening another? Because noxious drudgery 
must be tolerated, are we to gaiiction compulsory 
inutility ? Instances of similar bad reasoning from 
what society must suffer to what she ought to enact, 
occur in other parts of Mr. Burke's production. 
We in England, he says, do not think ten thou- 
sand pounds a year worse in the hands of a bishop 
than in those ot a baronet or a 'squire. Excessive 
inequahly is in both cases an enormous evil. The 
laws must permit property to grow as the course 
of things effect it: but ought they to add a new 
factitious evil to this natural and irremediable one? 
They cannot avoid inequality in the income ofpro' 
perty, because they must permit property to dis- 
tribute itself: but they can remedy excessive ine- 
qualities in theincomeofoj^ce, because tho incomo 
and the office are their creatures. 



430 



MACKLNTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



to say that they will bo transfoned to Stock- 
jobbers. Situations, not names, are to be 
considered in human allairs. He that has 
once tasted the iiidohMioe aiid authority of a 
landholder, will with ditheulty return to the 
connnirative servility and drudgery of a 
mouied capitalist. But should the usurious 
habits of the immediate purchaser be in- 
veterate, his son will imbibe other senti- 
ments from his birth. The heir of the stock- 
jobbing Alplieus may acquire as perfectly 
the habits of an active improver of his patri- 
monial estate, as the children of Cincinnatus 
or Cato. 

To aid the feebleness of these arguments, 
Mr. Burke has brought forward a panejivri- 
cal enumeration of the objects on which 
monastic i-evenue is expended. On this 
masterpiece of fascinating and magnificent 
eloquence it is impossible to be too lavish 
of praise. It would have been quoted by 
Quiutilian as a splended model of rhetorical 
common-place. But criticism is not our 
object; and all that the d splay of .such 
powers of oratory can on such a siibject 
suggest, is embodied in a sentiment which 
might perhaps have served as a character- 
istic motto to ]\Ir. Burke's production : 
Addidit invalids rolmr Facundia cnusce. 



SECTION III. 

Popular excesses which attended the Revolu- 
tion. 

Th.vt no great revolutions can be accom- 
plished without excesses and miseries at 
which humanity revolts, is a truth which 
cannot be denied. This unfortunately is 
true in a pecuhar manner of those Revolu- 
tions, which, like that of France, are strictly 
popular. Where the people are led by a 
taction, its leaders tiad no dilHculty in the 
re-establishment of that order, which must 
be the object of their wishes, because it is 
the sole security of their power. But wlieu 
a general movement of the popular mind 
levels a despotism with the grountl, it is far 
less easy to restrain excess. There is more 
resentment to satiate and less authority to 
control. The passion which proiinced an 
efl'ect so tremendous, is too violent to sub- 
side in a momerit into serenity and submis- 
sion. 

The attempt to punish the spirit that ac- 
tuates a people, if it were just, would be 
vain, and if it were possible, would be cruel. 
No remedies are therefore left but the pro- 
gress of instruction, — the force of persuasion, 
— the mild authority of opinion: and these 
though infallible are of slow operation. In 
the interval which elapses before a calm 
succeeds the boisterous moments of a revo- 
lution, it is vain to exi^)ect that a people 
uiured to barbarism by their oppressors, and 
which has ages of oppression to avenge, will 
be jHUictiliously generous in their triumph, 



nicely discriminative in their vengeance, or 
cautiously mild in their mode of retaliation. 
" They will break their chains on the heads 
ol their oppressors."* 

Such. was the state of France; and such 
were the obvious causes of scenes which 
the friends of Ireedom deplore as tarni>hhig 
her triumphs. They feel these evils as men 
of humanity : but they will not bestow this 
name on that womanish .sensibility, towards 
which, even in the still intercourst> of pri- 
vate life, love is not unmingled with indul- 
gence. The only humanity which, in the 
great allairs of men, claims their respect, is 
that manly and exiKinded sentiment, which 
tixes its steady eye on the means of general 
happiness. 'I'he sensibility which shrinks 
at present evil, without extending its view 
to future good, is not a virtue; for it is not a 
quality benelicial to mankuid. It would ar- 
rest the arm of a surgeon in amputating a 
g<iiigreiied limb, or the hand of a judge in 
signing the sentence of a jxirricide. I do not 
Siiy (God forbiil !) that a crime may be com- 
mitted for the attainment even of a good eiul ; 
such a doctrine would shakt> morals to their 
ceutie. The man who would erect freedom 
on the ruins of morals neither understands 
nor loves either. But the case of the French 
Revolutionists is totally ditl'erent. Has any 
moralist ever pretended, that we are to tle- 
cline the pursuit of a good which our duty 
prescribes to us, because we foresee, that 
some partial and incidental evil would arise 
from it ? But the number of the French 
leaders against whom such chargt>s have 
been insinuated is so small, that supposing 
(what I do not believe) its truth, it only 
proves that some corrupt and ambitious nun 
will mix with all great bodies. The ques- 
tion with respect to the rest, is reducible to 
this: — Whether they were to abstain from 
establishing a free government, because they 
foresaw that it could not be elfecteil without 
confusion and temporary distress, or to be 
consoled for such calamities by the view of 
that happiness to which their labours were 
to give ultimate permanence and dilfusion .' 
A ^linister is not conceived to be guilty of 
systematic immorality, becau.se he balances 
the evils of the most just war with the ad- 
vantages of that national security which is 
produced by the reputation of .spirit and 
power : — neither ought the patriot, w ho ba- 
lancing the evils of transient anarcliy ag-ainst 
the inestimable good of e.stablisheil liberty, 
finds the last prepoiulerate in the scale. 

Such, in fact, has ever been the reasoning 
of the leaders in those insurrections which 
have preserved the remnant of freedom that 
still exists among mankind. Holland. Eng- 
land, and America, must have reasonea thus; 
and the ditterent portions of liberty which 
they enjoy, have been purchased by the en- 
durance of far greater calamities than have 
been suffered by France. It is unnncessary 



* The eloquent expression of Mr. Curron in the 
Irish House of Commons. 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



431 



to ajjpcal to the wars which for alrnoi^t a 
century afflicted the Low Ojuntiies: but it 
iriay not h'i »o to remind England oi the price 
she paid loi the etilabJibhrnent of the prin- 
ciples of the 1{<; volution. The disputed suc- 
cewiion which arose fiorn tiuit evr-nt, pio- 
tluc<^d a d<,'fetructiV(i civil war in Ireland, two 
rebellions in Scotland, and the conw^quent 
slaugliter and baiuhhrnerit of thousands of 
citizens, with the widest confiscation of tlieir 
properties; — not to mention the continental 
connections and the foreign wars into which 
it plunged uS; and the necessity thus impos<;d 
upon UB of maintaining a standing army, and 
accumulating an enormous public debt.* 

Tlie freedom of America was purchased 
by calamities still more inevitable. The 
authors of it must have foreseen them ; for 
they were not cjntmgenl or remote, but 
ready in a moment to burst on their heads. 
Their case is most similar to that of France, 
and best answers one of Mr. Burke's most 
triurnplrant arguments. They enjoyed some 
liberty, wliich their oppressfjis did not attack ; 
and the object for which they resisted, was 
conceded in tluj progress of the war : but 
like France, after tha concessions of her 
King, they refused to acfjuiesce in an imper- 
fect liberty, when a more perfect one was 
within their reach. They pursued wliat Mr. 
Burke, — wliatever were then his sentiments, 
—on his present system, must reprobate as 
a speculative anjl ideal good. Tliey sfjught 
their beloved independence through new 
calamities, and the prolonged horrors of civil 
war. Their resistance, from that moment, 
" was against concession ; and their blows 
were aimed at a liand holding forth immu- 
nity and favours." Events liave indeed jus- 
tified tlmt noble resistance : America has 
emerged from her struggle into tranquillity 
and freedom, — into affluence and credit ; and 
the authors of her Constitution liave con- 
structed a great permanent experimental 
answer to the sophisms and declamations of 
the detractors of liberty. 

But what proportion did the price she paid 
for so great blessing bear to the transient 
misfortunes which have afflicted France "? 
The extravagance of the comparison shocks 
every unprejudiced mind. No series of 
events in history liave probably been more 
widely, malignantly, and systematically ex- 
aggeraied llian the French commotions. An 
enraged, numerous, and opulent body of ex- 
iles, dispersed over Europe, liave possessed 
themselves of every venal press, and filled 
the public ear with a perpetual buz of the 
crimes and horrors tliat were acting in France. 
Instead of entering on a minute scrutiny, 
of which the imjxirtance would neither ex- 
piate the ted iousness, nor reward the toil, let 
us content ourselves with opposing one gene- 

• Yet this was only the combat of reason and 
freedom against one prejudice, — ihat of heredi- 
tary right ; whereas the French Revolution is, 
as has been sublimely said by the Bishop of Au- 
tun, " Le premier combat qui se soitiamais livre 
enlre tous Ics Priiicipee et toutes les Erreurs ! " 



ral fact to this host of falsehoods : — no com- 
merctal house of importance has Jailed in 
France since tfi^ Revolution! How is this lo 
be reconciled with (lie tales that have been 
ciiculat<^<i ■? As well might the transfers of /J 
the Royal Excliange be quirjtJy execut<-d in 
the ferocious anarchy of (jondar, and the 
peaceful opulence of Tximbatd-streel flourif^h 
amidi-t hordes of Galla and Agows.* Com- 
merrve, which shrinks from the breath of civil 
confusion, lias resisted this tempest ; and a 
mighty liiivolution has been accornplislied 
with less commercial derangement than 
could arise from the bankruptcy of a second- 
rate house in London or Amsterdam. The 
manulacturers of Lyons, the merchants of 
Bourdeaux and Marsfiilles, are silent amidst 
the lamentations of the Abbe Maurj, M. 
de Calonne, and Mr. Burke. Happy is tliat 
people whose commerce fiourihhes in ledg- 
ers, while it is bewailed in orations ; and 
remains untouched in calculation, while it 
expires in the pictures of eloquence. This 
unquestionable fact is. on such a mbject, 
worth a thousand arguments, and to any 
mind qualified to judge, must expose in tlieir 
true light those execrable fabrications, w hich 
have sounded such a '-senseleFB yell" 
through Europe. 

But let us admit for a moment their tiulh, 
and take as a specimen of the evils of the 
Revolution, the number of lives which have 
been lost in its progress. That no possibility 
of cavil may remain, let us surpass in an ex- 
aggemted estimate the utmost audacity of 
falsehood : let us make a statement, from 
which the most frontless hireling of M. de 
Calonne would shrink. Let us for a moment 
suppose, that in the course of the Revolution 
twenty thousand lives have been lost. On 
the comparison of even this loss with parallel 
events in history, ie there anything in it from 
which a manly and enlightened humanity 
will recoil ? Compare it w ith the expendi- 
ture of blood by which in ordinary wars so 
many pernicious arid ignoble objects are 
fought. Compare it with the blood spilt hy 
England in the attempt to subjugate Ameri- 
ca: and if such be the guilt of the Revolu- 
tionists of France, for liaving, at the hazard 
of tills evil, sought the establishment of free- 
dom, wliat new name of obloquy shall be 
applied to the Minister of England, who 
with the certainty of a destruction so much 
greater, attempted the establishment of ty- 
ranny ? 

The illusion which prevents the effectB of 
these comparisons, is not peculiar to Mr. 
Burke. The massacres of war, and the mur- 
ders committed by the sword of justice, are 
disguised by the solemnities which invest 
them : but the wild justice of the people lias 
a naked and undisguised horror. Its slight- 
est motion awakens all our indignation ; 
while murder and rapine, if arrayed in the 
gorgeous discruise of acts of state, may with 
impunity stalk abroad. We forget that the 

* Abyssinian tribes.— Eu. 



432 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



evils of anarchy must be short-lived, while 
those of despotism are fatally permanent. 

Another illusion has, particularly in Eng- 
land, favoured the exaggeration of the exiles; 
— we judge of France by our own situation, 
instead of comparing her conduct with that 
of other nations in similar circumstances. 
With us " the times may be moderate, and 
therefere ought to be peaceable :"* but in 
France the times were not moderate, and 
could not be peaceable. Let us correct these 
illusions of moral optics which make near 
objects so disproportionately large. Let us 
place the scene of the French Revolution in 
a remote age, or in a distant nation, and then 
let us calmly ask our own minds, whether 
the most reasonable subject of wonder be 
not its unexampled mildness, and the small 
number of individuals crushed in the fall of 
so vast a pile. 

Such are the general reflections suggested 
by the disorders of the French Revolution. 
Of these, the first in point of time, as well 
as of importance, was the Parisian insurrec- 
tion and the capture of the Bastile. The 
mode in which that memorable event is 
treated by Mr. Burke, is worthy of notice. 
It occupies no conspicuous place in his work ; 
it is only obscurely and contemptuously 
Idnted at as one of those examples of suc- 
cessful revolt, which have fostered a muti- 
nous spirit in the soldiery. " They have not 
forgot the taking of the King's castles in 
Paris and Marseilles. That they murdered 
with impunity in both places the governors, 
has not escaped their minds. "t Such is the 
courtly circumlocution by which Mr. Burke 
designates the Bastile — '-'the King^s castle at 
Paris .'" such is the ignominious language in 
which he speaks of the summary justice 
executed on the titled ruffian who was its 
governor j and such is the apparent art with 
which he has thrown into the back-ground 
invective and asperity, that, had they been 
prominent, would have provoked the indig- 
nation of mankind! "Je sais," says Mou- 
nier, in the language of that frigid and scanty 
approbation that is extorted from an enemy, 
"qu'il est des circonstances qui legitiment 
I'insurrection, et je mets dans ce nombre 
celles qui ont cause le siege de la Bastile. "t 

But the admiration of Europe and of 
posterity, is not to be estimated by the 
penurious applause of M. Mounier, nor re- 
pressed by the insidious hostility of Mr. 
Burke. It will correspond to the splendour 
of an insurrection, as much ennobled by hero- 
ism as it was justified by necessity, in 
which the citizens of Paris, — the unwarlike 
inhabitants of a voluptuous capital, — listen- 
ing to no voice but that of the danger which 
menaced their representatives, their fami- 
lies, and their conntry, and animated, instead 
of awed, by the host of disciplined merce- 
naries which invested them on every side, 
attacked with a gallantry and success equally 



* Junius- 

\ Expose, &c. p. 24. 



t Burke, p. 307. 



incredible, a fortress formidable from it§ 
strength, and tremendous from its destina- 
tion, and changed the destiny of France. 
To palliate or excuse such a revolt, would 
be abject treachery to its principles. It was 
a case in which revolt was the dictate of 
virtue, and the path of dutyj and in which 
submission would have been the most das- 
tardly baseness, and the foulest crime. It 
was an action not to be excused, but ap- 
plauded, — not to be pardoned, but admired. 
I shall not therefore descend to vindicate 
acts of heroism, which history will teach the 
remotest posterity to revere, and of which 
the recital is destined to kindle in unborn 
millions the holy enthusiasm of freedom. 

Commotions of another description follow- 
ed, partly arising from the general causes 
before stated, and partly from others of more 
limited and local operation. The peasantry 
of the provinces, buried for so many ages in 
the darkness of servitude, saw but indis- 
tinctly and confusedly, in the first dawn of 
liberty, the boundaries of their duties and 
their rights. It was no wonder that they 
should little understand that freedom which 
so long had been remote from their views. 
The name conveyed to their ear a right to 
reject all restraint, to gratify every resent- 
ment, and to attack all property. Ruffians, 
mingling with the deluded peasants, in hopes 
of booty, inflamed their ignorance and pre- 
judices, by forged authorities from the King 
and the Assembly for their licentiousness. 
Many country houses were burnt; and some 
obnoxious persons were assassinated : but 
one may without excessive scepticism doubt, 
whether they had been the mildest masters 
whose chateaux had undergone that fate ; 
and the peasants had to avenge those silent 
grinding oppressions which formed almost 
the only intercourse of the rich with the in- 
digent, and which, though less flagrant than 
those of Government, were perhaps produc- 
tive of more intolerable and diffused rnisery. 

But whatever was the demerit of these 
excesses, they can by no process of reason- 
ing be made imputable to the National As- 
sembly, or the leaders of the Revolution. In 
what manner were they to repress them 1 
If they exerted against them their own au- 
thority with rigour, they must have provoked 
a civil war : if they invigorated the police and 
tribunals of the deposed government, — be- 
sides incurring the hazard of the same ca- 
lamity, — they put arms into the hands of 
their enemies. Placed in this dilemma, 
they were compelled to expect a slow reme- 
dy from the returning serenity of the public 
mind, and from the progress of the new go- 
vernment towards consistence and vigour.* 

* If this slatement be candid and exact, what 
shall we think of ihe language of Mr. Burke, when 
he speaks of the Assembly as " atifhorising trea- 
son.s, robberies, rapes, assassinations, slaughters, 
and burnings, throughout all iheir harassed land." 
(p. 58.) In another place (p. 200,) he connects the 
legislative extinction of the Order of Nobles with 
the popular excesses committed against individual 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



4S3 



That the conduct of the populace of Paris 
towards them should not have been the most 
decorous and circumspect, — that it should 
have been frequently irregular and tumultu- 
ous, was, in the nature of things inevitable. 
But the horrible picture which Mr. Burke has 
drawn of that •' stern necessity" under which 
this '-'captive" Assembly votes, is neither 
justified by this concession, nor by the state 
of facts. It is the overcharged colouring of 
a fervid imagination. Those to whom he 
alludes as drivenaway by assassins, — M. M. 
Lally and Mounier, — might, surely, have 
remained with perfect safety in an Assembly 
in which such furious invectives are daily 
bellowed forth with impunity against the 
popular leaders. No man will deny, that 
that member of the minority enjoyed liberty 
of speech in its utmost plenitude, who called 
M. Mirabeau •' le plus vil de tons les assassins.'^ 
'•The tenors of the lamp-post and bayonet" 
have hitherto been visionary. Popular fury 
has hitherto spared the most furious declaim- 
ers of Aristocracy ; and the oidy - decree," so 
far as I can discern, which has even been 
pretended to have been materially influenced 
by the populace, is that respecting the pre- 
rogatives of war and peace. That tumult 
has frequently derogated from the dignity 
which ought to distinguish the deliberations 
of a legislative assembly, is not to be denied. 
But that their debates have been tumultu- 
ous, is of little importance, if their decisions 
have been independent. Even in this ques- 
tion of war and peace, ''the highest bidder 
at the auction of popularity"* did not suc- 
ceed. The scheme of M. INIirabeau, with 
few amendments, prevailed, while the more 
"splendidly popular" propositions, which 
vested in the legislature alone the preroga- 
tive of war and peace, were rejected. 

We are now conducted by the course of 
these strictures to the e.tcesses committed at 
Versailles on the 5th and 6th of October, 
1789. After the most careful perusal of the 
voluminous evidence before the Chatelet, of 
the controversial pamphlets of M. M. d'Or- 
leans and Mounier, and of the official report 
of M. Chabroud to the Assembly, the details 
of the afTair seem to me so much involved 
in obscurity and contradiction, that they 
afford little on which a candid mind can with 
confidence pronounce. They afford, indeed, 
to frivolous and puerile adversaries the means 
of convicting Mr. Burke of some minute 
errors. M. Miomandre, the sentinel at the 
Queen's gate, it is true, survives ; but it is 
no less true, that he was left for dead by his 
assassins. On the comparison of evidence 
it seems probable, that the Queen's chamber 
was not broken into, — " that the asylum of 
beauty and Majesty was not profaned."! 



Noblemen, to load the Assembly with the accu- 
mulated obloquy ; — a mode of proceedinsr more 
remarkable for controversial dexterity than for 
candour. 

* Burke, p. 353. 
, t The expression of M. Chabroud, Five wit- 
nesses assert that the ruffians did not break into 
55 



But these slight corrections palliate little the 
atrocity, and alter not in the least the gene- 
ral complexion, of these flagitious scenes. 

The most important question which the 
subject presents is, whether the Parisian 
populace were the instruments of conspira- 
tors, or whether their fatal march to Ver- 
sailles -was a spontaneous movement, pro- 
duced by real or chimerical apprehensions 
of plots against their freedom. I confess 
that I incline to the latter opinion. Natural 
causes seem to me adequate to account for 
the movement. A scarcity of provision is 
not denied to have existed in Paris. The 
dinner of the body-guards might surely have 
provoked the people of a more tranquil city. 
The maledictions poured forth against the 
National Assembly, the insults offered to 
the patriotic cockade, the obnoxious ardour 
of loyalt}- displayed on that occasion, might 
have awakened even the jealousy of a people 
whose ardour had been sated by the long 
enjoyment, and whose alarms had been 
quieted by the secure possession, of liberty. 
The escape of the King would be the in- 
fallible signal of civil war : the exposed 
situation of the Royal residence was there- 
fore a source of perpetual alarm. These 
causes, operating on that credulous jealousy 
which is the malady of the public mind in 
times of civil confusion, seeing hostility and 
conspiracy on every side, would seem suffi- 
cient ones. The apprehensions of the people 
in such a period torture the most innocent 
and frivolous accidents into proofs of sangui- 
nary plots : — witness the war of conspiracies 
carried on by the contending factions in the 
reign of Charles the Second. The partici- 
paTion of Queen Mary in Babington's plot 
against Elizabeth, is still the subject of con- 
troversy. We, at the present day, dispute 
about the nature of the connection which 
subsisted between Charles the First and the 
Catholic insurgents of Ireland. It has occu- 
pied the labour of a century to separate 
tiuth from falsehood in the Rye-house Plot, 
— the views of the leaders from the schemes 
of the inferior conspirators, — and to discover 
that Rus.sell and Sydney had, indeed, con- 
spired a revolt, but that the underlings 
alone had plotted the assassination of the 
King. 

It may indeed be said, that ambitious 
leaders availed themselves of the inflamed 
state of public feeling, — that by false ru- 
mours, and exaggerated truths, they stimu- 
lated the revenge, and increased the fears 
of the populace, — that their emissaries, mix- 
ing with the mob, and concealed by its con- 
fusion, were to execute their flagitious pur- 
poses, and fanatics, as usual, were the dupes 
of hypocrites. Such are the accusations 
which have been made against M. M. d'Or- 

the Queen's chamber. Two give the account fol- 
lowed by Mr. Burke, and to give this prepondn 
ranee its due force, let it be recollected, that iho 
whole proceedings before the Chatelet were e» 
parte. See Procedure Criniinelle fait au Chatelet 
de Paris, &c., 1790. 

2M 



434 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



leans and Mirabeau. The defence of profli- 
gate ambition is not imposed on the admirers 
of the French Revolution ; and to become 
the advocate of individuals were to forget 
the dignity of a discussion that regards the 
rightsand interests of an emancipated na- 
tion. Of their guilt, however, I will be bold 
to say no evidence was collected, by the 
malignant activity of an avowedly hostile 
tribunal, which, for a moment, would have 
suspended their acquittal by an English 
jury. It will be no mean testimony to the 
umocence of M. Mirabeau, that an oppo- 
nent, not the mildest in his enmity, nor the 
most candid in his judgment, confessed, that 
he saw no serious ground of accusation 
against him.* 

The project is attributed to them, of in- 
timidating the King into a flight, that there 
might be a pretext for elevatmg the Duke 
of Orleans to the office of Regent. But the 
King coulil have had no rational hopes of 
escaping ;t for he must have traversed two 
hundred miles of a country guarded by a 
people in arms, before he could reach the 
nearest frontier of the kingdom. The object 
was too absurd to be pursued by conspira- 
tors, to whom talent and sagacity have not 
beer, denied by their enemies. That the 
popular leaders in France did, indeed, desire 
to fix the Royal residence at Paris, it is im- 
possible to doubt : the name, the person, and 
the aulhonty of the King, would have been 
most formidable weapons in the hands of 
their adversaries. The peace of their coun- 
try, — the stability of their freedom, called 
on them to use every measure that could 
prevent their enemies from getting posses- 
sion of that "Roj-al Figure." The name of 
the King would have sanctioned foreign 
powers in supporting the aristocracy. Their 
mterposition, which noio would be hostility 
against the King and kingdom, would then 
have been only regarded as aid ag-ainst re- 
bellion. Against all these dreadful conse- 
quences there seemed only one remedy, — 
the residence of the King at Paris. Whether 
that residence is to be called a "captivity." 
or any other harsh name, I will not hesitate 
to affirm, that the Parliament of England 
would have merited the gratitude of their 
country, and of posterity, by a similar pre- 
ventiou of the escape of Charles I. from 
London. Fortunate would it have been for 
England if the person of James II. had been 
retained while his authority was limited. 
She would then have been circumstanced as 
France is now. The march to Versailles 
seems to have been the spontaneous move- 
ment of au alarmed populace. Their views, 
and the. suggestions of their leaders, were 
probably bounded by procuring the King to 
change his residence to Paris; but the colli- 
sion of armed multitudes terminated in un- 
foreseen excesses and execrable crimes. 



* Dispoiirs de M. I'Abbe Maury dans I'As- 
Bembiee Nationale, 1 Octobre, 1790. 

•t The circumstances of his late attempt [the 
flight to Varennes — Ed.] sanction this reasoning. 



In the eye of Mr. Burke, however, thes« 
crimes and excesses assume an aspect far 
more important than can be communicated 
to them by their own insulated gudt. They 
form, in his opinion, the crisis of a revolu- 
tion, — a far more important one than any 
mere change of government, — in which the 
sentiments and opinions that have formed 
the manners of the European nations are to 
perish. "The age of chivalry is gone, and 
the glory of Europe extinguished lor ever." 
He follows this exclamation by an eloquent 
eulogium on chivalry, and by gloomy pre- 
dictions of the future state of Europe, when 
the nation that has been so long accustomed 
to give her the tone in arts and maimers is 
tlius debased and corrupted. A caviller 
might remark that ages, much more near 
the meridian fervour of chivalry than ours, 
have witnessed a treatment of queens as 
little gallant and generous as that of the 
Parisian mob. He might remind Mv. Burke, 
that in the age and country of Sir PhUip 
Sidney, a Queen of France, whom no blind- 
ness to accomplishment; — no malignity of 
detraction, can reduce to the level of Marie 
Antoinette, was, by "a nation of men of 
honour and cavaliers," permitted to languish 
in captivity and e.xpire on a scaffold ; and he 
might add, that the manners of a country 
are more surely indicated by the systematic 
cruelty of a sovereign than by the licentioud 
frenzy of a mob. He might remark, that 
the mild system of modern manners which 
survived the massacres with which fanati- 
cism had for a century desolated, and almost 
barbarised Europe, might, perhaps, resist the 
shock of one day's excesses comniittetl by a 
delirious populace. He might thus, perhaps, 
oppose specious and popular t02:)ic3 to the 
declamation of Mr. Burke. 

But the subject itself is, to an enlarged 
thinker, fertile in reflections of a different 
nature. That system of manners which 
arose among the Gothic nations of Europe, 
and of which chivalry was more properly 
the efl'usion than the soirrce. is without doubt 
one of the most peculiar and interesting ap- 
pearances in human affairs. The moral 
causes which formed its character have not, 
perhaps, been hitherto investigated with the 
happiest success: but, — to confine ourselves 
to the subject before us, — chivalry was cer- 
tainly one of the most prominent of its fea- 
tures and most remarkable of its effects. 
Candour must confess, that this singTilar in- 
stitution was not admirable only as the cor- 
rector of the ferocious ages in which it flour- 
ished; but that in contributing to polish and 
soften maimers it paved the way ior the dif- 
fusion of knowledge and the extension of 
commerce, wdiich afterwards, in some mea- 
sure, supplanted it. Society is inevitably 
progressive. Commerce has overthrown the 
'■ feudal and chivalrous system" under whose 
shade it first grew ; while learning has sub- 
verted the superstition whose opulent en- 
dowments had first fostered it Peculiar 
circumstances connected with the manners 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTIOxN. 



435 



of chivalry favoured this admission of com- 
'merce aucf this growth of knowledge ; while 
the Reutimeiits peculiar to it, already enfee- 
bled in the progress from ferocity and turbu- 
lence, were almost obliterated by tranquillity 
and refinement. Commerce and diffused 
knowledge have, in fact, so completely as- 
sumed thr3 ascendant in polished nations, that 
it will be difficult to discover any relics of 
Gothic manners, but in a fantastic exterior, 
which has survived the generous illusions 
through which ihese manners once seemed 
splendid and seductive. Their direct influ- 
ence has long ceased in Europe; but their 
indirect influence, through the medium of 
those causes which would not perhaps have 
e.Yisted but for the mildness which chivalry 
created in the midst of a baibarousage, still 
operates with increasing vigour. The man- 
ners of the middle age were, in the most 
singular sense, compulsory : enterprising be- 
nevolence was produced by general fierce- 
ness, — gallant courtesy by ferocious rude- 
ness; and artificial gentleness resisted the 
torrent of natural barbarism. But a less in- 
congruous system has succeeded, in which 
commerce, which unites men's interests, and 
knowledge, which excludes those prejudices 
that tend to embroil them, present a broader 
basis for the stability of civilized and benefi- 
cent manners. 

Mr. Burke, indeed, forbodes the most fatal 
consequences to literature from events, which 
he supposes to have given a mortal blow to 
the spirit of chivalry-. I have ever been pro- 
tected from such apprehensions by my belief 
in a very simple truth, — " that diffused know- 
ledge immortalizes itself." A literature 
which is confined to a few, may be destroyed 
by the massacre of scholars and the confia- 
gration of libraries: but the difl'used know- 
ledge of the present day could only be anni- 
hilated by the extirpation of the civilized 
part of mankind. 

Far from being hostile to letters, the French 
.Revolution has contributed to serve their 
cause in a manner hitherto unexampled. 
The political and literary progress of nations 
has hitherto been simultaneous; the period 
of their eminence in arts has also been the 
era of their historical fame ; and no e.vample 
occurs in which their great political splendour 
has been subsequent to the Augustan age of 
B people. But in France, which is destined 
to refute every abject and arrogant doctrine 
that would limit the human powers, the 
ardour of a youthful literature has been in- 
fused into a nation tending to decline; and 
new arts are called forth when all seemed to 
have passed their zenith. She enjoyed one 
Augustan age, fostered by the favour of des- 
potism : she seems about to witness another, 
created by the energy of freedom. 

In the opinion of Mr. Burke, however, she 
is advancing by rapid strides to ignorance 
and barbarism.* "Already," he informs us, 
"there appears a poverty of conception, a 

• Burke, p. 118. 



coarseness and vulgarity in all the proceed- 
ings of the Assembly, and of all their in- 
structors. Their liberty is not liberal. Their 
science is presumptuous ignorance. Theii 
humanity is savage and brutal." To ani- 
madvert on this modest and courteous pic- 
ture belongs not to the present subject : and 
impressions cannot be disputed, more espe- 
cially when their grounds are not assigned. 
All that is left to us to do, is to declare op- 
posite impressions with a confidence autho- 
rised by his example. The proceedings of 
the National Assembly of France appear to 
me to contain models of more splendid elo- 
quence, and examples of more piofound po- 
litical research, than have been exhibited by 
any public body in modern times. I cannot 
therefore augur, from these proceedings, the 
downfall of philosophy, or the extinction of 
eloquence. 

Thus various are the aspects which the 
French Revolution, not onl}- in its influence 
on literature, but in its general tenor and 
spirit, presents to minds occupied by various 
opinions. To the eye of Mr. Burke, it ex- 
hibits nothing but a scene of horror: in his 
mind it inspires no emotion but abhorrence 
of its leaders, commiseration for their victims, 
and alarms at the influence of an event which 
menaces the subversion of the policy, the 
arts, and the manners of the civilized world. 
Minds who view it through another medium 
are filled by it with every sentiment of admi- 
ration and triumph, — of admiration due to 
splendid exertions of virtue, and of triumph 
inspired by widening prospects of happiness. 

Nor ought it to be denied by the candour 
of philosophy, that events so great are never 
so unmixed as not to present a double aspect 
to the acuteness and exaggeration of con- 
tending parties. The same ardour of pas- 
sion which produces patriotic and legislative 
heroism becomes the source of ferocious re- 
taliation, of visionary novelties, and of pre- 
cipitate change. The attempt were hopeless 
to increase the fertility, without favouring the 
rank luxuriance of the soil. He that on such 
occasions expects unmixed good, ought to 
recollect, that the economy of nature has in- 
variably determined the equal influence of 
high passions in giving birth to virtues and 
to crimes. The soil of Attica was observed 
to produce at once the most delicious fruits 
and the most virulent poisons. It was thus 
with the human mind : and to the frequency 
of convulsions in the ancient commonwealths, 
they owe those examples of sanguinary tu- 
mult and virtuous heroism, which distinguish 
their history from the monotonous tranquillity 
of modern states. The passions of a nation 
cannot be kindled to the degree which renders 
it capable of great achievements, without in- 
volving the commission of violence and crime. 
The reforming ardour of a senate cannot be 
inflamed sufficiently to combat and overcome 
abuses, without hazarding the evils which 
arise from legislative temerity. Such are the 
immutable laws, which are more properly to 
be regarded as libels on our nature than a» 



436 



MACKINTOSH'S anSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



charfres against the French Revolution. The 
impartial voice of History ought, doubtless, to 
record tiie blemishes as well as the glories of 
that great event : and to contrast the delinea- 
lion of it which might have been given by the 
specious and temperate Toryism of Mr. Hume, 
with that which we have received from the 
repulsive and fanatical invectives of Mr. 
Burke, might still be amusnigand instructive. 
Both these great men would be averse to the 
Revokition ; but it would not be difficult to dis- 
tinguish between the undisguised furj- of an 
elocjuent advocate, and the well-dissembled 
partiality of a philosophical judge. The pas- 
sion of the latter would only fed the ex- 
cesses which have dishonoured the Revolu- 
.lOn : but the philosophy of the former would 
instruct him, that our sentiment.'*, raised by 
such events so much above their ordinary 
level, become the source of guilt and heroism 
unknown before, — of sublime virtues and 
splendid crimes. 



SECTION IV. 

Nctt; Constitution of France* 

A DISSERTATION approaohiug to complete- 
ness on tlie new Constitution of France, 
would, in fact, be a vast system of political 
science. It would include a development 
of the principles that regulate every portion 
of government. So immense an attempt is 
little suited to our present limits. But some 
remarks on the prominent features of the 
French system are exacted by the nature of 
our vindication. They will consist chiefly 
of a defence of their grand theoretic princi- 
ple, and their most important practical insti- 
tution. 

The principle which has actuated the le- 
gislators of France has been, '• that the ob- 
ject of all legitimate government is the as- 
sertion and protection of the natural rights 
of mau.'^' They cannot indeed be absolved 
from some deviations! from it ; — few, indeed, 
compared with those of any other body of 
whom history has preserved any record ; but 
too many for their own glory, "and for the 
happiness of the human race. Tliis princi- 
ple, however, is the basis of their edifice, 
and if it be false, the structure must fall to 
the ground. Against this principle, there- 
fore, Mr. Burke has, with great judg-ment, 
directed his attack. Appeals to natural right 
are, according to him, inconsistent and pre- 
posterous. A complete abdication and sur- 
render of all natural right is made by man 



• I cannot help exhorting those who desire to 
have accurate notions on the subject of this sec- 
tion, to peruse and study the delineation of the 
French constitution which with a correctness so 
admirable has been given bv Mr. Christie. — (Let- 
ters on the Revolutioa in France, London, 1791. 
Ed.) 

t I particularly allude to their colonial policy ; 
but I think it candid to say, that I see in their full 
forc« the difiicultira of that embarraaaiog business. 



in entering info society ; and the only righ/» 
which he retains are created by the compac/ 
which holds together the sn/.-iety of which 
he is member. This dofln'ne he thus ex- 
plicitly a.sserts: — "The moment."' says ho, 
"you abate any thing from the full rights of 
men each to govern himself, ami sutler any 
artificial positive limitation on those rights, 
from that moment the whole organization of 
society becomes a consideration of conve- 
nience." " How can any man claim under 
the conventions of civil society rights w hich 
do not so much as suppose its existence, — 
which are absolutely repugnant to i' ?"* To 
examine this doctrine, therefore, i> of funda- 
mental importance. To this eflect it is not 
necessary to enter into any elaborate re- 
search info the metaphysical principles of 
politics and ethics. A lull discussion of ihe 
subject would indeed demand such an in- 
vestigation :t — the origin of natuial rights 
must have been illustrateil, and even their 
existence proved ag-ainst some theorists. 
But such an inquiry would have been incon- 
sistent with the nature of a publication, the 
object of which is to enforce conviL'tion on 
the people. We are besitles absolvetl from 
the necessity of it in a controversy Avith IMr. 
Burke, who himself recognises, in the most 
ample form, the existence of those natural 
rights. 

Granting their existence, the di.'^cussion is 
short. The otdy criterion by which we can 
estimate the portion of natural right surren- 
dered by man on entering into society is the 
object of the surrender. If more is claimed 
than that object exacts, what was an object 
becomes a 7)^7f,r^ Now the object i'or which 
a man resigns any portion of his natir al sove- 
reignty over his own actions is, thai he may 
be protected from the abuse of the same do- 
minion in other men. Nothing, therefore, 
can be more fallacious than to pretend, that 
we are precluded in the social state from 
any appeal to natural right.t It remains in 



* Bnrke, pp. 8S — 89. To the same purpose is 
his whole reasoning from p. 86, to p. 92. 

t It niisht, perhaps, not be difficult to prove, 
iliat far from a sum nder, there is not even a 
dimhutl'wH of ilie natural righis of men by their 
entrance into society. The existence of some 
union, wiih greater or less permanence and per- 
fection of public force for public protection (the 
essence of government), might be demonstrated 
to be coeval and co-extcnsive with man. All 
theories, therefore, which suppose the actual ex- 
istence of any slate antecedent to the social, might 
be convicted of futility and falsehood, 

t " Trouver une forme d'associaiion qui defende 
et protege de toute la force commune la personne 
et les biens de chaque associc, et par laquelle 
chacun, s'unissant a lous, n'obeisse pourtant qu'a 
lui-mtMTie et reste aussi libre qu'au|>aravani T" 
— Rousseau, Contrat Social, livre i. ch;tp. vi. I 
am not intimidated from quoting Rousseau by the 
derision of Mr. Burke. Mr. Hume's report of 
his literary secrets seems most unfaiihful. The 
sensibility, the pride, the fervour of his character, 
are pledges of his sincerity ; and had he even 
commenced with the fabrication of paradoxes, for 
attracting attention, it would betray great igno- 
raace of human .nature to suppose, that in the ar- 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



437 



its full ir:t(?grity and vigour, if wo except 
that portion of it which men have thus mu- 
tually agreed to sacrifice. Whatever, under 
pretence of that surrender, is assumed be- 
yond what that object rigorously prese.i ibes, 
18 an usurpation supported by s<jphistry, — a 
despotism varnished by illusion. It follows 
that the surrender of right must be equal m 
all the members of society, as the obj'^ct is to 
all precisely the same. In effect, soci(;ty, in- 
stead of destroying, realizesand substantiates 
equality. In a state of nature, the etiuaiity 
of right is an impotant theory, which inequa- 
lities of strength and skill every moment 
violate. As neither natural equality nor the 
equality of the sum of right surrenden.-d by 
every individual is contested, it cannot be 
denied that the remnant spared by the so- 
cial compact must be equal also. Civil in- 
equalities, or, more correctly, civil distinc- 
tion, must exist in the social body, because 
it must possess organs destined for different 
functions: but political inequality is equally 
inconsistent with the principles of natural 
right and the object of civil institution.* 

Men, tlierefore, only retain a right to a 
share in their own government, because the 
ex(n-cise of the right by one iVian is not in- 
consistent with its possession by another. 
This doctiine is not more abstractedly evi- 
dent than it is practically important. The 
slightest deviation from if !eafitim;itizes every 
tyranny. If the only criterion of govern- 
ments be the supposed convention which 
forms them, all are equally legitimate: for 
the only interpreter of the convention is the 
usage of the government, which is thus pre- 
posterously made its own standard. Gover- 
nors must, indeed, abide by the maxims of 
the constitution they administer ; but what 
that constitution is must be on this system 
immaterial. The King of France is iiol pin-- 
mitted to put out the eyes of the Princes of 
the Blood; nor the Sophi of Persia to have 
recourse to lellres de cachet. They must t}-- 
rannize by precedent, and oppress in reve- 
rent imitalioa of the riiodels consecrated by 

dour of contf'st, and the elory of success, \\p. must 
not have lieoome the (lii|ic of his^wn illnsi'ins, 
aticl a convert to his ow'i iini)ostin-o. It is. indi'j'd, 
not iinpro!);i!)l(!, th;it when rnllied on the ecceii« 
tricity of liis piiradoxca, lie miiilii, in a riiomunt of 
gay efTn.-ion, have spoken of iliein an a .'^port of 
fancy, and an experiment on the erediiliiy ot man- 
kind. 'I'hc Scottish philosopher, inaccessible to 
enlhusiasin, and little susceptible of those dcpres- 
eions and elevations — those agonies and raptures. 
BO familiar to the warin and wayward hiort of 
Rousseau, neither knew the sport into which he 
could be rcla.\ed by s;aiety, nnr the ardour into 
which he could he exalted by passion. .Mr. Burke, 
whose lemp;'rMment is so diffi'rent, miirht have 
experimcn'ally known such vari:i'ion, ajui learnt 
better to discriminate between effusion and deli- 
berate opi:iion. 

* " But as to the share of power, authority, and 
direction which each indiTidual ou£;ht to have in 
the manaL'cmpUt of a state, that f must deny to be 
amonjr the direct original rights of man in civil s<i- 
ciety." This is evidently denying the existence 
of what ha'^ been called political, m contradistinc- 
tion to civil liberty. 



the usage of despotic predecessors. But iT 
they adhere to these, there is no remedy for 
the oppressed, stnce an aj)peal to the rights 
of nature were treason against the principles 
of the social union. If, indeed, any ofleuce 
against precedent, in the kind or degree of 
oppression, be committed, this theory may 
(though most inconsistently) permit resist- 
ance. But as long as the forms of any go- 
vernment are preserved, it possesses, in the 
view of justice (whatever be its nature) 
equal claims to obedience. This inference 
is irresistible; and it is thus evident, that 
the doctrines of Mr. Burke are doubly re- 
futed by the fallacy of the logic which sup- 
ports them, and the absurdity of the conclu- 
sions to which they lead. 

They are also virtuall)' contradicted by 
the laws of all nations. Were his opinions 
true, the language of laws should be •permis- 
sive^ not restrictive. Had men surrendered 
all their rights into the hands of the magis- 
trate, the object of laws should have to an- 
nounce the portion he was pleased to return 
them, not the part of which he is compelled 
to deprive them. The criminal code of all 
nations consists of prohibitions; and what- 
ever is not prohibited by the law, men every 
where conceive themselves entitled to do 
with imj)niiity. They act on the principle 
which lliis languaire of law leaches them, 
that they retain rights which no power can 
impair or infringe, — which are not the boon 
of societ)-, but the attribute of their nature. 
The rights of magistrates and public officers 
are truly the creatures of society : they, 
therefore, are guided not by what the Jaw 
does not prohibit, but by what it authori- 
ses or enjoins. Were the rights of citizens 
equally created by social institution, the lan- 
guage of the civil code would be similar, and 
the obedience of subjects would have the 
sam<? limits. 

Tbis doctrine, thus false in its principles, 
absurd in its conclusions, and contradicted 
by the avowed sense of mankind, is, lastly, 
even abandoned by Mr. Burke himself. He 
is betrayed into a conlession directly repug- 
nant to his general principle: — "Whatever 
each man can do without trespassing on 
others, he has a right to do for himself; and 
he has a right to a fair poition of all that so- 
ciety, with all its combinations of skill and 
force, can do ibr him." Either this tight is 
universal, or it is not: — if it be universal, it 
cannot be the offsjning of a convention; for 
conventions must be as various as forms of 
government, and there are many of them 
which do not recognise this right, nor place 
man in this condition of just equality. All 
governments, for example, which tolerate 
slavery neglect this right; for a slave is nei- 
ther entitled to the fruits of his own indus- 
try, nor to any portion of what the combined 
force and skill of socx'ty produce. If it be 
not universal it is no right at all ; and can 
only be called a m-ivUcge accorded by some 
governments, aiul withheld by others. I can 
discern no mode of escaping from this di- 
2 M 2 



438 



RIACKIXTOSH-S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Ipmma, but the avowal that these civil claims 
are the leiimaiit of those '-inetaphysx- rights" 
which I\Ii-. Biiike hokis in sucli abhonenee; 
but which it seems the more natural object 
of society to protect than (h'stioy. 

But It may be urged, that though all ap- 
peals to natural riglus be not prcciiided by 
the social eouipact, and though iheir uUcgrlty 
and perfection in the civil stale may tlworcli- 
cally be admitted, yet as men unquestionably 
may refiain from the e.vercise ot" their rights, 
if they think their exertion unwise, anil as 
government is not a scieutitie subtlet}', but a 
j)raclical expedient for general good, all re- 
course to ihf^se elaborate abstracnons is frivo- 
lous and futile; and that the grand question I 
is not the source, but the tendency of go- 
vernment, — not a question of right, but a cou- 
pideratioii of expediency. Political forms, 
it may be added, are only the 7ncuns of in- 
suring a certain portion of public felicity: if 
the end be confessedly obtained, all discus- 
sion of the theoretical aptitude of the means 
to produce it is nng-atory and redundant. 

To this I answer, lirst. that such reasoning 
proves too much, and that, taken m its proper 
extent, it impeaches the great system of 
morals, of which political principles form 
only a part. All morality is. no doubt, found- 
ed on a broad and general expediency; anil 
the sentiment — 

" Ips.i uiiliia* justi prope mater et scqiii,"* 
may be safely adopted, w ithout the reserve 
dictated by the timid and inconstant philoso- 
phy of the poet. Justice is expediency, but 
it is expediency speaking by general max- 
ims, into which reason has consecrated the 
experience of mankind. Every general prin- 
ciple of justice is deinonstiably expeilienl ; 
and It is this utility alone that confers on it a 
moral obligation. But it would be fatal to 
the existence of morality, if the utility of 
every particular act were to be the subject 
of deliberation in the -mind of every moral 
agent. Political principles are only moral 
ones adapteil to the civil union of men. 
When I assert that a man has a right to life, 
liberty, &c. I only mean to enunciate a mo- 
ral maxim founded on the general interest, 
which prohibits any attack on these posses- 
sions. In this primary and railical sense, 
all rights, natural as well as civil, arise from 
expediency. But the moment the moral 
edilice is reared, its basis is hid from the eye 
for ever. The moment these maxims, which 
are founded on an utility that is paramount 
and perpetual, are emboilied and consecra- 
ted, they cease to yiehl to partial anil subor- 
dinate expediency. It then becomes the 
perfection of virtue to consider, not whether 
an action be useful, but whethi'r it be right. 

The same necessity for the substitution of 
general maxims exists in politics as in mo- 
rals. Those precise and inflexibile princi- 
ples, which yield neither to the seductions 
of passion, nor to the suggestions of interest, 
ought to be the guide of public as well a.s 



Horace, lib. ii. Sat. 3. — Ed. 



private morals. "Acting according to thrt 
natural rights of men." is only another ex- 
pression for acting according to those general 
maxims of social nioials Mhich jirescribo 
what is right and til in hunuin intercourse. 
We have proved that the social compact does 
not alter these maxims, or destroy these 
rights; and it incontestably follows, from 
the same principles which guide all mo- 
rality, that no expediency can justify their 
infraction. 

The inllexibility of general principles is. 
indeed, peihaps more necessary in jolitical 
morals than in any other class of actions. If 
the consideration of expediency be admitted, 
the question recurs, — Who aie to judge ,ot 
it? The appeal is never mode to the many 
whose interest is at stake, but to the Jew^ /) 
whose iutere.st is linked to the j^eipetuity ot 
oppression and abu.-^e. Surely that judge 
ought to be bound down by the strictest 
rules, who is undeniably interested in the 
decision : and he would scarcely be esteemed 
a wise legislator, who should vest in the next 
heir to a lunatic a discretionary power to 
judge of his sanity. Far more necessary, 
then, is obedience to general principles, aim 
maintenance of natural rights, in politics than 
in the morality of common life. The mo- 
ment that the slightest infiaction of these 
rights is permitted through motives of coti' 
venicnce, the bulwark of all uj)rii;ht politics 
is lost. If a small convenience will justify 
a little infraction, a greater will i xpiate a 
bolder violation : the ixubicon is past. Ty- 
rants never seek in vain for sophists: pre- 
tences are multiplied without dilHculty and 
without end. Nothing, therefore, but an in- 
flexible adherence to the principles of gene- 
ral right can preserve the purity, consistency, 
.and stability of a free stale. 

If we have thus successfully vindicated 
the first theoretical principle of French legis- 
lation, the doctrine of an absolute surrender 
of natural rights by civil and social man. has 
been shown to be deducei) fn;m iiiailequate 
premises. — tocoiuluct to absurd conclusions, 
to sanctify the most atrocious dispotism, to 
outrage the avowed convictions of men, and, 
linally. to be^bandoned, as hopelessly un- 
tenable by its own author. The existence 
and perfection of these rights being proved, 
the first duty of lawgivers and magistrates is 
to assert and protect them. INlost wisely and 
auspiciously then did France commence her 
regenerating labours with a solemn declara- 
tion of these sacred, inalienable, and impre- 
scriptible rights. — a declaration whitlimust 
be to the citizen the monitor of his duties, as 
well as the oracle of his rights, and by a per- 
petual recurrence to which the deviations of 
the magistrate will be checked, the tendency 
of power to abuse corrected, and every po- 
litical proposition (being compared with the 
end of society) correctly and dispassionately 
estimated. To the juvenile vigour of rea- 
son and freedom in the New World, — whei-e 
the human mind was uniucnnibeied with 
that vast mass of usage and prejudice, which 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



439 



so many ages of ignorance had accumulated, 
to load anti deform society in Europe, — 
France owed this, among other lessons. 
Perhaps the only expetlient that can be de- 
vised by human wisdom to keep alive public 
Vigiiance against the usurpation of partial in- 
terests, is that of perpetually presenting the 
general right and the general interest to the 
public eye. Such a principle has been the 
Polar Star, by which the National Assembly 
has hitherto navigated the vessel of the state, 
amid so many tempests howling destruction 
around it. 

There remains a much more extensive and 
complicated inquiry, in the consideration of 
their political institutions. As it is impossi- 
ble to examine all. we must limit our remarks 
to the most important. To speak then gene- 
rally of their Constitution, it is a preliminary 
remark, that the application of the word "de- 
mocracy"' to it is fallacious and illusive. If 
that word, indeed, be taken in its etymologi- 
cal sense, as the "power of the people," it is 
a democracy ; and so are all legitimate go- 
vernments. But if it be taken in its historical 
sense, it is not so ; for it does not resemble 
those governments which have been called 
democracies in ancient or modern times. In 
the ancient democracies there was neither 
representation nor division of powers: the 
rabble legislated, judged and exercised every 
political authority. 1 do not mean to deny 
that in Athens, of which history has trans- 
mitted to us the most authentic monuments, 
there did exist some feeble control. But it 
has been well remarked, that a multitude, if 
it was composed of Newtons, must be a 
mob: their will must be equally unwise, un- 
just, and irresistible. The authority of a 
corrupt and tumultuous populace has indeed 
by the best writers of antiquity been regarded 
rather as an ochlocracy than a democracy, — 
as the despotism of the rabble, not the do- 
minion of the people. It is a degenerate 
democracy : it is a febrile paroxysm of the 
social body which must speedily terminate 
in convalescence or dissolution. The new 
Constitution of France is almost directly the 
reverse of these forms. It vests the legisla- 
Tive authority in the representatives of the 
people, the executive in an hereditary First 
Magistrate, and the judicial in judges, pe- 
riodically elected, and unconnected either 
with the legislature or with the Executive 
Magistrate. To confound such a constitution 
with the democracies of antiquity, for the 
purposeof quoting historical and experimental 
evidence against it, is to recur to the most 
paltry and shallow arts of sophistry. 

In discussing it, the first question that 
arises regards the mode of constituting the 
legislature; the first division of which, re- 
lating to the right of suffrage, is of primary 
importance. Here I most cordially agree 
with Mr. Burke* in reprobating the impotent 
and preposterous qualification by which the 
Assembly has disfranchised every citizen 

* Barke, p. 257. 



who does not pay a direct contribution 
equivalent to the price of three days' labour. 
Nothing can be more evident than its hieffi- 
cacy for any purpose but the disjolay of in- 
consistency, and the violation of justice. 
These remarks were made at the moment 
of the discussion ; and the plan* was com- 
bated in the Assembly with all the force of 
leason and eloquence by the most conspicu- 
ous leaders of the popular party, — MM. Mi- 
rabeau, Target, and Petion. more particularly 
distinguishing themselves by their oppositiou. 
But the more timid and prejudiced members 
of it shrunk from so bold an innovation it 
political systems as justice. They fluctuateo 
between their principles and their prejudices, 
and the struggle terminated in an illusive 
compromise, — the constant resource of feeble 
and temporizing characters. They were con 
tent that little practical evil should in fact be 
produced ; while their views were not suffi- 
ciently enlarged to perceive, that the inviola- 
bility of principles is the palladium of virtue 
and of freedom. Such members do not, in- 
deed, form the majority of their own party ; 
but the aristocratic minority, anxious lor 
whatever might dishonour or embarrass the 
Assembly, eagerly coalesced with them, and 
stained the infant Constitution with this ab- 
surd usurpation. 

An enlightened and respectable antagonist 
of Mr. Buike has attempted the defence of 
this measure. In a Letter to'Earl Stanhope, 
it is contended, that the spirit of this regula- 
tion accoids exactly with the principles of 
natural justice, because, even in an unsocial 
state, the pauper has a claim only on charity, 
and he who produces nothing has no right to 
share in the regulation of what is produced 
by the industry of others. But whatever be 
the justice of disfranchising the unproductive 
poor, the argument is, in point of fact, totally 
misapplied. Domestic servants are excluded 
by the decree though they subsist as evi- 
dently on the produce of their own labour as 
any other class : and to them therefore the 
argument of our acute and ingenious writer 
is totally inapplicable. t But it is the conso- 
lation of the consistent friends of freedom, 
that this abuse must be short-lived : the 
spirit of reason and libertj% which has 
achieved such mighty victories, cannot long 
be resisted by this puny foe. The number 
of primary electors is at present so great, and 
the importance of their single votes so pro- 
portionally little, that their interest in resist- 
ing the extension of the right of suffrage is 
insignificantly small. Thus much have I 
spoken of the usurpation of the rights of s-uf- 

* See the Proces Verbaux ol ihe 27ih and 29th 
of October, 1789, and the Jonrnal de Paris, No. 
301. and Les Revoluiions de Paris. No. 17, p. 73. 

t Ii has been very justly remarked, that even 
with reference lo taxation, all men have equal 
rights of election. For the man who is too poor 
to pay a direct contribution, still pays a ta.v in the 
increased price of his (bod and clothes. It is be- 
sides to be observed, that lite and litieriyare more 
sacred than properly, and that the right of sufiTragft 
is the only shield that can guard them. 



4-tO 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



fnifit^, with iht' anlour of anxious aH'crtion, 
aiul with Iho livi-iloin of liberal adiniiatioii. 
Tho inomoiit is too f<tMious for I'oiiiplinioiit ; 
and I loavo uiitouoluHl to the paitisiuis of 
despotism, their monopoly of biiiul and soi- 
vilo apphuisf.* 

1 most avow, with tho sinio (Vanknoss, 
tH]nal disappiobalion of tho ailniissioii of tcr- 
ritt)iv and oontribution as olouuMits tMitorinij' 
into tlu' pioportion of ivpiVsontation.t The 
roprosontalion of land or nionoy is a nion- 
etrons rolio of anoiont projmlii'o : nion oidy 
cam bo rt'pivsontt'd ; ami population alono 
ouiiht to ivi^niato the inunbor of ropivsi-nta- 
tives whii'h any ilistriot ilolc^^alos. 

Tho next ooiisidoration that presents itself 
is, tho nalnro of those bodies into whieh the 
citizens of K ranee are to be oroaui/.ed for the 
perfornianee of their politieal fnnetioiis. In 
this important part of the snbjeet, Mr. Hnrke 
has eoniniitted some inudamiMital errors : it 
is tnore amply, more tiexteronsly, anil more 
correctly treated by M. de Calonne ; of whose 
work this disenssioii forms the most interest- 
inir part. Tlu\se assemblies are of four kinds: 
— IMnnieipal, Primary, Electoral, ami Ail- 
ministraiivi'. 

To the INlnnicipalities belonjx the care of 
preserving the police, and eoilectinsi- the 
revenue within their jnri.-^diction. An accu- 
rate idea of their nature and object- may be 
formed by supposinji the couiitrii of Kuglaml 
und'ormly ilivided, and lioverned, like its 
cities and towns, by magistracies of popular 
election. 

The Primary Asst>nd)lies, thi> (hst elements 
of the comn)onwealth, are formed bvall citi- 
zens, who pay a direct contribution, tvpial to 
the price of three ilays' labour, which may 
be averagtvl at hait-a-crown sterling. Their 
fui\ctions are jnirely electoral. They send 
representatives, in the proportion of one to 
every hundred ailult citizens, to the Assem- 
bly of the DijHulincnt directly, and not 
through tlie medium of the District, as was 
originally proposed by the Constitutional 
Committee, and has been erroneously stated 
by Mr. Burke. They send, indeed', repre- 
sentatives to tho Assembly of the District; 
but it is for the purpose of choosing the Ad- 
ministrators of such Di.-itricI, not the Electors 
of the Department. The Electoral Assem- 
blies of tho Departments elect the niemb.Ms 

• " Ele who freoly mnsnilirs what has bron 
nobly d«ine. ami fears not lo declare as frocly what 
Tiiifilit have bciMi dono bettor, siive.s yoa tlie best 
<-ovcnaiit of his tulcliiy. His biithesi praise is not 
llancry, and his plainest advice is praise." — Areo- 
Jiamii.a. 

T iMotifesqiiieii, I tlunk, nieniions n federative 
ropublic ill Lycia. whore the proporiion of repre- 
cemaiivis depii-ed by each siaie was in a rutio 
■compounded of its population ntid iis oonlribii'ioo. 
There minhi lie some plausibility in this iiisiimiion 
nmon«r oont'ederaied independent stales ; but il is 
grossly nbsuni in a eommonwealih, which is vitally 
one. In sucli a stale, the contrilmiion of all beinir 
proportioned to their eapaeii v, it is relatively equall 
and if it cnn e.infer any poliiical claims, they must 
he derived from equal rights. 



of the legishiture, the jiidgp.", the administm. 
tors, antl the bishop of the DepartnuMit. The 
Admimstrators are every w liere the organs 
and instruments of the e.\ccutivt> juiwer. 

Against the ariaiigement of !hest> Assem- 
blies, many sid>lle and sp(\'ii)us objections 
are mgeil, both by Mr. Huikeand the exiled 
Minister of Fiance. The lirst and mo>t Ibi- 
miilable is. "the .supposed t»>nilency of it to 
dismember Fi-aiice into a body of coiiteile- 
rateil republics." To llii.s there are st^veial 
unanswerable replies. Ihit bi'foie I state 
them, it is neces.sary to make one distinc- 
tion : — these several bodies are, in a certain 
sense, independiMit, in what regards f^nboiili- 
nate and interior n^gnlation ; but ihey aie not 
independent in the .sense which the objec- 
tion supposes, — that of possi'ssing a sej<aiate 
will from that of the nation, or iiitluenciiig, 
but by thiMr re]n-e.sentatives. the gtMu lal 
system of the state. Nay, it may be tlcii.oti- 
strated, that the legislators ot Fiance have 
.solicitously jirovided mor(> elaborate precau- 
tions !ig-;iiiisi this di.smembeiment than liave 
been adopted, by any recorded government. 

The (irst circumstance which is advt>rse to 
it is the minutt>ness of llie divided parts. They 
are too small to possess a .^i>j aiate force. As 
elements of the social onler, as jiarticles of a 
great )iolitii"al body, they are something ; but, 
as insulated stati-s, they would bt> imjiotiMit. 
Had Fiance been separated into great masses, 
each might have been strong emmgh to claim 
a st^parate will; but, divitled as she is, no 
body of citizens is conscious of siitlicieiit 
strength to feel their sentiments of any im- 
portance, but as constituiMit parts ol' the 
general will. Survey the Primary, the Elec- 
toral, and the Adminisliative Asscnd>lies, 
and nothing will be more t"vident than tluMr 
impotence in individnality. The Munici- 
]ialitit>s, sundy. are not likely to arrog-ate 
independi>nce. A forty-eight thonsaiulth 
part of the kingdom has not energy suliicient 
for separate existence ; nor can a hojie arise 
in it of iiiliuencing, in a direct ami iliclatorial 
maimer, the councils of a great state. Even 
the Electoral Assemblies of th(> I")i>partment3 
do not, as we shall afterwards show, possess 
force enough to become independent con- 
federated ri^pnblics. 

AiioihtM- circumstance, powerfully hostile 
to this dismemberment, is thi> ilestmctiou of 
the ancient Provim-ial division of the king- 
dom. In no jiart of Mr. Huike's work have 
his arguments betMi chosen with such infeli- 
city of selection as in what regards this 
snbjeet. He has not only erred ; but liis 
error is the precise reverse of truth. He 
represcTils as the harbinger of discord, what 
is, in fact, the instrument of nnion. He mis- 
takes the cement of the editice for a source 
of instability and a principle of repulsion. 
Fi-ance was, nndt>r tho ancient government, 
an union of j>roviiuv's, ac(piirt\l at various 
limes :in,l on ditrereiit conditions, and dill'er- 
ing in constitution, laws, language, manners, 
jirivileges, juri.siliction, and revenue. It hatt 
tho exterior of a simple mouarchyj but it 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



4^ 



was in rf'ality an n'^'^rc^aU; of irid'-poii'lfint 
nlalf.'H. 'J'Ik; moiian;h vvas in oik; |)I;u*<! Kinjr 
(>f NavaiH!, in another Duko of Hritlany, in 
a tliinl Count of I'rovcnco, in a fouilh I)an- 
jjjiin of Vionno. Umlcr ih'^no vaiionn (J»;no- 
ininatiouH ho posHCHHfjil, at loast nominally, 
(lif/oicnt (li'^iiiCH of |)o\v<;r, and h(! certainly 
oxorcisiMJ it nndur diffciftnt foirn.s. I'ho manH 
cofni)Ort(;d of thcKC hotoro^^onnouH and dis- 
coidant oli-rrnints. waH held Uy^cAhi-r by the 
(;oni[)rt;HHirif:; forcr; of (h;spolisrn. When that 
cornprcsfsion was vvlThdrawn, tin; [novinces 
must have njKumed their ancient independ- 
fjnc(!, — [xrrhaps in a form more absolute than 
as mi;mb'MH(if a fedeiativf; republie. Every 
lh)n;( t(;iid(!d to inH|)ire provincial and to ex- 
tin;^uish nalioriid patriotism. 'J'he inhabitants 
of liritlany. or Cuieinie, felt th(;ms(.'lves 
linked to^^i-ther by aneient habiluden, by 
conj;etiial prejudices, by similar rnarmeiK, 
by the relics of their constitution, and the 
common name of their country: but their 
character as members of the French Empire, 
could only remind them of jon;:^ and i^nio- 
rninious subjection to a tyranny, of which 
they had oidy felt the stren^Mh in exaction, 
an(l bl(!ss(!d tht; lenity in nejrh^ct. These 
caus(!8 must have fornntd tin; jjrovinces into 
independent republics; and the destruction 
of then'r provincial i-xisteiKJe was indisp(;nsa- 
ble to the jjicvention of this dismemberment. 
It is impossible to d'Miy, that men uiiit(;d by 
Jio previous habitudt; (whatever may be said 
of the policy of the union in other respects) 
are less qualified f(jr that union of will and 
force, which j)rodnc(!» an independent re- 
public, than provincials, who were attracted 
by every circumstanrie towards local and 
partial interests, and from the common centre 
of the national system. Nothing could have 
beini more inevitable than the independtmce 
of those jfrejit provinc(;s, which had never 
been moulded into one (nnpire ; and we may 
boldly [)ronounce, in direct oj)position to Mr. 
Burk(!, that tlie n(!w division of the kin;.';dom 
wa.s the oidy f;xpedieiit tliat (tould have pre- 
vented its dismemberment into a confederacy 
of sovertn^fn republics. 

The sohciloiis and elaborate division of 
powers, is another expedient of infallible 
operation, to preserve the unity of the body 
politic. The Municipalities ar(! limited to 
minute and lo(!al adrriinistiation ; tlie Primary 
As.semblifjs solely to ('lection ; the Assemblies 
of the District to objects of administration 
and control of a supcsrior cI;jss; and the 
Assemblies of the Departments j)OBS(!ss func- 
tions purely electoral, rixertin;^ no authority 
legfi.slulive, administrative, or judicial. 

But whatever danger mi}j;ht be apprehend- 
ed of thf; assumption of power by these 
formidable Assembliris, they are bi(!nnially 
renow(;d ; and their fuj^itive nature makes 
systematic usurpation ho[)eIess. What power, 
indeed, can they possess of dictatin;.^ to the 
National Assembly?* or what interest can 



* I do not mean that th^ir voice will not be 
there respected : that would be lo suppose the 
56 



the members of that Assembly have in obCj- 
iii}; the mandates of those Mfiose tenure of 
power is as fu^'itive and precarious as their 
own? The jnovincial AdministiatorH have 
lliat amount ol^indepijndence \\ hi(;h llie con- 
stitution demands; while the judyes, who 
are elected for six years, rnuSt f(!el them- 
selves independent of constituents, whom 
three elections may so radically and com- 
pletely chanf<e. Thew; circumstances, then, 
— the minutenesK of the divisions, the dis- 
solution of Provincial ties, the elaborate dis- 
tribution of jKJwers. and the fufritive consti- 
tution of the Electoral Assi;mblics, — seem 
to form an insuperable barrier against the 
assumption of such powers by any of the 
bodies into which Franx' 's organized, as 
would tend to )}ioduc(! the federal loan. 

The next objection to be considered is 
peculiar to Mr. Hurke. The subordination 
of elec'iions has been regarded by the ad- 
mirers of the French lawgivcns as a master- 
j)iece of tlieir legislative v.isdom. It seemed 
as great an improvement on representative 
goveinmcml, as representation it8(df was on 
pure democracy. No extent of territory is 
too great for a popular government thus 
organized ; and as the Primary As.'iemblie.'j 
may be dividi/d to any degree of minulenesR, 
the most perf(!ct order is reconcilable with 
the widest diffusion of politif;al right. De- 
mocracies w(!re sujiposed liy philosophers to 
be necessarily small, and therefore hjeble, — 
to d(!mand numerous assemblies, and to be 
therefore venal and tumultuous. Yet this 
great discovery, wdiich gives foice and order 
in so high a degree to popular goveniments, 
is condemned and derided by Mr. Burke. 
An immediate connection be'tween the re- 
presentative and the primary constituent, he 
considers as essential to the idea of repre- 
sentation. As the electors in the Primary 
Assemblies do not immediately elect their 
lawgivirs. he regards their rights of sufTrage 
as nominal and illusory.* 

It will in the first instance be remarked, 
from the statement which has already been 
given, that in stating three interposed elec- 
tions between the Primary FJectors and the 
Legislature, Mr. Burke has committed a 
most imi)ortant error, in point of fact. The 
original plan of the Conslitutional Committee 
was indeed agreeable to the statement of 
Mr. Burke: — tin; Primary A s.semblies were 
lo fdf.'ct deputies to the District, — the District 
to th(! Department, — and the J^i-parlment to 
the National Assembly. Rut this plan was 
represented as tending lo introduce a vicious 
coinjilexity into the system, and, by makint» 
the channel fhrouph which the national will 
passes into its public acts too circuitous, to 



Lceinlature as inselenily corrupt as that of a neiKli- 
lioiiritii^ naiion. I only nican lo iinf.(;rt, ihat ihr;y 
caniioi poFSCHS piicli a power as will frial)le ihem 
lo flictaie iiiHiruciiorm to their re|)r<'Hf!tiiaiive8 as 
autlioritaiively aa Hoverflgns do to tlifir nmbas- 
Hiidors ; which is the idea of a confederated re- 
pul)lic. 
♦ I3urke, pp. 270—272. 



4; 



MACKINTOSH'S MSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



enfeeble its energy under pretence of break- 
ing its violence ; and it was accordingly suc- 
cessfully combated. The series of three 
elections was still preserveil for the choice 
of Departmental Administrators; but the 
Electoral Assemblies in the Departments, 
who are the immediate constituents of the 
. Leg'slature, are directly chosen by the Pri- 
mary Assemblies, in the proportion of one 
elector to every hundred active citizens.* 

But, — to return to the general question, 
which is, perhaps, not much affected by 
these details, — [ profess I see no reason why 
the right of election is not as susceptible of 
delegation as an}- other civil function, — why 
a citizen may not as well delegate the right 
of choosing lawgivers, as that of making- 
laws. Such a gradation of elections, says 
Mr. Burke, excludes responsibility and sub- 
stantial election, since the primary electors 
neither can know nor bring to account the 
members of the Assembly. This argument 
has (considering the peculiar system of Mr. 
Burke) appeared lo me to be the most singu- 
lar and inconsistent that he has urged in his 
work. Representation itself must be con- 
fessed to be an infringement on the most 
perfect liberty ; for the best organized sys- 
tem cannot pn'clude the possibility of a vari- 
ance between the popular and the represen- 
tative will. Eesponsibilitj", strictly speak- 
ing, it can rarely atlmit ; for the secrets of 
political fraud are so impenetrable, and the 
line which separates coriupt decision from 
erroneous julgmeiit so indiscernibly minute, 
that the cases where the deputies could be 
made properly responsible are too few to be 
named as exceptions. Their dismissal is the 
only punishment that can be inflicted ; and 
all that the best constitution can attain is a 
high prob;ibil-ty of unison between the con- 
stituent and his deputy. This seems attain- 
ed in the arrangements of France. The 
Electors of the Departments are so nume- 
rous, and s ) pojiularly elected, that there is 
the highest probability of their being actu- 
ated in their elections, and re-elections, by 
the sentiments of ih'^ Piimary Assemblies. 
They have too many points of contact with 
the general mass to have an insulated opi- 
nion, and too fugitive an existence to have 
a separate interest. This is true of tliose 
cases, where the merits or demerits of can- 



* For a clrirtje of isucli finidamcntal inaccuracy 
against Mr. Burke, the PiiMic will most jusily ay\'d 
naturally expect the liijjhest evidence. See the 
Decret sur la nodvclln Division du Royaunie, Art. 
17, and the Procos Vrrl)nl of the Assembly for 
the 22d Dec 1789. If iliis oviilence should de- 
mand any collateral aid, the authority of M. de 
Calonne (which it is retnarkable that Mr. Burke 
should have overlooked) corroborates it most am- 
ply. " Oi) ordonne que chacune de ces Assem- 
blecs (Primaires) nominera un electeur a raison 
de 100 citoyens aciifs.". . . " Ccs cinquante.s miile 
electe'.irs (des Depanements) choisis dc deu.x ana 
en deux aiis par les Asseinhlecs Primaires," p. 
360. The Kx-Miuister, indeed, is rarely lo be 
detected in any departure trom the solicitous ac- 
ciiracv of Droftissloual detail. 



didates may be supposed to have reacheil 
the Primary Assemblies: but m those lar 
more numerous cases, where tliey are loo 
obscure to obtain that notice, but by the 
polluted medium of a popular canvass, this 
delegation of the franchise is still more evi- 
dently wise. The peasant, or artisan, who 
is a. Primary Elector, knows intimately 
among his equals, or immediate sujieriors, 
many men who have information and hon- 
esty enough to 'choose a good representative, 
but few who have genius, leisure, and ambi- 
tion for the situation themselves. Of De- 
partmental Electois he may be a disinter- 
ested, deliberate, and competent judge : but 
were he to be complimented, or rather 
mocked, with the direct right of electing 
legislators, he must, in the tumult, venality, 
and into.xieation of an election mob. give his 
suffrage without any possible just knowledge 
of the situation, character, and conduct of 
the candidates. So unfortunately false, in- 
deed, seems the opinion of Mr. Burke, that 
this arrangement is the oidy one that sub- 
stantially, and in good faith, provides for the 
e.xercise of deliberate discrimination iir the 
constituent. 

This hierarchy of electors was, moreover, 
obtruded on Fiance by necessity. Had they 
rejected it. they would have had only the 
alternative of tumultuous electoral assem- 
blies, or a tumultuous Legislature. If the 
primary electoral assemblies had been so 
divided as to avoid tumult, their deputies 
would have been so numerous as to have 
made the national assembly a mob. If the 
number of electoral assemblies had been re- 
duced to the number of deputies constitut- 
ing the Legislature, each of them would 
have been too numerous. I camiot perceive 
that peculiar unfitness which is hinted at by 
Mr. i?nrke in the right of pcrsoiml choice to 
be delegated.* It is in the practice of all 
states delegated to great officers, who are 
intrusted with the power of nominating their 
subordinate agents. It is in the most ordi- 
nary affairs of common life delegated, when 
our idlimate representatives are too remote 
from us to be within the sphere of our obser- 
vation. It is remarkable that M. tie Calonne, 
addressing his work, to a people enlightened 
by the masterly discussions to which these 
subjects have given rise, has not, in all the 
fervour of his zeal to criminate the new in- 
stitutions, hazarded this objection. This is 
not the only instance in wliich the Ex-lNlinis- 
ter has shown more respect to the nation 
whom he addresses, than Mr. Burke has paid 
to the intellect and information of the Eng- 
lish public. t 



* Burke, p. 271. 

t Though it may, perhaps, be foreitjn to the 
purpo-^ie, I cannot help thinkinc one remark on 
this topic interesting. It will illustiaie the difTcr- 
ence of opinion between even ihe Aristocratio 
party in France and the nili-rs of England. M 
de Calonne (p. 383.) rightly states it" to be th« 
unanimous instruction of France lo her represcn 
tatives, to enact the equal admissibility of all citi 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH KE'VOLUTION. 



443 



Thus much of the elements of the legisla- 
tive body. Concerning that body, thus con- 
stituted, various questions rci^iain. Its unity 
or division will admit of much dispute. It 
will be deemed of the grcfutest moment by 
•-he zealous admirers of the English coiistitu- 
cion, to determine whether any semblance 
of its legislative organization could have 
been attained by France, if good, or ought 
to have been pursued by her, if attainable. 
Nothing has been asserted with more confi- 
dence by Mr. Burke than the facility with 
which the fragments of the long subverted 
liberty of France might have been formed 
into a British constitution : but of this gene- 
ral position, he has neither explained the 
mode, nor deJined the limitations. Nothing 
is more favouiable to the popularity of a 
work than these lofty geneiaJities which aie 
light enough to pass into vulgar currency, 
and to become the maxims of a popular 
creed. Proclaimed as they are by Mr. Burke, 
they gratify the priiie and indolence of the 
people, who are thus taught to speak what 
gains applause, without any effort of intel- 
lect, and impo.ses silence, without any la- 
bour of confutation; but touched by difini- 
tioii, they becorrte too .simple and precise for 
eloipience. — too coM and abstract for jiopu- 
lai;!) . It is neces.^ary to intjuire with more 
pri>ision in what manner France could have 
assimilated the remains of her ancient con- 
stitulion to that of the English Legislature. 
Three modes only seem conceivable : — the 
preservation of the three Orders distinct ; the 
union of the Clergy and Nobility in one uj)per 
chamber; or .some mode of selecting from 
these two Onhns a body like the House of 
Lords. Unless the insinijationsof Mr. Buike 
point to one or other of these schemes, I can- 
not divin(; their meaning. 

The first mode would neither have been 
congenial in spirit nor similar in form to the 
constitution of England : — convert the Con- 
vocation into an integrant and co-ordinate 
branch of our Legislature, and some faint 
semblance of structure might be discovered. 
But it would then be nece.ssary to ami our 
Clergy with an immense mass of property, 
rendered still more formidable by the con- 
centration of great benefices in the hands of 
a few, and to bestow on this elerico-military 
ari.stocracy, in each of its shapes of Priest 
and Noble, a -separate and independent 
voice. The Monarch wouUl thus pos.ses8 
three negatives, — one avowed and disused, 
and two latent and in perpetual activity, — 
on the single voice which impotent and illu- 
sive formality had yielded to the Third Es- 
tate. 



zens to public employ ! Fiiigland adheres lo ihe 
Test Act I The arranpemeniH of M. Necltar for 
clepiions lo ihe Staies-Genrral, and ihe Pcheme 
of MM. .Mounier and Lally-'roiienda! for ihe new 
consiiimion, included a represenlaiion of ihe pen- 
pie nearly exaef. Yei the idea of it is rewarded 
will) horror in England ! The highest Aris/orrntex 
of Franco approach more nearly lo the crerd of 
general liberty than the most popular poliiiciaiis 
of England. 



Even under the reign of despoli.'^m the 
second plan was proposed by M. de Ca- 
lonne,* — that the Clergy and Nobility should 
form an Upper House, to exercise conjointly 
with the King and the Commons the Icgif-la- 
tive authority. That such a constitution 
Mould have been diametrically oj)j)osite in 
its spirit and principles to tliat ol England, 
will be evident lo those who rifltcl how 
different were the Nobility of each country. 
In England they are a small body, united to 
the mass by innumerable points of contact, 
receiving from it perpetually new infusions, 
and returning to it^ und;slinyuifeh( d and un- 
privileged, the majority of tlieir children. In 
France they formed an immense caste, in- 
sulated by every barrier that prejudice or 
policy could raise. The Nobles of Knpland 
area senate of two hundred: the Noblesse 
of France were a tribe of t\\o huiidreil thou- 
sand. Nobility is in England only hereditary, 
so far as its professed object — ihe support 
of an hereditary senate — demands. Nobility 
in France was as widely inheiitable as its 
real purpose — the maintenance of a privi- 
leged caste — prescribed. It was therefore 
rieces.sarily descendible to all male children. 
The Noblesse of Fiance were at once fonni- 
dable from the immense property of their 
body, and dependinl from the iiidigt nee of 
their patrician labble of cadets, w horn honour 
insjiired wilh servility, and servility excluded 
from the path lo independence. To this for- 
midable proijerty were added the it venues 
of the Church, monopolized by some of their 
children; while others had no patrimony 
but iheir sword. If these last were gcneious, 
the habits of military service devoli d them, 
from loyally, — if ihey w«'ie jiiiidcnt, the 
hope of military promotion devoted them, 
from interest, to the King. How immense 
therefore and irresistible would thi' Royal 
influence have been over eli ctois, of whom 
the majority were the servants and creatures 
of the Crown? What would be thought in 
England of a House of Lords, w Inch, while 
it represented or contained the whole landed 
inteiest of the kingdom, should necessarily 
have a majority of its members sepiennially 
or trienni.i.ly nominated by the King? Yet 
such a oni" would still yield to the French 
Upper House of M. da Calonne : Ivy the mo- 
nied and commercial interests of England, 
which would continue to be represented by 
the Commons, are iinporlant and formidable, 
while in France they are comparatively in- 
significant. The aristocracy could have been 
strong only against the peo])le, — impotent 
against the Crown. 

There remains only the selection of an 

* See his Leiirc au Roj. 9ih February, 1789. 
See also Sur I'Eiat de France, p. 1C7. It was 
also, as we are inionned by M. d<' CaUnmc, sug- 
gesied in the Caliiers of die Nobiliiy ol iMeiz and 
Montargis. It is wonhy ot incidental. The pro- 
position of such radical chaeges by 'lie Nobiliiy, 
is inconiesialile evidence of ihe gciui;il cmiviction 
that a total change was nercsoary. and ih an un- 
answerable reply to Mr. Burke and M. de Ca- 
lonne. 



444 



MACKINTOSH'S mSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Upper House from among the Nobility and 
Clergy : and to ihis there are insuperable 
objections. Had the right of thus forming a 
branch of the Legislature by a single act of 

Ererogative been given to the King, it must 
ave strengthened his influence to a degree 
terrible at any, — but fatal at this period. 
Had any mode of election by the provinces, 
or the Legislature, been adopted, or had any 
control on the nominatioti of the Crown been 
vested in them, the new dignity wonld have 
been sought with an activity of corruption 
and intrigue, of which, in such a national 
convulsion, it is impossible to estimate the 
danger. No general principle of selection, 
such as that of opulence or antiquity, would 
have remedied the evil; for the excluded 
and degraded would have felt that nobility 
was equally the patrimony of all. By the 
abolition of nobility, no one was degraded ; 
for to " degrade" is to lower from a rank 
that continues to exist in society. 

So evident indeed was the impossibility of 
what Mr. Burke supposes to have been at- 
tainable, that no party in the Assembly sug- 
gested the imitation of tTie English model. 
The system of his oracles in French politics, 
— MM. Lally and Mounier, — approached 
more near to the constitution of the Ameri- 
can States. They projiosed a Senate to be 
chosen for life by the Kins;, from candidates 
offered to his choice by the provinces. This 
Senate was to enjoy an absolute negative on 
legislative acts, and to form the great national 
court for the trial of public delinquents. In 
effect, such a body would have formed a 
far more vigorous aristocracy than the Eng- 
lish Peerage. The latterbody only preserves 
its dignity by a wise disuse of its power. 
But the Senate of M. Mounier would have 
been an aristocracy moderated and legalized, 
which, because it appeared to have less in- 
dependence, would in fact have been em- 
boldened to exert more. Deriving their 
rights equally with the Lower House from 
the people, and vested with a more dignified 
and extensive trust, they would neither 
have shrunk from the conflict with the Com- 
mons nor the King. The permanence of 
their authority must have given them a su- 
periorityover the former; — the spociousness 
of their cause over the latter: and it seems 
probable, that they would have ended in 
subjuffatinff both. Let those who suppose 
that this Senate would not have been infect- 
ed by the "corporation spirit," consider how 
keenly the ancient judicatures of France had 
been actuated by it. 

As we quit the details of these systems, a 
question arises for our consideration of a 
more general and more diflicult nature, — 
Whether a simple representative legislature, 
or a constitution of mutual control, be the 
best form of government?* To examine 

* This question, translated into familiar lan- 
guage, may perhaps be thus expressed, — " Wlie- 
ther the vigilance of the master, or the squatibles 
of the servants, be the best security for laiihful 
eervice f" 



this question at length is inconsistent with 
the object and limits of the present publica- 
tion (which already grows insensibly beyond 
its intended size); but a few general princi- 
ples may be hinted, on which the decision 
of the question chietly depends. 

It will not be controvertetl, that the object 
of establishing a representative legislature is 
to collect the general will. That will is one: 
it cannot, therefore, without a solecism, be 
doubly represented. Any absolute* negative 
opposed to the national vvill, decisively 
spoken by its representatives, is null, as an 
usurpation of the popular sovereignty. Thus 
far does the abstract principle of representa- 
tion condemn the division of the legislature. 

All political bodies, as well as all systems 
of law, foster the preponderance of partial 
interests. A controlling senate would be 
most peculiarly accessible to this contagious 
spirit : a representative body itself can only 
be preserved from it by those frequent elec- 
tions which break combinations, and infuse 
new portions of popular sentiments. Let us 
grant that a popular assembly may some- 
times be precipitated into unwise decision 
by the seductions of eloquence, or the rage 
of faction, and that a controlling senate might 
remedy this evil : but let us recollect, that it 
is better the public interest should be occa- 
sionally mistaken than systematically op- 
posed. 

It is perhaps susceptible of proof, that 
these governments of balance and control 
have never existed but in the vision of theo- 
rists. The fairest example will be that of 
England. If the two branches of the Legis- 
lature, which it is pretended control each 
other, are ruled by the same class of men, 
the control must be granted to be imaginary. 
The great proprietors, titled and untitled, 
possess the whole force of both Houses of 
Parliament that is not immediately dependent 
on the Crown. The Peers have a great in- 
fluence in the House of Commons. All po- 
litical parties are formed by a confederacy 
of the members of both Houses. The Court 
party, acting equally in both, is supported by 
a part of the inilependent aristocracy; — the 
Opposition by the remainder of the aristo- 
cracy, whether peers or commoners. Here 
is every symptom of collusion, — no vestige 
of control. The only case indeed, where 
control coirld arise, is where the interest of 
the Peerage is distinct from that of the other 
great proprietors. But their separate inte- 
rests are so few and paltry, that the history 
of England will not afford one undisputed 
instance. t 

* The suspensive veto vested in the French 
King is only an appeal to the people on the con- 
duct of their representatives. The voice of the 
people clearly spoken, the negative reasos. 

t 'I'he rejection of the Peerage f?ill of Georoje 
the First is urged with great triumph by De 
LoliTie. There it seems the Commons rejected 
the Bill, purely actuated by their fears, that the 
aristocracy would acquire a strength, through a 
limitation of the numlier of Peers, destructive ol 
the balance of their respective powers. It is ua 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



445 



"Thronirh jI diversity of members and in- 
terests," if we may believe Mr. Burke, 
"general liberty had as many securities as 
there were separate views in the several 
orders." If by "general liberty" be under- 
stood the power of the collective body of 
these orders, the position is undeniable : but 
if it means. — what it ought to mean, — the 
liberty of mankind, nothing can be more 
false. Th ' h'ifher class in society, — whether 
iheir names be nobles, bishops, judges, or 
possessors of landed and commercial wealth, 
— has ever been united by common views, 
far more powerful than those petty repug- 
nancies of interest to which this variety of 
description may give rise. Whatever maj'^ 
be the little conflicts of ecclesiastical with 
secular, or of commercial with landed opu- 
lence, they have the one common interest of 
preserving their elevated place in the social 
order. There never was, and never will be, 
in civilized society, but two grand interests, — 
that of the rich and that of the poor. The 
privileges of the several orders among the 
former will be guardi^'d, and Mr. Burke will 
decide that general liberty is secure! It is 
thus that a Polish Palatine and the Assembly 
of Jamaica profanely appeal to the principles 
of freedom. It is thus that Antiquity, with 
all her pretemled political philosophy, can- 
not boast one philosopher who questioned the 
justice of servitude, — nor with all her pre- 
tended public virtue, one philanthropist who 
deplored the misery of slaves. 

Oiie circumstance more concerning the pro- 
posetl Legislature remains to be noticed, — 
the exclns'in of the King's Ministers from it. 
This " S;df-denying Ordinance" I unequivo- 
cally disapprove. I regard all disfranchise- 
ment as BDually unjust in its principle, de- 
structive in .ts example, and impotent in its 
purpose. Their presence would have been 
of great ulility with a view to business, and 
l.erhaps, by giving publicity to their opinions, 
-favourable on the whole to public liberty. 
The fair and open influence of a Government 
is never formidable. To exclude them from 
the Legislature, is to devote them to the 
purposes of the Crown, and thereby to enable 
them to use their indirect and secret influ- 
ence with more impunity and success. The 
exclusion is equivalent to that of all men of 
superior talent from the Cabinet : for no man 
of genius will accept an office which banishes 
him from the supreme assembly, which is the 
natural sphere of his powers. 

Of the plan of the Judicature, I have not yet 
presumed to form a decided opinion. It cer- 
tainly approaches to an experiment, whether 
a code of laws can be formed sufficiently 
simple and intelligible to supersede the ne- 



forlunate that political theorists do not consult the 
history as well as the letter of legislative proceed- 
ings. The rejection of that Bill vvas occasioned 
by the secession of Walpole. The debate was 
not guided by any general legislative principles. 
It was simply an experiment on the strength of the 
two parties contending for power, in a Parliament 
to which we owe the Septennial Act. 



cessity of professional lawyers.* Of all the 
attempts of the Assembly, the complicated 
relations of civilized society seem to render 
this the most problematical. They have not, 
however, concluded this part of their labours: 
and the feebleness attributed to the elective 
judicatures of the Departments may be re- 
medied by the dignity and force'with which 
they will invest the two high national tribu- 
nals.! 

On the subject of the Executive Magis- 
trac)', the Assembly have been accused of 
violating their own principles by thi; assuinp- 
tion of executive powers; and their advo 
cates have pleaded guilty to the charge. It 
has been forgotten that they had a double 
function to perforrn : they were not oidy to 
erect a new constitution, but they were to 
guard it from destruction. Had a supersti- 
tious tenderness for a principle confined them 
to theoretical abstractions M'hich the breath 
of power might destroy, they would indeed 
have merited the epithets of visionaries and 
enthusiasts. We must not, as has been justly 
observed, mistake for the new political edi- 
fice what is only the scaffolding necessary to 
its erection. The powers of the First Magis- 
trate are not to be estimated by the debility 
to which the convulsions of the moment 
have reduced them, but by the provisions of 
the future constitution. 

The portion of power with which the 
King of France is invested is certainly as 
much as pure theory would demand for an 
executive magistrate. An organ to collect 
the public will, and a hand to execute it, are 
the only necessary constituents of the social 
union : the popular representative forms the 
first, — the e.xecutive officer the second. To 
the point where this principle would have 
conducted them, the French have not ven- 
tured to proceed. It has been asserted by 
Mr. Burke, that the French King is to have 
no negative on the laws. This, however, is 
not true. The minority who opposed any 
species of negative in the Crowm was only 
one hundred out of eight hundred members. 
The King possesses the power of withholding 
his assent to a proposed law for two succes- 
sive Assemblies. This species of suspensive 
veto is with great speciousness and ingenuity 
contended by M. Neckar to be more efficient 
than the obsolete negative of the English 
princes. t A mild and limited negative may, 
he remarked, be exercised without danger 
or odium; while a prerogative, like the abso- 
lute veto, must sink into impotence from its 
invidious magnitude. Is not that negative 
really efficient, which is only to yield to the 
national voice, spoken after four years' de- 

* The sexennial election of the Judges is strong 
ly and ably opposed by M. de Calonne, — chiefly 
on the principle, that tlie stability of judicial offices 
is the only inducement to men to devote their 
lives to legal study. 

t The Cour de Cassation and the Haute Cour 
Nationale. 

t Rapport fait au Roi dans son Conseil, 11th 
Sept., 1789. 

2N 



446 



MACKINTOSrrS mSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Jiboratioii? The most absolute vrlo must, if 
tlif poojilc persist, j>rove eventually only sus- 
jHMisivc* "'J"iu' iiowcr of rcmoustraiK-c.''' 
Niys INlr. Huik«^, "'which ^vas ancit-ntly 
voslod in ihf railiaincnt of I'aris, is now 
absnniiy uiliustcd to the Kvcoutivo ]\bi- 
sjislrato." lUit the veto of the I'ailianuMit 
was (liiecteil aj^iiinst tiie legislative au- 
thority ; whereas the proposed one of ilie 
Kiit'j; is au appeal to the people a>iaiiist their 
representatives: the latter is the only share 
in leiiislation, — -.vhether it be nominally 
absolute, or nominally limited, — that a free 
government can intrust to its Supremo Ma- 
gistrate. t 

On the PnToiiative of declarinji' War and 
Peacr. ]\lr. l^urket has shcully, and M. de 
Calonnei at great leni;th, arrai>^ned the 
system of the Assembly. In it war is to be 
declared by a (h>cree of the Legislature, on 
the proposition of the Kinjr, who jMissesses 
exclusively the initiative. The ditfereiice 
betwtMMi it and the theory of the Eni>lish 
constitution is purely nominal. That llunuy 
supposes an inde]M'ndent House of Com- 
mons, a-rioovous responsibility of the Kini>'s 
^linisters, and an effectivo power of im- 
peaclunent of them. Were these in any 
resjiect realized, it is perfectly obvious, that 
a decision for war must in every ease de- 
pentl on the deliberation of the T,(\<iisla(me. 
No minister would hazanl hostilities willieul 
the sanction of a body who held a sword 
fiuspi>nded over his head ; and no power 
would remain to the Executive ]\Iai>istrate 
but the initiative. The forms indeed, in the 
majority of cases, aim at a semblance of the 
theory. A Royal IMessa^e announces im- 
pi^ndin*;; hostilities, ami is re-echo(Hl by a 
ParlianuMitary Address of promiseil .support. 
It is this address alone which embolih^ns 
and authorizes the Cabinet to proceed. Tin* 
Ixoyal ]M(>ssape corres]Kinds to tlie French 
initiative; and if the jmrily of our practic<> 
bore any proportion to tlie specionsness of 
our theory, the address would be a "de- 
cree" of the Leir'slatnre, adoptini; tlio pro- 
position of the Kiuif. No man, therefore, 
who is a sincere and enlightened ailmirer of 
the Enuli.^h constitution, as it ouiiht, and is 
pnMended to exist, can consistently reprobate 
an arraniiemenl, which diflers from it only 
in tht> most frivolous i'ircnmstanc(>s. In our 
juactice, indeed, no trace of those disconlant 
powers which are supposed in our theon^ical 
conslitution remains: there the most beau- 
lifid simplicity prevails. The same inllnence 
detiMinines the executive; and le^islat ve 
power: the same Cabinet makes war in the 
name of the Kinp, and sanctions il in the 

* Tiii^ nogaiivo (m.^isrssod liy ilio King is pre- 
cisely (ioulilo thai of the Assembly. lie mny 
oppose his will to tlint of iiis whole people for 
four yenrs, — the lortn of the e.xistetice of two As- 
eeniblios. The whole of this nnniment is in some 
inensure ad hominrm. for I myself nm dtil>ioiis 
aboiu the ntiliiy of nay species of veto, — absolute 
OT siispeiiBive. 

t Burke, p 301. 

T Ibid p. 295. $ Calonne, pp. 170—200. 



name of the ParliamiMif. Put France iti 
destitute of the cement uhidi mutes ihe.so 
discordant materials: — her exchequer is 
ruiiu'il. 

(J ranted, how(n-er, that this formidable 
preroo-ative is mor(> curtailed than it is in 
our llu'ory, the t>xpediency of siudi limita- 
tion remains to be consiilered. 'i he chief 
objections to il, ar(> its tendency to lavoui 
the liiowlh of loreiun factions, and to ileio- 
_<:rate from the prompt ilnde so necessary t(. 
military success. To both these objections 
there is one yeneral answer: — tht>y pioceed 
on tho snjipositiou that Fiimce will retain 
her ancient political sysh-m. Ihit if she 
adluui^s to her own declarations, war luust 
become to her so iart> an oi-currence, that 
tlu> objeclions bt-come insimiilicant. l'"oreii;n 
powers have no tiMiipIalioii to purchase lac- 
lions in a state which doi-s not interpose in 
foreign politics: and a wise nation will re- 
i^ard victorious war as not l<\ss latally inloxi- 
catiu":; to tlu> victors, than widely destructive 
to \ho vanquished. France, alter liaving 
reiunuiced lor ever the idea of coiKjuesf, 
can indeetl have no source of probable ho.s- 
tiliticvS, but her colonies. Colonial jiosscs- 
sioiis have biHUi so unanswerably demon- 
slratcil to be commercially useless, and 
politically ruinous, that the conviction of 
phlosophers cannot fail of haviiiir. in due 
time, its clliH-t on the minds of enb^'htened 
Europe, and deliverinii' the French enqiire 
from this cnmlMous ami destructive ap- 
peiidage. 

Ihit even were the exploded villany that 
l\as obtained the name of "politics" to be 
re-adopted in France, the object ions would 
still be feeble. The lirst. which miisl bo 
confessed to have a .specious and formidablo 
air, seems evidently to be founded on tho 
history of SwediMi ami Poland, and on some 
facts in that of tlu> nulch KeiMiblie. It is a 
lemarkable example of those loose and rc- 
mot(^ analoiTies by which sophists corriq-.t 
and abuse liislorv. Peculiar circnmstai.ces 
in the situation of these states disposed them 
to bo the seat of foreign faction. This did 
not arise from war beinir decided uixjii by 
public bodies; for if it hatl, a similar cvi' 
nuist have existeil in ancient Home au' 
Carthatr(\ in modern Venice, and Swilzei- 
land, in the IJepublican ParlianuMit of Eno- 
land, and in the CoiiLiress of the UnitiMl 
States of AnuMica. Holland, too, was ]ier- 
feclly ex(Miqit from it, till the :\v:c ol Charles 
II. and I.ouis XIV. when, ilivided betwi-en 
jealousy of the commerce of England .ami 
dread of the conquests of France, .^he threw 
herself into the arms of the House of Orange, 
and forced the partisans of freedom into a 
reliance on French support. The case of 
Sweden is with the utmost facility explica- 
ble. Au iiidiirent and martial people, whether 
if be i!:ov«>rned bv oik* or many despots, will 
ever be sold to enttM-prising and opulent am- 



bition : and recent facts have proved, that a 
chausfe in the governiruMit of Sweden has 
not changed the stipendiary spirit of its raili 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



447 



fciry system. Poland is an example Rlill loss 
riik;vaiil : — tliiin) a crowd oi' iiidi-jxuidiMit 
despots naturally Ica^^'iK; Ihernsi-ivcs vari- 
ously with loiciiiii I'inviMK. Viil Russian 
force lias dou(! more tli.ui Jiussian fjjold ; and 
Poland lias suflnri^d slill itujro Irorri lecble- 
ncfts than venality. 

No aiialo-iy can bn supposfd to exist bi;- 
twecii tlu'se cases and that of France. All 
the Povv(!is of Europe could not expend 
money (snoufjch to form and maintain a fac- 
tion in that country. Hujiposc; it possible 
that its Le-^islature could once bo corruptetl ; 
yet to purchas(! in succession a series of 
asseird)lies, Potosi itsidf would bi; une(pial. 
All the stal(>s which havi; bi.-en quoted wer*; 
poor, — tlierefon; cheaply corrupttsd : their 
governments were aristocratic, ami were; 
therefore only to be once bought ; the people 
were if^uorant, and could thiinsfore be sold 
by tlieir governors with impunity. Tlu; 
reverse of th(!se circumstances will sav(! 
France, as they have saved En;.^l.i.ii(l, from 
this '•' worst of evils:" — their wealth mnkes 
the att(!m|)t difficult; their discrerniTKint 
makes it hazardous; their short trust of 
power renders the object wortJihsss, and its 
permanence impossible. 

That subjecting such a d(!cision to the 
deliberations of a popular assembly will, in 
a great measure, unncuvci the vigour of hos- 
tilities, I am not disposed to deny. France 
must, however, when her constitution is 
cemenf.(!d, be. in a defensive view, in- 
vincible: and if her government is nnfilted 
for aggr(!Ssion, it is little wonder that tin; 
Assembly should have made no provision 
for a case which their principl(;s do not 
eu)ipose. 

This is the last important arrangement 
resjiecling the ex(;cutive j)ower which Mr. 
Burke has Irisated ; and its considt^ralion 
conducts us to a subji,'ct of infinite delicacy 
and (liflicully, which has afforded no small 
Iriumj h to the en{!mit!S of the Revolution, 
the organization of the army. To reconcile 
the existence of an army of a hundred and 
fifty thousand men, of a na\^ of a hun- 
dred ships of the line, and of a frontier 
guarded by a liundred fortresses, witli tlie 
oxist(Mice of a free government, is a tre- 
mendous problem. History affords no ex- 
ample in which such a force has not recoiled 
on the state, and become the ready instru- 
ment of military usurpation: and if the 
state of France vi'cre not perfectly un(;x- 
ampl(!(l, the inference would be incjvitabh;. 
An army, with the pentiments and habits 
which it is the f^ystem of modern Europi; to 
inspire, is not only hostih; to freinlom, liut 
incompatible with it. A body jiossessisd of 
the whole force of a state, and systemati- 
cally diveslcMJ of every civic sentiment, is a 
monster that no rational polity can tolerate; 
and every circumstance clearly shows it to 
be the oliject of French legislation to de- 
stroy it, — not as a body of amned citizens, 
but as an army. This is wisely and gradu- 
ally to bo cirocted: two grand operations 



conduct to it, — arming tho people, and uii- 

solditsring th<! army. 

An army of four millions can never bo 
coerced by one of a hundred and fifty thou- 
sand ; neither can they have a 8ei)arate sini- 
tim(,Mit from the body of the nation, for they 
are the ijame. VVh(;nce the honor of iVir. 
Uurk(! at liius arming the nation, under tho 
titl(! of "a municipal army," has ari.sen, it is 
dilficult even to conjecture. Has it ceased 
to be true, that thi,' defence of a free state is 
only to b(! coimnitled to its citizens? Are 
the long op[)ositiori to a standing army in 
England, its tanly aiui je;ilous admission, 
and the ])erp(!lnal clamour (at length illu- 
sively gratilii.'d) for a militia, lobe exploded, 
as the gross and uncourtiy seiitiiiKMits of our 
unenlightened ancestors? "They must rule," 
says Mr. Rurk(t, "by an army." If that be 
the system of tin; Assembly, their policy is 
still mor(! wretched th;iii lie nas rejiresentcd 
it: for they systcsmatically strengthen tho 
governed, while they enfeeble their engine 
of gov(?rnmerit. A military democracy, if it 
means a deliberative body of soldieis, is the 
most execrable of tyrannies ; but if it be un- 
(hnstood to denote a ])opular government, 
under which ev(!ry citizen is (lisi:iplined and 
armed, it must then be pronounced to b(!t'.ie 
only free one which retains within itself the 
means of jneseivation. 

Tho professional soldiers, rendered harm- 
less by tho strength of the municipal army, 
are in many oilier ways invited to throw ofT 
those abject and murderous hiibits which 
form the perfect modern soldier. In oilier 
states the soldiery are in general disfran- 
chised by their ]XJV(!rty : but in France a 
great part may (Mijoy the full rights of citi- 
zens. They are not then likely to sacrifice 
their supmior to tlieir inferior capacity, nor 
to (devale their military importancu by com- 
mitthig political suicide. The (liffusion oi 
political knowledge among them, which is 
ridiculed and reprobated by Mr. Rurke, is tho 
only remedy that can fortify them against 
the seduction of an aspiring commander. 
They, have, indeed, gigantic strength, and 
they may ciiush their fellow-citizens, by 
dragging down the social edilice; but they 
must thems(!lvcs be overwhelmed by its fall. 
Th(! (hjspotis'.ni of armies is ihi; slavery of 
soldiers: an army cannot be strong eiuuiyh 
to tyrannize, ihiit is not itself cemented by 
the most absolute interior tyranny. Tho 
diflusion of tht^se great truths will i)er[)elii- 
at(!, as lh(!y have produced, a revoluiion In 
the character of the French soldiery. Mili- 
tary services will be the Jchy of all citizens, 
and the trculc of none.* If a separate body 
of citizens, as an army, is deemed necessary 

* Again I must nncfuininr tho deriainn of Mr. 
Riirkc, l>y f)uoiini; ilio ill-fnicd citizen of Geneva, 
whose life wris ciiibittcrcd by ttie cold frieiiHflhip 
of ii philosopher, jiiid whose incmory is prosiTilicd 
by the ahinncd eniluisiaKni of iin oniior. I shall 
presume lo recommend to the perusal of every 
render his tract entitled, " CfinHlderniiona 8iir le 
Gouvernemcnt do I'ologne," &c. — more cspeci 
ally what regards the military system. 



448 



l\lACKIi\TOSH'S jMISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



it will probably be formed by rotation : a 
certain period of military service will be ex- 
acted from every citizen, and may, as in 
the ancient republics, be made a necessary 
qiialiticatioii for the pursuit of civil honours. 
" Gallos quoque in bellis floruisse aumvi- 
mus,'"* may again be the sentiment of our 
children. The glory of heroism, and the 
splendour of conquest, have long enough 
been the patrimony of that great nation. It 
is time that it should seek a new glory, and 
a new splendour, under the shade of free- 
dom, in cuhivating the arts of peace, and 
extending thi' happiness of mankind. Happy 
would it be for us all, if the example of that 
'•'manifesto of humanity" which has been 
adopted by the k^gislators of France, should 
make an adequate impression on surround- 
ing nations. 

Tunc genus himiamim positis sibi consulat armis, 
Inque vicem gens umiiis amet.t 



SECTION V. 

English admirers vindicated. 

It is thus that Mr. Burke lias spoken of 
the men and measures of a iureign nation, 
where there was no patriotism to excuse his 
prepossession or his asperity, and no duty or 
feeling to preclude him from adopting the 
feelings of a disinterested posterity, and as- 
suming the dispassionate tone of a philoso- 
Eher and a historian. What wonder then if 
e should wanton in all the eloquence and 
virulence of an advocate against fellow-citi- 
zens, to whom he attributes the llagitious 
purpose of stimulating England to the imita- 
tion of such enormities. The Revolution and 
Constitutional Societies, and Dr. Price, whom 
he regards as their oracle and guide, are the 
grand objects of his hostility. For them no 
contumely is too debasing, — no invective too 
intemperate, — no imputation too foul. Joy 
at the downfall of despotism is the indelible 
crinne, for which no virtue can compensate, 
and no punishment can atone. An incon- 
sistency, however, betrays itself not unfre- 
(juently in literary quarrels : — he aflects to 
despise those whom he appears to dread. 
His anger exalts those whom his ridicule 
would vilify ; and on those whom at one mo- 
ment he derides as too contemptible for re- 
sentment; he at another confers a criminal 
eminence, as too audacious for contempt. 
Their voice is now the importunate chirp of 
the meagre shrivelled insects of the hour, — 
now the hollow murmur, ominous of con- 
vulsions and earthquakes, that are to lay the 
fabric of society in ruin.?. To provoke against 
the doctrines and persons of these unfortu- 
nate Societies this storm of execration and 

* The expression of Tacitus (.\gncola), quoted 
oy Mr. Burke in the Speech on the Army Esti- 
malea.^ED. 

T Pharsalia, lib. i. 



derision, it was not sufficient that the French 
Revolution should be. traduced; every re- 
cord of English policy and law is to be dis- 
torted. 

The Revolution of 1688 is confessed to 
have established princii)les by those who 
lament that it has not reformed institutions. 
It has sanctified the theory, if it has not in- 
sured the practice of a free government. It 
declared, by a memorable precedent, the 
right of the people of England to revoke 
abused power, to frame the goveriiment, and 
bestow the crown. There was a lime, in- 
deed, when some wretched followers of Fd- 
mer and Blackwood lifted their heads in op- 
position: but more than half a century had 
withdiawn them from public contempt, to 
the amnesty and oblivion Mhich their in- 
noxious stupidity had purchased. 

It was reserved for the latter end of the 
eighteenth century to construe these innocent 
and obvious inferences into libels on the con- 
stitution and the laws. Dr. Price has as- 
serted (I presume without fear of contradic- 
tion) that the House of Hanover owes the 
crown of England to the choice of their peo- 
ple, and that the Revolution has established 
our right "to choose our own governors, to 
cashier them for misconduct, and to frame a 
government for ourselves.'"* The first pro- 
position, says Mr. Burke, is either false or 
imgatory. If it imports that Eniihuid is an 
elective monarchy, "it is an unfounded, 
dangerous, iUegal, and unconstitulional posi- 
tion." " If it alludes to the election of his 
INIajesty's ancestors to the throne, it no more 
lesiTilizes the government of England than 
that of other nations, where the founders of 
dynasties have generally founded their claims 
on some sort of election." The CvM member 
of this dilemma merits no reply. The people 
may certainly, as they have done, choose an 
hereditary rather than an elective monarchy: 
they may elect a race instead of an individual. 
It is vain to compare the pretended elections 
in which a council of barons, or an army of 
mercenaries, have imposed usurpers on en- 
slaved and -benighted kingdoms, with the 
solemn, deliberate, national choice of 1688. 
It is, indeed, often expedient to sanction these 
deficient titles by subsequent acquiescence 
in them. It is not among the projected in- 
novations of France to levive the claims of 
any of the posterity of Pharamond and Clovis, 
or to arraign the usurpations of Pepin or 
Hugh Capet. Public tranquillity thus de- 
mands a veil to be drawn over the successful 
crimes through which kings have so often 
'•waded to the throne." But wherefore 
should we not exult, that the supreme ma- 
gistracy of Englantl is free from this blot, — 
that as a direct emanation from the sove- 
reignty of the people, it is as legitimate in its 
origin as in its administration. Thus under- 

* A Discourse on the Love of our Country, de- 
livered on Nov. 4th, 1789, at the Meeiing-houso 
in Old Jewry, to the Society for commemorating 
the Revolution in Great Britain. London, 1789. 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



449 



stood, ihe position of Dr. liiHce is iiuilher false 
nor nugatory. It is not nugatory, for it 
Isouourably disliiiguishes llic KnglJ^h mo- 
narchy among the governniLMits of the worltl ; 
and if it be false, the whole history of oui 
Revolution must be a legem!. Tlie (act was 
shortly, that the Prince of Orange was elected 
King of England, in contempt of the claimSj 
not only of tiie exiled monarch and his son, 
but of the Princes.ses Mary anil Anne, the 
undisputed progeny of James. The title of 
William III. was then clearly not by succes- 
sion ; and the House of Commons ordered 
Dr. Burnet's tract to be burnt by the hands 
of the hangman, for maintaining that it was 
by conque.st. There remains only election: 
for these three claims to royalty are all that 
are known among men. It is futile to urge, 
that the Convention deviated only slightly 
from the order of succession. The deviation 
was indeed .slight, but the principle was de- 
stroyed. The principle that justified the 
elevation of William HI. and the preference 
of the posterity of Sophia of Hanover to those 
of Henrietta of Orlean.s, would equally, in 
point of right, have vindicated the election 
of Chancellor Jeffreys or Colonel Kirke. The 
choice was, like every other choice, to be 
guided by views of policy and prudence j 
but it was a choice still. 

From these views arose that repugnance 
between the conduct and the language of 
the Revolutionists, of which Mr. Burke has 
availed himself. Their conduct was manly 
and systematic; their language was conciliat- 
ing and equivocal. They kept measures 
with a prejudice which they deemed neces- 
sary to the order of society. They imposed 
oa the grossness of the popular understand- 
ing, by a sort of compromise between the 
constitution and the abdicated family. '-'They 
drew a politic well-wrought veil," to use the 
expression of Mr. Burke, over the glorious 
scene which they had acletl. They affected 
to preserve a semblance of succession, — to 
recur for the objects of their election to the 
posterity of Chailesand James, — that respect 
and loyalty might with less violence to public 
sentiment attach to the new Sovereign. Had 
a Jacobite been permitted freedom of speech 
in the Parliaments of William IH. he might 
thus have arraigned the Act of Settlement ; 
— " Is the language of your statutes to be at 
eternal war with truth? Not long ago you 
profaned the forms of devotion by a thanks- 
civing, which either means nothing, or in- 
sinuates a lie : you thanked Heav'en for the 
preservation of a King and a Queen on the 
throne of their ancestors. — an cxpres.siou 
which either alluded only to their tiescent. 
vvyiichwas frivolous, or iiusinuated their here- 
dilaiy right, which was false. With the 
same coiitempt for consistency and truth, we 
are this day called on to settle the crowu of 
England on a princess of Germany, 'bec;iuse' 
she is the granddaughter of James the First. 
If that be, as the phraseology insinuates, the 
true and sole reason of the choice, consistency 
demands that the words after 'excellent' 
57 



should be omitted, and in their plaoe be in- 
serted ' Victor Amadeus, Duke of Savoy, 
married to the daughter of the most excellent 
Princes.s Henrietta, late Duchess of Orleans, 
daughter of our late Sovereign Lord Charles I. 
of glorious memory.' Do homage to ro}ally 
in your actioii.s, or abjure it in your words : 
avow the grounds of your conduct, and your 
manliness will be respected by those who 
detest your rebellion." What reply Lord 
Somers, or Mr. Burke, could have devised to 
this Philippic, I know not, unle.ss they con- 
fessed that the authors of the Revolution liad 
one language for novices and another for 
adepts, whether this conduct was the fiuit 
of caution and consummate wisdom, or of a 
narrow, arrogant, and dastardly policy, which 
regarded the human race as only to be go- 
verned by being duped, it isu.'ieless to inquire, 
and might be presumptuous to determine. 
But it certainly was not to be expected, that 
any controversy should have arisen by con- 
founding iheir principles with their pretexts: 
with the latter the position of Dr. Price has 
no connection ; from the former, it is an in- 
fallible inference. 

The next doctrine of this obnoxious Sermon 
that provokes the indignation of Mr. Burke, 
is, "that the Revolution has established our 
right to cashier our governors for miscon- 
duct." Here a plain man could have foreseen 
scarcely any diversity of opinion. To contend 
that the deposition of a king for the abuse 
of his powers did not estiiblish a principle in 
favour of the like deposition, when the like 
abuse should again occur, is certainly one of 
the most arduous enterprises that ever the 
heroism of paradox encountered. He has, 
however, not neglected the means of retreat. 
''No government," he tells n.s, "could stand 
a moment, if it could be blown down with 
anjlhing so loose and indefinite as oj)inion of 
misconduct " One might suppose, from the 
dexterous levity with which the word •'•'mis- 
conduct" is introduced, that the partisans 
of democracy had maintained the expediency 
of deposing a king for every frivolous and 
venial fault, — of revolting against him for the 
choice of his tilled or untitled valets. — his 
footmen, or his Lords of the Bedcl:iamber. It 
would have been candid in Mr. Burke not to 
have dissembled what he must know, that 
by "misconduct" was meant that precise 
species of mi.sconduct for which James 11. 
was dethroned, — a conspiracy against the 
liberty of his country. 

Nothing can be more weak than to urge 
the constitutional irresponsibility of kings or 
parliaments. The law can never suppose 
I them responsible, because their responsibility 
supposes ihe dis.solution of society; which is 
' the annihilation of law. In the governments 
which have hitherto existed, the power of 
the magistmte is the only article in the social 
compact: destroy it, and society is dissolved. 
It is because they cannot be legally and con- 
stitutionally, that they must be morally ana 
rationally responsible. It is because there 
are no remedies to be found within the pale 
2k2 



450 



RIACKINTOSH'S JMISCKLLANF.OUS ESSAYS. 



of POoit>ty, that wo aro to sork thorn iti imturo, 
ami throw oiir jxiivlunoiit ohaiiis in tho faoo 
of our opprosFOi':'. No man oati iloiliu'o a 

{iroeoiloiit of law from tho lu'vohition ; for 
aw oamiot »'vist in tho dissolution of i^tnorn- 
mont : a privoilont of roason aiul jiistioo only 
can bo ostaWishtvl in it. And porhups th(> 
frionds of lViM\Iom rnoril tI\o niisrojirosiMita- 
tion witii whioh thoy have luH-n opposi-d, for 
trustinii' thiMr oanso to snoh frail and frivolons 
aiixiliarios. ami for sookinii' in tho prolliijato 
praotioos of mon what is to bo fomul in tho 
SJiorod rii^hts of nature. Tho systoni of law- 
yers is indood widoly ditl'oront. Thoy oan 
uidv appoal to n.s;i>::o, nrooodonts, anthorilios, 
ami stalulos. Thoy display thoir olaborato 
frivolity, and ihoir porlidions friondship, in 
disgraoing froodom wiih tho fantastic hoi\our 
of a podigroo. A ploador at tho Old Uaiioy, 
who would attoinpt to ai^gravafo tho guilt of 
a robb'M' or a nuirdoror, oy proving that King 
John or King Alfrod punish:Hl robbory and 
mnrdor. would only provoko ilorision. A 
man who should protond that tlio roason 
why wo had right to pivporty is. booansoour 
anoostors oujoyod that right four hnndrod 
yoars ago, would bo justly oontoinnod. Yot 
»o littlo is plain sonso In-anl in tho niystorions 
nonsonso whioh is tho oloak of political fraud, 
thai tho Cokos, tho HIaokstonos, and tho 
Burk(>s, spoak as if our right to frooiioni do- 

fioiulod on its possession by our anoostors. 
n tho oonunon oasos of morality wo should 
blush at such an absvn-dify. No man would 
justify inurdtM' by its antiquity, or sligniati/.t" 
benovolonoo lor boiiig now. 'I'lit^ gouoalogist 
who should tMublazou thoono as oo(>val with 
Clin, ov stiginatizo tht> oihor as upstart with 
Howard, would bo tlisolaimod ovtMi by tho 
most frantic partisan of aristocracy. This 
Gothic transfer of genealogy to truth and jus- 
tice is peculiar to politics. Tho o.vistonceof 
robbory in one ago makes its vindication in 
tho next; and tlio champions of freedom 
have abandoned tlie stronghold lA' right for 
procodont, which, when tho most favourable, 
IS, as might be expected from tho ages whidi 
furnish it, feeble, fluctuating, partial, ami 
equivocal. It is not boca»iso we have been 
free, but because we luuc a ti'j:ht to he Ucc, 
that we ought to demand friH'dom. Justice 
and liberty have neither birth nor race, youth 
nor age. It would bo tho s;ime absurdity to 
assert, that wo have a right to freoilom, be- 
cause the Englishmen of Alfred's reign were 
free, as that three and three aro six, because 
thoy were so in the camp of (longhis Khan. 
Let us ht>ar no more of this ignoble and 
ignominious pedigree of froi'dom. Lot us 
hoar no more of her S;ixon, Danish, or Nor- 
man ancestors. I,et tho immortal ilaughtor 
of Roason, of Justice, avd. of Cod, bo no lon- 

§or confonndoil with tho spurious abortions 
lat have usurped her name. 
" But '■ says Mr. lUnke, <' we do not con- 
tend that riglit is croatoil by antiquarian re- 
search. We aro far from'contendinir that 
possession legitimates tyraiuiy, or that fact 
ought to bo confounded with right. But (to 



strip hia eulogies (fft Knglish wisilom of their 
declamatory appendage) tho impression of 
antitpiity endears and ennobles lroedom,an(t 
fortifies it by rondtTing it augn.st juul vene- 
rable in tho popular n\ind.'' 'J"he illusion is 
useful; the evpodioney t^f political impos- 
tore is tho whole force of tho argument ; — a 
principle odiousJo the friends of freedom, as 
the grand bulwark of secular and sjiiritual 
despotism. To pronounce that nuMi art> oidv 
to bo govorm\l by delusion is to libel tho 
hmnan understanding, and to consocrnte the 
frauds that havt> tdovatod despots and muftis, 
pontiU's and sultaii.s, on tho ruin of ilograilcd 
and opprosv-^od Inmianity. But tho iloctrine 
is as false as it is odious. Primary political 
truths are few and simple. It is easy to 
make them understood, and to transfer to 
goveriuuent tho same enlightened solf-inte- 
lost that presides in tho other concerns of 
life. It may bo made to be rospoctod, not 
becaUvse it is ancit"nt, or boeauso it is s;»cred, 
— not because it has boon established by 
barons, or applaudoil by priests, — but because 
it is visofnl. INbMi may easily be inslructed 
to maintain rights which it is thoir interest 
to maintain, ami duties which it is their in- 
terest to perform. This is tho only principle 
of authority that does not violate justice and 
insult Innuanity; it is also the only one wliich 
can possess stability. Tho various fashions 
of prejn^lice and factitious sentiment which 
have botMi tho basis of uovonmionts, aro 
short-livotl things. The illusions i)f chivalry, 
and tho illusions of superstition, which havo 
given to them splendour or Kinctity, aro in 
thoir turn succeeded by now modes of opi- 
nion ami new systems of manners. Reason 
alone and natural sentiment are tho ilouizen? 
of every nation, and tho contemporaries of 
every ago. A conviction of tlu> utilitv of 
gtivernment atlbrds tho only stable and ho- 
nourable security for obedience. 

Our ancestors at tho Revolution, ii is true, 
were far from feeling tlio full force of theso 
sublime truths: nor was the public mind of 
Kurope, in the seventoenlh century, sufll- 
cieutly enlightened and matured for tho 
grand ontorpri.ses of legislation. Tlie science 
which toaclios the rights of man, and the 
eloijncnce that kindles tho spirit of freedom, 
had for ages boon buried with tho other 
monuments of wisdom, and tlie other relics 
of the genius of antiquity. Tho revival of 
letters first unlocked, — but only to a few, — 
the^icred fountain. Tliejiecessary labours 
of criticism and lexicography occupied tlie 
earlier scholars ; and some time elapsed be- 
the spirit of antiquity was transfused into 
its admirers. Tho first man of that period 
wlio united elegant learning to original and 
masculine thought was Buchanan ;* ami lio 

* It is not a little remnrknblc, thnt Pnrhniinn 
puts into tho nioiuh of his nntntioiiist, IMaitlnnd, 
tho sanio nlnnns ti«r ilio tlownfall of lifcraturo tlint 
huvo boon rxoiiod in tlic nitiul of Mr. lUirko liv 
tho Fronoli Kovi>luiioii. Wo cnn sniilo at such 
ulnrms on a retrospoot of tlio hierary liisiory of 
Europe for the sovcnteeuili of eighteen cciiiuries ■ 



A DEFENCE OF THE FliKNClI IlEVOLU'lION. 



451 



too Hfiems to fi:iv(! bcoii tho firHt Hcliolar who 
CJiii^ht fioin tli<! .'ui(;i<;rilH tho iioIjN; [lurno of 
r(![)iiljlicii(; oiilhusiaMiTi. 'i'hiH pntiw) JH merit 
iu\ by hirt rif!f.'lcclo(l, llioii;^li iiicoirijuiraljlo 
tiaot, Ih; hire, lt(;((/ii, in wh;cli tin; [Jiiocijjioh 
of |»oj)ul:ir politioH, and llio muxiitiH of a iroo 
f^ovmnrn'Mit, ans dolivoroil with a pn;oi«iori, 
und onlorord witli an cnnrt^y, whioli no f'or- 
rni;r aj^o iiad rujuallod, and no HnowiCfJiuf^ 
on'-' has snrjiaHHiid. 'J'ho HuljHO'jiiont t)io- 
gicHH of tho human mind waH clow. J ho 
profound vxiWH of IIarritit(ton woro doridod 
UH tho ravinj^H of a visionary; an<l who can 
\vond<!r, that tho frantic loyalty which d«- 
jirossf.'d I'aiadimj LoHt, Hhoiild involve in 
jj^norniny tlio (dotjuont Aj)olo;.'y of Milton for 
tho I'fiopir; of England against a fcohlo and 
vcMial pedant. Sidney, 

" I'y iinci'.-ni Icurnirif; to lii' fnliylilcn'd lovo 
Of UMcicrit fr(;(!(loin wurni'd,' 
tau'^ht the j)rinci])lcH which he waH to hc.-iI 
With hiH blood ; and I/jcke, whow; praiHo is 
IcHs that of bein^ bold and (Mi{.Miial, ilian of 
\\ beinj^ terri|)eral«;, Koiind, lucid, and methodi- 
cal, d<;Herv(!H the immoital honour of having 
«yKteina.li/(!d and rendfired |)0()ular the doc- 
trinoH of e.ivjl and relif^iouH lib<;rty. In Iro 
larid, Molyneiix, tho friend of Locke, pro- 
duced Tlie CaHO of Ireland, — a production 
of which it in Kufricient [)raiHo to Hay, that it 
was ordered to bo biirnt by the dcKjtotic 
parliament. In Scotland, Andrew Fletclier, 
the Hcholar of Al^^ernon Sidney, maintained 
thr; caw; of his deserted country with tho 
force of ancient elo(|ueriC(!, ajid the dif.oiity 
of ancient virtue. Such is u rapid eiujmera- 
liori of those who liad Ijefore, or near the Ke- 
vohition, contributed to tin; fliffusion of j^oii- 
lical lij^ht. But their number was Kmall, 
their writini(» w(!re un[K)pular, their tloiiiir.iH 
were proscribed. The habits of r(;adin^; had 
only llien bej^iin to reach tho ^rad body of 
mankind, whom the arroj^ance of rank and 
letters has ii^noniiniously confounded under 
the fienominulion of the vul/^ar. 

Many causes too coiitribut,«;(l to form a 
powerful Tory interest in Eni.dand. The 
remnant of that TJolhic sentiment, the ex- 
tinction of which Mr. IJurko so pathetically 
doplores, whi(;h enj^rafted loyally on a point 
of honour in military attachment, formed one 
part, which may be called the "Toryism of 
chivalry." Doctrines of a <livine rij,'hl in 
kin^ijs, which are now too much for^'oilen 
even for Buccessfu] ridicule, were then sup- 
ported and rev(!red ; — these may be called 
lh(! "Toryism of superstition." A third spe- 
cies arose from the f^rr-at transfer of properly 
to an upBtart commerfiial interef^t, which 
drove the ancient ((entry of En((!and. for jiro- 
tection against its inroaos, It'diind the thro/ie ■ 
— this may be caJled the " Toryism of landed 
aristocracy."! Religious prejudices, outrages 

and hliuuid our conlrovcrBicn reach liic cnliglitencd 
BclioiarH of a fuiurc age, iht-y will proiiaijiy, witli 
the sarnc rca«on, ernile at ilic uiarrnH of Mr. 
Burke. 

* Thomson'H Summer. 

t Principle is reopcctable, even in its mistakee ; 



on natural HfMitiinftnts, which any artifimal 
system is too feeble to wiliisland, and tho 
stream of events wliich bore them along to 
e\iremilii;s which no man could have fore- 
see/i, involved tin; 'i'ories in the lievoliilion, 
and made it a truly national act: but their 
repugtiaru;*; to every sluidow of innovation 
was invincible. 

Something the Whigs maybe supposed to 
have con<;f:ded for the nakr; of conciliation : 
but few ev<;n of their Iriaders, it is probable, 
had grand and liberal views. What indeed 
could have been expected from ihr; doh-gaten 
of a nation, in which, a lew years before, tho 
(Jniversily of Oxfoid^ reprf.-senting the na- 
tional learning and wi.'cdom, had, in a solemM 
decree, o/fenrd the-ir congratulations to Sir 
fJeorg<5 Mackenzie (iidamous for the abufie 
of brilliant accomjjIiHhments to the most 
sfMvile and profligate ourposes) for having 
confuted the aboniinanie doctrines of Ihi- 
chanati and MHlon, and for having demon- 
Htralfjd the divine ri:.dits of kings to tyrannise 
and opi)ress mankind ! It must be evid(;nt, 
that a people who could thus, by the organ 
of its most learned body, prostrate its reason 
before such execrable absurdities, was too 
i/o/<rig for I(;gislation. Ib-rice the absurd de- 
bal(;H in the Convention about the j)alliative 
phrases of "abdicate," "dew;rt," &c., which 
were bett(;r cut short liy the Parliament of 
Scotland, when thf;y used tlie correct and 
manly rjxpression, that James If. had " for- 
fi;it(;d the throne." Hence we find the Ilevo- 
lutionisls [)erpetually belying their political 
conduct by tneir legal phraseology: hence 
their imj)otent and illusive reforms: heiico 
lh«;ir neglect of fore-sight* in not providing 
bulwarks against the natural tendency of a 
disput(;d succession to accelerate most rapid- 
ly the j)rogre«8 ^f lioyal influence, by ren- 
dering it necessary to strengthen so much 



and thcw Tori«« of thij last ccnforv were a party 
of priridpio. There were accordingly anion(( ihem 
men of the rnoHt elevated and urit;iiii(ed honour. 
VVlio will refuBC that prai«c to Ciaretidfin and 
Southampton, to Ormonde and MonlroRe 7 But 
TorviHm, as a parly of principle, eatiriot now exist 
in J'/n(;land ; for the prmcipleH on wliich we have 
hceii it to be foinidcd, exint no more. The Gothic 
Bentirnerit iseflaced ; the BupersiiMon iti exploded ; 
and the landed and commercial intcreniH arc com- 
pletely intermixed. 'I'hc Toryifcm of the prceent 
day can only arise from an aiiject Bpitit, or a cor- 
rupt heart. 

* 'i'his progreKs of Royal influence from a dis- 
puted Huan^mtion ha«, in f;u;t, rTio»t faiallv inktm 
place. 'J'he FroteHtanl f>iicceH*,ion v/as the siip- 
poKcd means of prcHerviiifj our lil)eriien ; and n, 
that meant the /•««■/ has been iiiohI dfplorably 
hacrificed. Tlic Whigs, the sincere ihoufjh tiniul 
and partial friends of freedom, were forced to 
cling to the throne as ilie anchor of liberty. To 
preserve it from utter sliipwreck, ihey w< re forcid 
to yield sorneihing to its protectors ; — hence a na- 
tional debt, a so[ilennial rariiarneni, niid n (land- 
ing army. The avowed reanon of the two last 
was Jacfiliiiitim ; — lirnc^ tlie urmatiirol coali'i'.n 
between Wbi^/gism and KiiiL'" during ili'^ riipris 
of the two first princes of ihe IIoumj r>t Ifanovr. 
wliicii the pupilage of Leictsier House so lo'ajl* 
broke. 



452 



IMACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



the posspssor of the crown against the pre- 
tender to it. 

But to eUicidate the question more fully, 
'= let us listen to the genuine oracles of Revo- 
lution policy;" — not to the equivocal and 
palliative language of their statutes, but to 
the unrestrained eilusion of sentiment in that 
memorable conference between the Lords 
and Commons, on Tuesday the 5th of Feb- 
ruary, 1688, which terminated in establish- 
ing the present government of England. 
The Tories, yielding to the torrent in the 
personal exclusion of James, resolved to em- 
barrass the Whigs, by urging that the decla- 
ration of the abdication and vacancy of the 
throne, was a change of the government, 
pro hdc vice, into an elective monarchy. 
The inference is irresistible : and it must be 
confessed, that though the Whigs were the 
better citizens, the Tories were the more 
correct logicians. It is in this conference 
that we see the AVhig leaders compelled 
to disclose so much of those principles, 
which tenderness for prejudice, and reve- 
rence for usage, had influenced them to dis- 
semble. It is here that we shall discover 
sparks kindled in the collision of debate suf- 
ficient to enlighten the "politic gloom" in 
which they had enveloped their measures. 

If there be any names venerable among 
the constitutional lawyers of England, they 
arc those of Lord Somers and Serjeant May- 
nard. They were both conspicuous mana- 
gers for the Commons in this conference; 
and the language of both will more than jus- 
tify the inferences of Dr. Price, and the creed 
of" the Revolution Society. My Lord Not- 
tingham, who conducted the conference on 
the part of the Tories, in a manner most 
honourable to his dexterity and acuteness, 
demanded of the managers for the Com- 
mons : — " Whether they mean the throne to 
be so vacant as to annul the succession in 
the hereditary line, and so all the heirs to be 
cut off"? which we (the Lords) saj', will 
make the crown elective." INIaynard, whose 
argument always breathed much of the old 
republican spirit, replied with force and 
plainness : — " It is not that the Commons do 
say the crown of England is always and 
perpetually elective; but it is necessary 
there be a supply where there is a defect." 
It is impossible to mistake the import of 
these words. Nothing can be more evident, 
than that by the mode of denying "that the 
cro\VTi was always and perpetually elective," 
lie confesses that it was for the then exigen- 
cv elective. In pursuance of his argument, 
he uses a comparison strongly illustrative of 
his belief in dogmas anathematised by Mr. 
Riirke : — " If two of us make a mutual agree- 
ment to help and defend each other from 
any one that should assault us in a journey, 
ancl he that is with me turns upon me, and 
breaks my head, he hath undoubtedly abdi- 
cated my assistance, and revoked." Senti- 
ments of the kingly office, more irreverent 
and more correct, are not to be found in the 
most profane evangelist that disgraces the 



Democratic canon. It is not unworthy of 
incidental remark, that there were then per- 
sons who felt as great horror at noveltie.«i, 
which have since been universally received, 
as JNIr. Burke now feels at the "rights of 
men." The Earl of Clarendon, in his strict- 
ures on the speech of Mr. Somers, said : — 
"I may say thus much in general, that this 
breaking the original contract is a language 
that has not long been used in this place, 
nor known in any of oar law books, or public 
records. It is sprung up but as taken from 
some kite authors, and those none of the 
best received!" This language one might 
have supposed to be that of Mr. Burke : it 
is not however his; it is that of a Jacobite 
lord of the seventeenth century. 

The Tories continued to perplex and in- 
timidate the Whigs with the idea of election. 
Maynard again replies, " The word 'elective' 
is none of the Commons' word. The provi- 
sion must be made, and if it be, that will not 
render the kingdom perpetually elective." 
If it were necessary to multiply citations to 
prove, that the Revolution was to all intents 
and purposes an election, we might hear 
Lord Nottingham, whose distinction is pecu- 
liarly applicable to the case before us. '• If," 
says he, "you do once make it elective, I do 
not say you are always bound to go to elec- 
tion ; but it is enough to make it so, if by 
that precedent there be a breach in the he- 
reditary succession." The reasoning of Sir 
Robert Howard, another of the managers for 
the Commons, is bold and explicit: — "My 
Lords, you will do well to consider. Have 
you not yourselves limited the succession, 
and cut off some that might have a line of 
right 1 Have you not concurred with us in 
our vote, that it is inconsistent with our reli- 
gion and our laws to have a Papist to rei,r;n 
over us? Must we not then come to an 
election, if the next heir be a Papist?" — the 
precise fact which followed. But what tends 
the most strongly to illustrate that contradic- 
tion between the exoteric and esoteric doc- 
trine, — the legal language, and the real prin- 
ciples. — which forms the basis of this whole 
argument, is the avowal of Sir Richard Tem- 
ple, another of the managers for the Com- 
mons : — " We are in as natural a capacity 
as any of our predecessors were to provide 
for a remedy in such e.xigencies as this." 
Hence it followed infallibly, that their pos- 
terity to all generations would be in the 
same " natural capacity," to provide a reme- 
dy for such exigencies. 

But let us hear their statutes : — theie "the 
Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons, 
do, in the name of all the people of England, 
most humbly and faithfully submit them- 
selves, their heirs and posterity for ever," 
&c. Here is the triumph of I\Ir. Burke ; — a 
solemn abdication and renunciation of right 
to change the monarch or the constitution ! 
His triumph is increased by this statutory 
abolition of the rights of men being copied 
from a similar profession of eternal alle- 
giance made by the Parliament of Elizabeth. 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



453 



It in dlfTicult to conceive any thing more pre- 
posterous. Ill the very act of exercising a 
fight which iheir ancestors had abdicated in 
their name, they abdicate the same right in 
the name of their posterity. To increase 
the ridicide of this legislative farce, they 
impose an irrevocable law on their posterity, 
iti the precise words of that law irrevocably 
imposed on them by their ancestors, at the 
moment when they are violating it. The 
Parliament of Elizabeth submit themselves 
and their posterity for ever : the Convention 
of 1G88 spurn the submission for themselves, 
but re-enact it for their }X)sterity. And after 
such a glaring inconsistency, this language 
of statutory adulation is seriously and tri- 
umphantly brought forward as " the unerring 
oracles of Revolution policy." 

Thus evidently has it appeared, from the 
conduct and language of the leaders of the 
Revolution, that it was a deposition and an 
election ; and that all language of a contrary 
tendency, which is to be found in their acts, 
arose from the remnant of their own preju- 
dice, or from concession to the prejudice of 
others, or from the superficial and presump- 
tuous policy of imposing august illusions on 
mankind. The same spirit regulated. — the 
same prejudices impeded their progress In 
every department. " They acted," says Mr. 
Burke, '■ by their ancient States:" — they did 
not. Were the Peers, and the Members of 
a dissolved House of Common.s, with the 
Lord Mayor of London, &c. convoked by a 
summons from the Prince of Orange, the 
Parliament of England? — no: they were 
neither lawfully elected, nor lawfully assem- 
bled. But they affected a semblance of a 
Parliament in their Convention, and a sem- 
blance of hereditary right in their election. 
The subsequent Act of Parliament is nuga- 
tory ; for as that Legislature derived its whole 
existence and authority from the Convention, 
il could not return more than it had received, 
and could not, therefore, legalise ihe acts of 
the body which created it. If they were 
not previously legal, the Parliament itself 
was without legal authority, and could there- 
fore give no legal sanction. 

It is, therefore, without any view to a prior, 
or .allusion to a subsequent revolution, that 
Dr. Price, and the Revolution Society of Lon- 
don, think themselves entitled to conclude, 
that abused power is revocable, and that cor- 
rupt governments ought to be reformed. Of 
the first of these Revolutions, — that in 1648, 
— they ma)', perhaps, entertain different sen- 
timents from Mr. Burke. They will confess 
that it was debased by the mixture of fanati- 
cism ] they may lament that History has so 
often prostituted her ungenerous sufTiage to 
success ; and that the commonwealth was 
obscured and overwhelmed by the splendid 
profligacy of military usurpation : but they 
cannot arrogate to themselves the praise of 
having been the first to maintain, — nor can 
Mr. Burke support his claim to have been 
the first to reprobate, — since that period, the 
audacious heresy of popular politics. 



The prototype of Mr. Burke i>5 not a less 
notorious personage than the predecessor he 
has assigned to Dr. Price. History has pre- 
served fewer memorials of Hugh Peters trian 
of Judge Jeffries. It was the fortune of that 
luminary and model of lawyers to sit in 
judgment on one of the fanatical apostles of 
democracy. In the present ignominious ob- 
scurity of the sect in England, it may be 
necessary to mention, that the name of this 
criminal was Algernon Sidney, who had, it 
is true, in his own time acquired some re- 
nown, — celebrated as the hero, and deplored 
as the martyr of freedom. But the learned 
magistrate was above this ''epidemical fana- 
ticism:" he inveighed against his pestilential 
dogmas in a spirit that deprives Mr. Burke's 
invective against Dr. Price of all pretensions 
to originality. An unvarnished statement 
will so evince the harmony both of the cul- 
prits and the accusers, tliat remark is super- 
fluous: — 



" We have a right 
10 clioose our own 
govcrnorB, to cai-liier 
IJn?iii for iriiticondijtt, 
and to franif! a go- 
vernment for our- 
Belves." — Dr. Price's 
Seniton. 



"And Hint the aforesaid Al- 
gernon Sidney did inalie, com- 
poBe and write, or cause to be 
made, composed and written, a 
certain falee, scandalous and 
seditious liljcl, in which is con- 
tained the following L^nglish 
words :— 'The Power originally 
in the people is delegated to Ihe 
Parliament. lie (meaning the 
King) is fiuliject lo the laws of 
God, as he is a man, and to (he 
people that made hiiii a l<ing, 
inasmuch a.s he is a king.' And 
in another place of (he said li- 
hel he says, ' We may (herefore 
take away Itings without break- 
ing any yoke, or that is made a 
yoke, which ought not to be 
one; and Ihe injury (herefore 
is making or imposing, and (here 
can be none in breaking it,' 
&c." — Jvdictmevt of .Algcmiin 
Sidney, Slate Trials, vol. iii. p. 
716. 



Thus we see the harmony of the culprits: 
the one is only a perspicuous and precise 
abridgment of the other. The hamiony of 
the judges will not be found less remarkable : 
Mr. Burke, "when he talks as if he had 
made a discovery, only follows a prece- 
dent:"— 



" The King, it says, is 
responsible to them, and 
he is only their trustee. 
He has mif governed, and 
he is to give it up, that 
they may he all kings 
themselves. Gentlemen, 
I must tell you, I think I 
ought, more than ordina- 
rily, to press this on you, 
because I know the inis- 
fortunes of the late un- 
happy rebellion ; and Ihe 
brineing of the late bless- 
ed King lo the scaffold 
was first begun by such 
kind of principles. "-./e/- 
fries' Charge. 



" The Revolution Society 
chooses to assert, that a king 
is no more than ihefi.'.^t ser- 
vant of Ihe public, created 
by it, and responsiole lo i(." 
"The second claim of the 
Kevolution Society is ca- 
shiering the monarch fcr 
misconduct." — " The Revo- 
lution Society, Ihe heroi* 
banil of fabricators of co 
vernments, electors of sove 
reigns." — "This sermon in 
in a strain which ha.i never 
been heard in this kingdom 
in any of ihe pulpits which 
are tolerated or encour:ig- 
ed in it since ICIH."— Jl/r. 
Burke's Rejlectione. 



Thus does Mr. Burke chant his political 
song in exact unison with the strains of the 
venerable magistrate : they indict the same 
crimes : they impute the same njotives; they 
dread the same consequences. 



454 



]\1ACKL\T0SH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



The Rpvolutfon SocitMy ffit, from tlio sreat 
event which thov iimtV^stHlly ooinimMiiora- 
ted, new motives ti) exult in the en\aiieip;i- 
tioii of France. Tlio Revolution of ItJSS lie- 
serves more the attention of a philosopher 
from itsiu.lirect iniluence on the progress of 
human opinion, than from its innneiliate 
etlects on the government of England. In 
the first view, it is perhaps ililliciilt to esti- 
mate the magnitude of its ellects. It sauc- 
tilied, as we have seen, the general princi- 
ples of freedom. It gave the (irst example 
in civilized modern Europe of a goveriwnent 
which reconciled a semblance of political, 
and a lame portion of civil lilxMty, with sta- 
bility and peace. But above all, Eurojie owes 
to it the inestimable blessing of an asylum 
for freedom of thought. Hence England 
became the preceptress of the world in plii- 
losophy and freedom: li(>nce arose tlie school 
of sages, who unshackled and emancipated 
the human mind ; from among whom issued 
the Lockes, the Konsseaus, tht> Turgois. and 
the Franklins, — the immortal kind of pre- 
ceptors and benefactors of mankind. Tiiey 
silently operated a grand moral revolution, 
which was in due time to ameliorate the 
social order. They hail tyrants to dethrone 
more formidable than kings, and from whom 
kings held their i^ower. They wrested the 
sceptre from Superstition, and dragged Pre- 
judice in triumph. They destroyed tlie ar- 
senal whence IVspotism had borroweil her 
thunders and her chains. These grand en- 
terprises of philosophic heroism must have 
preceded the reforms of civil government. 
The Colossus of tyranny was undermined, 
and a iiebble overthrew it. 

With this progress of opinion arose the 
American Revolution: and from this last, 
most unquestionably, tne delivery of France. 
Nothing, therefore, ctnild be more natural, 
than that those wno, without blind bigotry 
for the forms, had a rational reverence for 
the principles of onr ancestors, should rejoice 
in a Revolution, in which these principles, 
long sntVered to repose in impotent abstrac- 
tion in England, are called forth into energy, 
e.vpauded, invigorated, and matured. If. as 
we have presumed to snpjiose, the Revolu- 
tion of 16SS may have had no small sliare 
in accelerating the progress of light which 
has di.ssolved the prejudices that supported 
despotism, they may be permitted, besides 
their exultation as friends of humanity, to 
indulge some pride as Englishmen. 

It must be confessed that our ancestors in 
1GS8, confined, in their practical regulations, 
their views solely to the urgent abuse. They 
punished the usurper without ameliorating 
thegoveriunent ; and \]\cy jiroscribed usurpa- 
tions without correcting their source. They 
were content to clear the turbid stream, in- 
stead of purifying the polluted fountain. 
They merit, h,owever, veneration for their 
achievements, and the most ample amnesty 
for their defects ; for the first were their owii, 
and the last are imputable to the age in which 
they lived. The true admirers of the Revo- 



lution will pardon it for having sinred use- 
less esli'.blishments, only.btcause tliey revere 
it for having established grand principles. 
But the case of Mr. Hnrke is diilerent ; ho 
ileilies its tlefects, and lierides its jirinciples: 
and were Lord Somers to listen to such mis- 
placed eulogy, and tortured inference, .ho 
might justly say, '>You deny us the only 
praise we can claim; and the only merit you 
allow us is in the sacrifices we were com- 
pelled to make to prejuilice and ignorance. 
Your glory is our shame." Reverence for 
the principles, and pardon of the defects of 
civil changes, which arise in ages but jar- 
tially enlightened, are the plain dictates of 
common sense. Ailmiration of INIagna C'liarta 
iloes not infer any respect for villainage; 
reverence for Roman patriotism isnothicom- 
patible with detestation of slavery ; nor does 
veneration for tlir Revolutionists of HvSS im- 
pose any blimlness to llie gross, radical, and 
multiplitnl absurdities and corruptions in 
their political system. The true admirers 
of Revolution principles cannot venerate in- 
stitutions as .sage and effectual protections 
of freeilom, w hich experience has proved to 
be nerveless and illusive. 

" The practical claim of inipeaeliment," — 
the vaunted" responsibility ot ministers, — ia 
the nmst sorry juggle of political empiricism 
by wliich a people were ever attemj)te<i to 
be billed into servitude. State prosecutions 
in free states have ev(>r either languished in 
impotent and despised tediousness, or burst 
forth in a storm of popular iiubgnation, that 
has at once overwhelmed its object, without 
di.scriniiiiation of innocence or guilt. Nolliiiig 
but this irresistible fervor can destroy the 
barriers within Mhich powerful and opulent 
delinquents are fortified. If it is not with 
imminent hazard to equity and humanity 
gratified at the moment, it subsides. The 
natural influence of the culprit, and of the 
accomplices interested in his impunity, re- 
sumes its place. As these trials are neces- 
sarily long, and the facts which produce 
conviction, and the eloquenc(< which rouses 
indignation, are effaced fiom the jniblic mind 
by time, by ribaldry, and by soidiistry, the 
shame of a corrnjif diH-ision is extenuated. 
Every source of obloipiy or odium that cim 
be attached to the obnoxious and invidious 
character of an accuser is exhaustinl by the 
profuse corrniition of the dtdinquent. The 
tribunal of public opinion, which alone pre- 
serves the purity of others, is itself polluted ; 
anil a people wearied, disgusted, irritated, 
and corrupted, sufler the culprit to retire in 
impunity and splendour.* 

" Dniunalus iiiani 
Judicio. Quid onim snlvis iiifamia minimis ?"t 

Such has ever been the state of things, when 

* Part of this doscripiion is purely hisloricnl. 
Heaven forbid ilial the sequel sliouid prove pro- 
phciii-! — WluMi this sulijei-t [ilie laie trial of 
Warren Hastings. — Ed.] presents ftlr. Burke to 
mind, I must say, " Talis cum sis, uiinaiu nosier 
esses." 

t Juvenal, Sat. i. 



A DEFENCE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



455 



Ihe force of the Government has been sufTi- 
cient to protect the accused from the first 
ebullition of popular impetuosity. The de- 
mocracies of antiquity presented a spectacle 
directly the reverse; but no history affords 
any example of a just medium. State trials 
will always either be impotent or oppressive, 
—a persecution or a farce. 

Thus vain is the security of impeachment : 
and equally absurd, surely, is our contid(!nce 
in "the control of parliamtints," in their pre- 
sent constitution, and with their remaining 
powers. To hc^ln with the last : — they pos- 
8688 the nominal power of impeachment. 
Not to mention its disuse in the case of any 
minister for more than seventy years, it is 
always too late to remedy the evil, and pro- 
bably always too weak to [)unish the criminal. 
They possess a pretended power of with- 
holding supplies : but the situation of srjciety 
has in truth wrested it from them. The eup- 
plies they mu.st vote : for the army must have 
its pay, and the public creditors their interest. 
A power that cannot be exercised without 
provoking mutiny, and proclaiming bank- 
ruptcy, the blindest bigot caimot deny to be 
j)urely nominal. A practical substitute for 
these theoretical powers existed till our days 
in the negative exercised by the House of 
Commons on the choice of ihe Minister of 
the Crown. But the elevation of Mr. Pitt 
has establi.sed a precedent which has extir- 
pated the last sfiadowof popular control from 
the government of England : — 

" Glim vera fidea, Sulla Marifx^ue rpcepiis, 
Liberiaiis obit: Pompcio reltU8 adernpto, 
Nunc et ficia peril."* 

In truth, the force and the privileges of 
Parliament are almost indifferent to thr; peo- 
ple ; for it is not the guardian of their rights, 
nor th(! organ of their voice. We are said 
to be " wnci/t/aZiiy represented." This is one 
of those contradictory phrases that form the 
political j:irgon of half-enlightened periods. 
Unequal freedom is a contradiction in terms. 
The law is the deliberale reason of all. guid- 
iiig their occasional will. Representation is 
an expedient for peacefully, sy.«tematica]Iy, 
and unequivocally collecting this universal 
voice; — so thought and so ppokc (be Ed- 
mund Burke of better times. "To follow, 
not to force the public inclination, to give a 
diriiclion, a form, a technical dress, and a 
epecific ir'anslion to the general sense of the 
community, is the true end of legislature :''t 
— there spoke the correspondent of Frank- 
lin,! the charapioy of America, the enlight- 
ened advocate of humanity and fr('<;dom ! 
If these princi|)le8 be true, and they are so 
true that it seems almost puerile to repeat 
them, who can without indignation hear the 
House of Commons of Engliind called a po- 



* Pliarsniin, lili. ix. 

t Uiirkif's '•" Two r>eitcr(i to CIcniIernen in tlie 
City of UriKiol" (1778). p. 52. 

t Mr. IJiirkc lias had \\u: honour of hcinff tra- 
duced for corresponding, durinj^ the American war, 
with thi8 great man because lie was a rebel ! 



pular representative body ? A more insolent '/ 
and preposterous abuse of language is not 
to be found in the vocabulary 'of tyrants. 
The criterion that distinguishes laws from 
dictates, freedom from servitude, rightful 
government from usuq-ation, — a law being 
an expression of Ihe general will, — is want- 
ing. This is the grievance which the ad- 
mirers of the Revolution of 1688 desire to 
remedy according to its prineijiles. This is 
that perennial source of corrujilion which has 
incr('as(;d, is increasing, and oujL'ht to be 
diminished. If the general interest is not 
the object of our government, it is — it must 
be because the general will docs not govern. 
We are boldly challenged to produce our 
proofs; our complaints are asserted to be 
chimerical ; and the excellence of our govern- 
ment is inferred from its beneficial effects. 
Mo.st unfortunatfdy for us. — most unfortu- 
nately for our country, these proofs are too 
ready and too numerous. We find them in 
that "monumental debt," the bequest of 
wasteful and profligate wars, which already 
wrings from tue peasant something of his 
hard-earned pitiance, — which already has 
punished the industry of the useful and up- 
right manufacturer, by robbing him of the 
asylum of his house, and the judgment of 
his peer?,* — to which the madnes.g of political 
Quixotism adds a million for every farthing 
tbit the pomp of ministerial empiricism pays, 
— and which menaces ourchiklren with con- 
vulsions and calamities, of which no age has 
seen the parallel. We find th( rn in the black 
and bloody roll of peiseculing statutes that 
are still suffered to stain our code; ; — a list 
so execrable, that were no monument to 
be preserved of what England was in the 
eighteenth ceiitury but her Statute Book, 
she might be deemed to have been thea 
still plunged in the der-pest gloom of super- 
stitious baibarism. We find them in the 
ignominious exclusion of great bodies of our 
fellow-citizens from political trusts, by tests 
which reward falsehood and punish probity, 
— which profane the rights of the religion 
they pretend to guard, and usurp the do- 
minion of the God they profess to revere. 
We find them in the growing corruption of 
those who adrninist(!r the government, — in 
the venality of a House of Commons, which 
has beajme oidy a cumbrous and expensive 
chamber for registering ministerial edicts, — 
in the iticrease of a nobility degraded by the 
profusion and prostitution of honours, which 
the most z(alous partisans of democracy 
would have spared them. We find them, 
above all, in the rapid progress which has 
been made in silencing the great organ of 
public opinion, — that Pres-S, which is the 
true control over the Ministers and Parlia- 
ments, who might else, with impunity, tram- 
ple on the impotent formalities that form the 
pretended bulwark of our fieerlom. The 
mutual control, the well-poised balance of 

* Alluding to the stringetit provisions of tliC 
" Tobacco Act." — Ed, 



•<:>« 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



tht> si»v»Mi>l m«>nibois of our Losjislaturo, nm 
lht> visions of thoori'tical, or tho pivtoxt of 
pnu'tiral politicians. It isa jioviMiuuoiit, not 
o( o]i(H'k, but of" oonspirai'V, — a couspiiaoy 
whii'lj o.ui only ho ropivssoil by tho t'lioiyy 
of popnlar opinion. 

Tlit'so aro no visionary ill.s, — iioohimorioal 
appit'honsions: thoy are tho s;ul am! sobor 
it>lK\'tions ol as honost aiul onliulitcnoii nion 
as anv in tho kini;\loni. Nor aro thoy allo- 
vialoil by tho torpiii ami lislloss soourity into 
which tho pooplo sooui to bo UiIKhI. '■ Siiiu- 
nunu otivun foroi\so i\on quio.-^oontisso*! sono- 
."ioontis oivitatis.'' It is in this fatal tompor 
that tnon booonio sutiioitMitlv dobasoii anJ 
onibrntcvl to sink into plaoii^ ami poliutivl 
stMvitiKl(\ It is thon tliat it may most truly 
bo saiJ, that tlio miml o( a country is slain. 
Tho ailniirors of Kovolution principles natu- 
rally call oil ovory aji^ricvoil and onlii^httMuvi 
citizen to consiilcr tho source o{ his oppros- 
siou. If ptMial stal\itos hanj; ov(>r our Catho- 
lic brethren,* — if T^st Acts oulraijo our 
Prott'staut f<>llo\v-citizens, — if tho ivmains 
of feudal tyraiuiy aro still sutlorcil fooxist in 
Scotlaiul, — if the jircss is fcttoroil, — if our 
rij:ht to trial by jury is abriiiijeii, — if our 
nianntacturers aro prosoribcil ami huntoil 
ilown by o.\ci.so, — the reason of all those oj)- 
pressions is the same : — no branch of tho 
Loi^islature represents the pt>oplo. Men aro 
oppressor because they have no sliaro in 
their own i;overnuiont. "l-ot all tht>so classes 
of opmossed citi/ens molt their local ami 
partial oricvancos into one ijroat n»ass. Lot 
them cease to bo suppliants lor tlieir rii^hts, 
or to sue. for tiiem liko menilicants, as a 
j>recarious boon Irom the arroumit pity of 
usurpers. Until the l,ei,'islature speaks their 
voic«> it will o|>|>ri'ss iheni. Let tliem unito 
to procnri> such a Kefonn in iho ri>presenta- 
tion of the people as will make the House 
of Commons their ropres(<ulativt>. If, ilis- 
missin;.:: all potty views of oblainius; their 
own particular on*!.*, tliev unite lor thisor,«at 
object, they must succeci!. The co-operatiiii; 
etl'orts of so many bo*!ies of oili/jMis must 
awaken tlio nation ; ami its voice will be 
sooken in a tone that virtuous ijxnernors will 
obev, aiul tyrannical ones must ilread. / 

This tranquil ami lei.>-;il Heforin is tho nlti- 
mato object o( those whom Mr. lUirko has 
BC1 foully braiulci!. In etl"i>ct, this wonKI be 
amply suliicient. TIxe powers of tlio Kiujx 
Km! t)io Lords have novor boon forinidablo 

* No Imiiy of niiMi ill nny smtp ilnii proioiitls to 
In'oilixii imvo over hooii so insolcntlv opprt-s.-soil !!.•< 
the Cmliolic miijorilv i>l bolaml. Their c:uis(< 1ms 
boon lately plnnloi! Uy an cIoiukmu ailvtu-alo, 
whoso virnu\-» miijhl havo boon supposed li> liavo 
inllnnu'i'il my praiso, as iht' partial <iiotato ot 
Irioiulsliip. hail not his ijciiius t-xtortcd it as n strict 
tril)un< to jiistii-o. 1 pcrcoive that he roiains imu-h 
of that admiration wiiich wochorislicd iiicommon, 
by his I'lnssicnl (iiiotaiioii ro.<pooiini» .Mr. Hurko : — 
" Vn\ tpiippe vacat, studiisiiuo oiliisqno oaronti, 

Iluinanuin lojjoro jii'i'us." I'liarsalia, lib. ii. 

fcp " Tho CoMstiiiiiionnnnlorosts of Irehuu) with 
jospt'ci to the Topery Laws," (Publin, 17iM,) 
J'lrt iv. 



in Eiifjland, but from discords between tho 
House of Commons am! its protended con- 
stituents. W<'r»> that House really to be- 
come tho veliicle of the popular voice, tho 
priviloues of other bodi«\s, m opposition to 
tho stMiso of tlio iH>oplennd tlioir rt>presenla- 
tivtv"*, would l>o but as dust in tlio balance. 
Kn>iu this radical improvement all siil\iltt>ni 
rororiii would naluially and peaceably arise. 
AVe dream of no more; and in c!aimiiii^ this, 
instead of merit itio- the imputation of beiii^ 
apt>stles of sedition, wo conc(MVO ourselv«'!« 
entitled to be considortMl as the most sincere 
friends of tranquil and stable jjt>veriuneiit, 
Wo desire to avert revolution by roforin, — 
subversion by correction.* Wo admonish 
oiir ox)v,>inors to reform, while they retain 
tho force to reform witli di>.<,nity and secu- 
rity ; and wo (•otijiiro them not to await the 
moiiitMit, which will iiilalliMy arrive, whtMi 
they shall be obliircil to supplioale tliiit jieo- 
ple, whom they oppress ami despise, for tho 
slenderest pittance of their present |>owers. 

Tho orievances of Knjjlaiid ilo not now, 
wo confess, justify a chanijo by vit^lonco: 
but they aro in a rapid pn>ijress lo that lata! 
state, in which they will both juslify and 
produce it. It is becanso wo sincerely Iov«» 
tranquil freedom, t that wo earnestly ileprc- 
cate the arrival of th(< moment wIv«mi virtiio 
am! honour shtill compel us to seek her wiih 
our swonls. Aro not they iho true friiMids 
to authority who ilesire, that \\hal(>vt-r is 
granted by it •" should i.ssue as a ^ii'l of her" 
bounty and beiielicence, ralluM- than asckiinia 
recovored ao-.iinst a stru':i;liii«i- litiiiant* Or, 
at least, that if her benelicence obtnimvl no 
credit in lier concessions, they should appear 
tho s;ilutary inovisions of wi.>;doiii ami lor«'- 
sioht, not as things wruni^' with blood l>y tho 
cru(>l j.;ripe of a ri^id m>cessitv."| Wo do- 
sire that the political liiiht which is lo break 
in on Kniiland should bt> "throni\h wt<ll- 
contrived and well-di.sposed windows, not 
thron;;h (laws am! breach(\s, — through tlio 
yawuinj;' chasms of our ruin.'H 

Such was tht> lani^uaoe of Mr. Unrke in 
cases nearly parallel to the present. Knt of 
those who now presume to fifivo similar 
counst>l.s, his alarm ami abhorrenoo aiv ex- 
treme. They deem tho " present times'' 
favourable •• to all e.\t>rlions in the cause of 
liberty." They naturally must : their ht>pea 
in that ijreat cause are fiviii the di>terniiiieil 
am! recordiiii; voices of enliiihttMied men. 
The shock that has d<>stroyed the despotism 
of France has wklely dispeiseil tho clouds 
thai intorocptod reason fr»m the political and 



* Let iho ffovcrnors of nil stntos rompnro the 
convul-iion wTiich tho obistinacy of tho (Jovrnunont 
proviikcd ill Kraiu-f. with liic pi iu-cli\l and iiis;ni- 
ticil r(-fi>rin whii-h its wisihim t-tU'i'icil in rolaiu). 
The momcitt is important, llio iliiomma iiicviiahlc, 
the aliornalivo awtiil, tho lossoii mosi inslruflivf. 

t " Alaiuis liav inimioa tyrannis 

l''nst' petit placidam sub lil)erlai(< (juielem." 
[The lines insorieil by .Maernon Sidney in i\\« 
Album of tho Universiiy »>f Copoiiliugcn, — Ed.] 

t Hurko, Speech ut lirislul. 

« Ibid. 



A DKKKNCK OF THK FRKNCH RKVOLUTION. 



4.07 



mor.'il world • and wa «;;irinot eiippoKrr, ifial 
Kiiirljiiid iH ill'; only Mpot lli;it h;iH not Ijcc/i 
r(!!icli<;d by Ihiw ''/lood of li;.dil" lliat liaw 
burnt upon llio human nuw.. Wo rnip^ht 
»U|)|)OMf, too, that Kn{^li«hrnrfn would ho 
Bharrifjd out of their torpor l)y tho ^rijat ox- 
eition« of nalifJiiH wliorri wo had loii((d<;(;rriod 
biiririd in liojxihiHrt norvitudo. 

Hut nolhiiif( can ho rrioro ahHiird than to 
M a«H(Mt, that all who adrniro wiwh to irnitato 
tho Kronch J{<!vriliJlion. \n orio view, th'^ro 
i« room for divorMily of oriinion amont( tlio 
warrni'Ml and winoKl friorulM of fri;cdom, — uh 
to Iho atnoijiit of dcmooracy infuKod into tho 
now (j;()Vi:riiiii<:n\. In anrilhor, and a more 
imjtorlaiit onr;, it in to ho rof;ol|r-<;tr!(J, that 
tho conduct of natiorin in apt to vary with 
Iho circiirriMtanc('« in whicli Ihcyaro jihuiod. 
lilind adrriiroTH of itovoiutionH lakr; llii-m for 
implicit rnodolH. 'I'hiin Mr. I'urkf! adiriiroH 
that of idHH : hiit wfr, who c(;ncf!ivo that wo 
ray tlir; purrinl homaj^o to llio aulhorrt of tliat 
Jd'volulion, not in r;ontoiidint( for wliat thoy 
then d/d. hut for what th'iy now would do, 
can fool ;io i/icooKiHtcncy in lor»kio;( on 
Fianco, not to model fjur conduct, hut to 
inviVoralr; tho K()irit of fn:Oflom. Wo jtor- 
rriil ourHolvoH to irna^ino how f.ord Somorn, 
in tho li^dit and kriowl(fd;,'o f)f the eif^htoenth 
ciinlury, — how the jiatriotH of l'"ianco, in the 
tranipjillity and ojmjIomco of Knt^land, would 
have act<'d. We arc not hound to copy tlio 
coniluct to wfiich tho lant wore; drivr-n hy a 
bankrupt oxc)irrfpjr;r and adin^olvf^d Koverii- 
rnonl. nor to rriaiolain the «;HtahliHhm<!iils, 
whi(;li wore Mparod hy Ihr; firHt in a Jirejii- 
diced and henii.dited a;.^e. Kxact imitation 
irt not ii<!C(!«Hary to roverrMico. We venerate 
the princi|)leH which |)ir'Hided in holh oventH) 
and we adapt to tiolilical admiration a maxim 
which hart lon;^ hfjcii ro<;oivod in polite lel- 
terK, — that tho only manly and liberal imita- 
tion in to Bpf;ak an a ^rf;at man would have 
npoken, had ho lived in our timen, and had 
b''en placofi in our circurriHlancf;?*. 

Hut let UH h<'ar tho charf^o of Mr. Burkn. 
'• Ih our monarchy to bo annihilated, with all 
tho lawH, all the tribunalH, all tho ancient 
corporatioiiH of the kin^^dorn ? In ovory land- 
mark of tho kiii;.ylom to bo done away in 
favour of a {geometrical and arithmetical 
constitution? Ih tho IIouho of I.ordrt to bo 
UHoloHH? Ih r!pim;opacy to bo aboliHhed ?" — 
and, in a word, iM Franco to bo imitated? 
YoH ! if our (^ovoifiorH imitate her policy, tho 
Btato rniiHl follow her calaHtrofiho. Man in 
every where man: impriwnied (^'rievanco 
will at length havf) v«nl ; and the Ktorrn of 
po|)ular j)aM'<ioii will find a fo(;ble obHtacIo in 
the Holernn imbecility r>f human inKlilutioriK. 
lint who are the Iiik! friendH of (M'ler, the 
j)nMo;;ative of tho monarch, tho Hjjlendour 
of tho hierarchy, and the dignity of tho pr;cr- 
a{»o? — thoso moHl certainly who inculcafo, 
Uwt to withhold Reform in to Htimulato coii- 
VulHion, — thoHo who adrnoniHh all to whom 
honour, and rank, anri dij^oiity. and wealth 
are dear, tluit thoy can only in tho end pre- 
•ervo them by coiicodintr, while tho moment 
58 ' 



of <;oriceHHion rcmaioK, — thoHo wJio aim at 
flrainiiij.' away the fountaiiiH that feed th'j 
torrent, instead of Oj;j)OHiii{.^ puny barii'MK to 
ilH couiKo. '''i'he be/Lonnin{.^H of «:oiilufion in 
Kntdand are at [(lewnit feeblo cnou^ih ; but 
with you wo have Mecn an infancy Htill more 
fooblr! ^rowiii/^ by rnome/ilH into a Ktien^jth 
to heap rnountaiiiH upon rnountairiH. and to 
wago war with Ileav(;n itnelf. Wncnevcr 
our nf;i{^libour'H Iiouho Ih on hro, it cannot bo 
arnihH for thr; «;nt;iiiiH to play a little uj-on 
our own." 'i'hi« lai);.oKi^e, taken in ilH rnoKt 
oatiiial wfUfio, iH exactly what tho fiiendhof 
Kelorm in Kn^^land would adopt. Kvory 
[.'loomy tint lh;i.t irt added to the liorrorH of 
tin; French Rovolulion by tho tragic [jencil 
of Mr. Ihuko, JM a new arfc;)im(;nt in Hiipport 
of iheir claimH; and thoK<; only are tho real 
onemieM of the Nobility, tho Pfiohthood, and 
oilier bodioH of men that cii/for in xuch con- 
vulKio/iH, who flimulat*! thern to unequal and 
deHpeiato r:onfIicl«. }»uch are tho WJntimeiitH 
of tlioHO who can admire without Wffviloly 
coj)yifij;^ r*!<;eiit chant;eH, and can veneiato 
I hi: j)iincijil<;H without huj»erhtitiouHly defV;nd- 
in{( tin; corrupt idHjueH f)f old rovoIulionH. 

'•Craiid, HwoIliiij4 HrjiitimentK of liberty," 
says Mr. nurke, " I am Hure I do not decpiw;. 
Old aw I am, I «till read ilii; fine raj;tureH of 
Lucan and Corneillo with plca«uro.'' Lonj^ 
may that virluourt and venerabh; ago rmjoy 
furdi [)lea»<ureH! Hut why hhould In; bo in- 
dignant that "the glowing Hentimont and 
tho lofty speculation hhould have paHKcd 
from th(! K<dioolH and the cirjsct to tho w.*- 
nate," and no longer only Hoivij;g 

" 'J'o point a moral or adorn a laic,"* 

should bo brought homo to tho bunincBH and 
tho boHoms of men? Tho Kublirne gr-nius, 
whom Mr. Ihirke admires, and who sung the 
obsrvpjir'H of Roman lieedorn. has one senti- 
ment, which the friends of liberty in Kiig- 
land, if ihey are likr; him condomin d to look 
abroad for a free government, niubt adopt: — 

" F{r;fliiiiriiqi)f! niinqiinrn 
l.iliorisiH uhra 'f'i(;ririi f{ li'ijuiiiqiii: rccn»!*it, 
Li lulicH nol>ii« jiii^ulo qu:/;hiia iit-guiur."t 



SECTION VI. 

Spccvlatiorix on ihn ]irhla})lc conxefjncnces of 
Ike French Ilev(Autton in Europe. 

T/iKHB i« perhaps only onn opinion abouj 
tho French Revolution in which its friendH 
and itH eneroirs agree: — thoy both r-oriceivo 
that its influence will not bo confined to 
Francr; ; thiiv both prr-dict that it will j)ro- 
duce important changcH in tho general stale 
of Kuro[)e. 'i'his is tho thcmo of tho exulta- 
tion of its aflmirers; IIuh Ih Iho Kource of th<? 
alarms of its detractorH. It were indeed 
difficult to suppoue that a R<;volulion ho uii- 



• Vanity of riiimnn Wiihci. — Ed. 
t rharMalle, lib. vii. 

20 . 



458 



MACKINTOSirS MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



parallclivl slio.ilil t;ik(' j»I;ut> in tlio most n^- 
nowiu'il ol tlio Kiiropcaii iialiiuis, wilhoiil 
sniviuliii^j its iii(liitMii'i> thnnijjiioul th(>Ciuis- 
tian ooiiiMionwoallli ; romuH'Icil as it is by 
lht» imiltiiilicil relations of polilios, by tht< 
coinmou iiih>n^st of oonnncii'o, by tlio wlilo 
inlcivoursi' of oiiiiosity aiul of litoiatiuv, by 
similar aits, and by coniitMiial inanntMs. 'J'lu' 
olianiicis by which llu* picvailiiij'- st>nliinonls 
of I'laiicc may nitfr into lhi> olht'r nations 
of Euixipc, arc so obvious aiul so nnmorons, 
that it woiiKI bo minooossaiy ami tod ions to 
ilotail thom ; but I may romark, as amoiii;- 
tho most oonspionons, a contral situation, a 
pioiloiuinatin<>- lanpnaiic, ami an anthoiily 
almost loiiislativo in tho coromonial of tho 
privato intoivouiso of lifo. Thoso ami many 
olhor caiisos mnst faoilitato tho dillnsion of 
FnMioh politics amoiiii' iioiiilibouriiifr nations: 
but it \vill bo justly romaikcil, that their (>f- 
foct must in a ^roat nuwsuio ilopoiul on th(» 
stability of llio Kcvolntion. Tho suppression 
of an honoinablo rcvoll wouKl strong ihoii all 
tht> ii'ovcinmtMits of Europe: tho view of a 
splendid r(>voIntion would bo the signal of 
insurrection to their subjiH'ts. Any reason- 
inijs on thi^ intluence of the French Kevolu- 
tion may therefore bi> supposed to be pr(>ma- 
turo until its permanence bo ascertained. 
Of that permanence my conviction is tirm : 
but I am sensible that in thi> lield of political 
proiliction, whore vt'teiim s;i<>acity* has so 
often been deceived, it becomes me to liar- 
bour with distrust, and to propose with dilli- 
deuce, a conviction inlhuMiciHl by partial en- 
thusiasm, and perhaps produced by the iii- 
experieuced anhnir of youth. 

The monuMit at which I write {Au<ius1 25th. 
1791,) is peculiarly critical. Tho invasion of 
Franco is now spoktMi of as imnuvliate by 
tho e.vilos and their partisans; and a con- 
federacy of d(>spotst is iinnounc(Hl with now 
conlidence. Nolwilhstandinii- these threats, 
I retain iny donbis whether tho jarrinp; inte- 
iv.sts of lh(> European Ciuirts will permit this 
alliance to hav<> much (>ner<>y or cmdiality ; 
and whether the cautious prudence of des- 
pots will send their mililary slaves to a 
school of freedom in France. r>ul if there 
bo doubts about Iho likelihood of the entiM-- 
prise beine' undertaken, there be few about 
the jirobability tif its event. History cele- 
brates many coiuiuests of obscuro tribes, 
whoso valour was animated by enthusiasm; 

* Winicsp ih(< inonioralilc oxiiniplo of II;\rrinij;- 
ton, who puhlishcti u deinonsirmion ot" ilic iiii- 
possil)ililv i>f rc-oslalilisluii!!; iniinnri-liv in l''ii<;l!»iul 
Rix nioiidi.'^ luMoro ilic rrstorrtiion ot ('iiarl<\'» II. 
Udisiioiis prophoiMOs have usually llio in<"siinml)lo 
convtMiicui-o of rclaiiu}; lo a disiaiil tuiuriiy. 

t Tho nia1i<):nnnt hosiiliiy dii^playcd ncainsi 
Fronch iVoodiini l)y n porlidious Prinoo, who oc- 
«Mipi(\s niul dishonoins ilio ilirono ol (Jusiavus 
Vasa. caiiiKil oxciio our wondor, ihoui-lj ii innv 
provolio o\ir indimiaiion. 'I'lii^ poiisiiuiorof 1 roiu-li 
desnoiisin oould not rt-joico in ils di^siruclion ; nor 
could n tiiouarcli, whoso hoasiod Inlouls havo hi- 
thorto lu'on oonliuod to poijury and usurpaiion, 
fail to lio wounded l>y ilio osiatilishiuoni of froo- 
dom : lor iVoodoni domauds genius, not intrigue, 
— wisdom, not cunning. 



but shp records no example wln^re a fortMgn 
force has subjujiated a luiwerful and fiallant 
peo[>I(>, fjovtMiied by tho most imptnious pas- 
si<m that can sway tli(> human breast.* — 
\Vhalever wonders fanaticism has performeii, 
may bo again eHectod by a passion as aiil(>nt, 
though not so transitory, because it is .snnc- 
tionod by virtue ami reason. To aniuialo 
l>at riot ism, — to silence tumult, — to banish 
division, — would be tho only eirocts of an 
invasion in the inesent state of Franco. A 
|ii>o[)lo abandoned to its own inci>nstancy. 
have often conrU'd the yoke which ihey had 
thrown o(l': but to oppose foreign hostility 
to tho enthusiasm of a nation, can only havo 
the (>n'ect of aiKling to it aidonr, and con- 
stancy, and force. These and similar views 
mn.st o(l"(>r them.selves to the European Cabi- 
nets; but perhaps lliey p<Mceive themselves 
to ho placed in so poi-uliar a silnalion, that 
(\\(>rtion and inactivity are ecpially p(Miloiis. 
If they fail in tho altiMiipt to crush the inlant 
liberty of Franco, tho ineH'octnal ("tlort will 
r(>coil on their own govermiKMiIs : if tht\v 
tamely sutler a schoolt of freedom to bo 
loumled in tht> centro of Europe, they 
must foresee the hosts of disciples that aro 
to issue from it for the subversion of their 
des]iotism. 

They cannot be bliiiil to a species of 
danger which tho history of Euiojn^ reveals 
to them in I(>gibIo characters. I'hey see. 
indotHJ, that tho neg-otiations, the wars, and 
tho revolutions of vulgiir policy, pass away 
without leaving btdiiml them any vestigo 
of their transitory and igiiominions opera- 
tion : but they must remark also, that be- 

* May I ho porniiiiod lo slate how ilio ances- 
tors of a imtioii now slij^riuatizcd lor sorviliiy, lelt 
this iiowcrlul sotiiimoiil ? 'I'lio Sooliish Nobles, 
eoiiicndiii'j; lor iliou- hherly under IvoluMt Hriu-e, 
thus ppcdvo (o the Tope : — " Non pinvnanuis prop- 
tor diviiias, honore.s, aiit di};niiales, sod propter 
lilierialeni tantuminodo, (juain nemo homis nisi 
siniu! eiiin viui amitiii !" Nor was this senti- 
ment coiifmed to the Majniaies; fur tlie same 
letter deolares the assiMit of tl)(> Goniinons : — 
" Toia<)uo (%)inmuiiiias Ko^iii Sooiia' !" Ivi-llert- 
iii^I on tho various foriuiu-s of my country, 1 ean- 
tuj exoludo frmn my mind iho eoinparison lieiween 
ii.s present reputation nnd our nneient eharneler. — 
" lorrarum et hherlaiis extremos :" nor ciui 1 for- 
fici the lionotnatde repro.aoli njjainst the Scottish 
name in ihe character of Huolianan l>y Thuanus, 
(Hist. lih. Ixxvi. cap. 11.) " I.ihertaie aonti iniuiiii 
in re};ium lasiifiium neerhior." This nielanoiioly 
rotrospoel is however relicvejt by liie hope ihnt n 
callani and enli;;hieiied people will not bo slow 
111 roni-wiuij the era for sui'li reproaohos. 

t Tho most important materials lor tiio pliilo.«o- 
phy of history aro oolleoted from remarks on the 
ooinoidenoo ol the siiiialioiis and sontimonts of 
distant periods ; 'and it may 1)0 curious «.>« well R9 
iusiruoiivo, to luosent to the reader tho topios 
l>y whioli the Calonnes of rharle.x 1. were in- 
siruotiMl, to awaken ihe jealousy and solicit tho 
aid of liio iMuopoan courts : — " A daiip;eri>ns com- 
lunatiou ol' his ^b^josly's suhjeois have laid a do- 
sipn lo dissolve the moiiaroliy and frame ol povorn- 
inent, hecominc n danprrous prer(-dent to all the 
monarchies of (""liristend(nn, if iitteiidod wiili suo- 
oes.s in their desipn." — Charles l.'s liistnioiioni 
to his Minister in Doniiiark, Ludlow'r Memoirs, 
vol. iii. p. 257. 



A DEFENCE OF THE FKENCH UEVOLUTION. 



459 



»idf;» thin moiiotonoim villariy, thoro are 
cnnes in wliicli Kihoih-, ;iclii:it<'(l by a com- 
mon panMioii, liaH u|)|)cai<!(l an otio nation. 
Th(! religious passion aniniatcil and (.Miidcd 
th« Hpirit of chivalry: — hcnci! aiow; ihcCiii- 
Badee. "A ncrvi; was touciicd of (;x(|niKit(! 
fcelinf^; and llir; HrjiiHation viltralcd to tin; 
hfiart of Europe!."* In lli<; name iriannrT 
th(5 J{(;forrnatir)ii ^av« riHu to rcli^^ious wars, 
llio dnralion of wliich cxci.-cdi'd a ccntnry 
und a half. IJoth (•xarnj)lt'H [)rov<! llio c.vist- 
encD of that Hyin|)alhy, hy the rncanH of 
which a (^rcat [)aHsion, takin;; its risr; in arjy 
coiiHideralilc xlatc of Europe, rnnsl circui;il<! 
throu/^h th(! whole; Christian coirunonwf^allh. 
Illn.sion is, liowcvcr, transient, whili; Irnlh is 
immortal. Tiic cjjich'mical fanaticism of 
former limes was short-lived, for it could 
oidy flourish in the cclijisc of icason : Imt 
the virtuous cntliiisiasm of lilxTly, though it 
b(! like that fanatic-i»rri contagiouf>, is not like 
<t transitory. 

Hut ther(! aro other circnm.staiKM's which 
entitle us to (!.vpecl, tliat the r-.\;unj)le of 
Fiance will have a mi;,dity iiifineiK^e on the 
Rubjects of des[)otic governments. 'I'Ik; 
Gothic ^overnrnentH of Eiiroj)e havf! lived 
liieir time. "JVian, and for (!ver!" is the 
saf^e exclamation of Mr. Hurrie.t Limits 
are no less rij^orously j)r(;scrilji'd by Nature; 
to the niia of fiovetnments than to that of 
individuals. 'J'lie Heroic (joveriimtintH of 
Gr«!ece yielded to a body of lej^islative re- 
publics: these were in their turn swallowed 
up by tlie conqiifsts of Home. 'J'liat {Treat 
(Mn[)ii(: itsrdf, undtM' th(! same forms, passed 
lhion<:;h various mod(!S of (.■.oveiiiment. 'I'he 
first usurp(!rs conceali.'d it under u re|)ub!i(!an 
dis^^uise: th(;ir successors threnv offth'! mask, 
and avowcrd a military fli'sjjotisrn : it e.\[)irc(l 
in the ost(;ntatious fejeblenc^ss of an Asiatic 
monarchy. t It was overthrown by savages, 
whose rude institutions and barbarous man- 
ners have, imtil our days, in/hiiMiced Europe 
with a p(;rmarianco refused to wiser and 
mild(!r laws. Hut, unless hisloiical analogy 
be altogether delusive, the decease; of the 
Ge)lhicgovernme;nts cannot be- elislanl. The;ir 
maturity is long past: and Hymj)te)ms of 
the;ir ele'cre-pitude; are ra[)ielly aeu umnlatiiig. 
Whe;the;r the;y are to be; siioci'eeletd by more' 
beneficial or more injuriejus forms may be; 
doubted ; but that the;y are abe)ut to perish, 
wo are authorize;eI to suj)posf;, fie)m the; usual 
ago to which the; governments recorded in 
history have arrived. 

The;re are; also other presunripllons f\ir- 
nlshe-el by hisle)ii(!al anale);^y, which fave)ur 
the 8U[)pe)silie)n that le-gislative; yoveMiirnejiits 
are about to succe;ed to the ruele; usur[)atioris 
of Gothic Europe. The common wealths 

* (lililioii, Dcdiim nnel I'"nll, f,-,('.., clir\|). Ivii. 

t l'hiloH(ipliie-al WorliH, vol. lii. p. .OT'J. — f'lo. 

t Sec lliiH pre»ure,'Hs ftalr't] in dif; e-otiriwc p!iilo«o- 
phy of MontrHquicMi, ariei jliiiHiraicel liy llie» ropjouH 
cloqiHiiice; of (iil)lion. The! re'pii!)lie:an (ti«eiii-ii; 
cxle'iielK from AiHfUHiiiR to ScvcniM ; lliej niiliiary 
dfjMpKiiHin froin Scvirim I') I>iofli'!i:iri ; llie: AHifiiie; 
Suliavuliiji from Diorletiaii to die final cxtiiiciiun 
of llie Ruinari name. 



which in (he sixth anel seve'nlh ccnturieo 
befeire; the Christian era were erecte-el on iho 
ruins of the; heroic mejnarchie's of (Jre-ece, 
are j)eih;:ps the; only genuine exami-le; of go- 
ve;rnme;ti(s truly legislative recoiele-d in his- 
tory. A close inspection will, perha])S, elis- 
cov(;r somecoine;iele;nce; ])(;twi,cn the; circum- 
stances whiedi fejirne-el them anel tliose which 
netw influe;nce the; state; of Europe. The 
l'lie'ni(;ian anel Egy[)tian ce)le)niis were not 
like; our cejlejiiie's in Ame'rie;a, j,e)j)ulou.S 
t;iie)ugh to snbelue; or ('Xtirpate llie; native 
savages eif (iree-ce: tlie-y were-, howe'vcr, 
sii/licie-nlly sei to instruct aiwl civilize them. 
From that alone; coulel the-ir power be de- 
rive;d: to that the;relore; were their eflorts 
elire.'cteel. Irnjiarting the; arts anel the; know- 
le;elge of polishe;el nations to ruele; tribe-s, theiy 
allrae;le;d, by avovve;el sujieriorily of know- 
le'd;re' a submission nece-ssary te) llie- effe.ct of 
lhe;ir le-gislation, — asubmissif<n which impejiJ- 
tors acepjirej through siiperstituMi, anel con- 
epie;re)rsele;rive; from fejrce. An <\<n' o\ le-gisla- 
lie)n siippeise'S gie'at ine^epiality of kiienvleielge 
be'tweie-n the; le-gislatetrsanel theme whoreceive 
lliijir institutions. 'J'he; Asialie; colejiiists, who 
first Ke;atlereel the; see-els of je-fineTne-iit, pofl- 
sesse;el this superiority over the I'llasgic 
liorde;3; anel the le-gislators wlio in subse- 
(juent [)erie)rIsorf.'aniHe'el the; (Grecian common- 
we'allhs. ar'epiire-el freirn lh(;ir trave-ls in the 
polishe-ei Ktale-sof the; E.'isl. that ie-]iUtatioii of 
^uperior knowle;elge-, whicri einabli-el iheTU to 
elie;tate; laws to the;ir fe;llow-citize'n«. Let us 
tlie;n com[)are E^'yjit anel I'he;nie;ia with the 
e;nlighlene;(l part of Eurojje-, — se'parateel a» 
wieledy from the; ge-ne'ral mass by the; moral 
eliff'e;ie'nce; of instruction, as the-se; countries 
we;ie; from Gre;ece by the physical obsta- 
(de-s which irnpejde.'d a ruele; naviifatiem, — and 
we; must disce;rn, that phile;HOpliers becejme 
le-gisiators are; colonists from an enli^'hte-nod 
country re;forming the; institutions of rude 
tribe's. The pre'se;nt moment indeieel rcseim- 
bles with wonelejrful exactnejss the; lejgisla- 
tive; age; of Gre;ece. The; multiluele; havo 
atlaiiie'el sufficie-nt knowleidges to value iho 
sujte'riority of eidiglite'neel meTi ; anel th(!y 
re'tain a suffie;ie;iit consciousness of ignorance 
to |)rrcliiele; re'be'llion against llu'ir elictates. 
]'hile)soj)he;rs have meanwhile long re'mained 
a elistinct nation in the mielst of an unen- 
lilThte;ned multituele. It is only now that 
the coneiue-sts of the press are«;nlargiiig the 
elominion of re'ason ; as the; vej.ssels of Cad- 
mus anel Cee-rops spreael the; arts anel the 
wiselom of the ]Cast among (he; Pelasgic bar- 
barians. 

'J'heso general oauBOs, — the unity of the 
European commonwealth, the ele;crepitudo 
on which its fe)rtuitous governments aro 
verging, anel the similarity betwe'cn our 
age anel the only re;corele;d pe;riejel when the 
ascendant of philosoj)hy elictateel laws,- en- 
title us to hope; that fre'e'elom anel reason will 
be; lapielly propagateel from ihe'ir source in 
Fiane-.e. Anel tlie're; are ne)t wantiiiL' symp- 
toms whi<;h justify the speculation. The fiiftt 
gymploma which indicate the a])proach of 



460 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



a contagious disease are the precautions 
aJoptod af^ainsi it: the first marks of the 
probable progress of French principles are 
the alarms betrayed by despots. The Courts 
of KnroiH' seem to look on France, and to 
exclaim in their despair, — 

" Hinc populum Inte regem, belloque superbum, 
Veimiruni c.xcitiio Libya)." 

The King- of Spain alreadyseems to tremble 
for his throne, though it be erected on so 
firm a basis of general ignorance and trium- 
phant priestcraft. By e.vpelliiig foreigners, 
and by subjecting the entrance of travellers 
to such multiplied restraints, he seeks the 
preservation of his despotism in a vain at- 
tempt to convert his kingdom into a Bastile, 
and to banish his subjects from the European 
coinmoiiwealth. The Chinese government 
has indeed thus maintained its permanency; 
but it is insulated by Nature more etTectually 
than by policy. Let the Court of ^hulrid re- 
call her ambassadors, shut up her ports, 
abandon her commerce, sever every tie that 
unites her to Europe: the efl'eet of such 
shallow policy must be that of all inelVectual 
rigour (and all rigour short of extirpation is 
here inpffectual), to awaken reflection, — to 
stimulate inquiry, — to agp.ravate discontent, 
— and to provoke convulsion. '-There are 
no longer Pyrenees," said Louis XIV., on 
the accession of his grandson to the Spanish 
throne: "There are no longer Pyrenees," 
exclaimed the alarmed statesmen of Aran- 
juez, — " to protect our despotism from being 
consumed by the sun of liberty." The 
alarm of the Pope for the little remnant of 
his authority naturally increases with the 
probability of the diffusion of French princi- 
jiles. Even the mild and temperate aristo- 
cracies of Switzerland seem to appreheml the 
arrival of that period, when men will not be 
content to owe the benefits of government 
to the fortuitous character of their governors, 
but to its own intrinsic excellence. Even 
the unsuccessful struggle of Liege, and the 
theocratic insurrection of Biabant, have left 
behind tlunn traces of a patriotic party, 
whom a more favourable moment may call 
into more successful action. The despotic 
Court of the Hague is betraying alarm that 
the Dutch republic may yet revive, on the 
destruction of a government odious and in- 
tolerable to an immense majority of the 
people. Every where then are those alarms 
discernible, which are the most evident 
symptoms of the approaching downfall of the 
Europi^au despotisms. 

But the impression produced by the French 
Revolution in England, — in an enlightened 
country, wh ch had long boasted of its free- 
dom, — merits more particular remark. Be- 
fore the publication of Mr. Burke, the public 
were not recovered from that astonishment 
into which they had been plunged by unex- 
ampled events, and the general opinion could 
not have been collectccl.with precision. But 
(hat performance has divided the nation into 
marked parties. It has produced a contro- 



I versy, which may be regarded as the trial 
of the French Revolution before the enlight- 
ened and independent tribunal of the Eng- 
lish public. What its decision has been I 
shall not presume to decide j for it iloes not 
become an ailvocate to announce the di-ci- 
siou of the juilge. But this I may be per- 
mitted to renuuk, that the conduct of our 
enemies has not resembled the usual triumph 
of those who have been victorious in the war 
of reason. Instead of the triumphant calm- 
ness that is ever inspired by conscious su- 
periority, they have betrayed the bitterness 
of defeat, and the ferocity of resentment^ 
which are peculiar to the black revenge ot 
detected imposture, rriestcraft and Tory- 
ism have been supported only by literary ad- 
vocates of the most miserable description: 
but they have been ablv aided by auxiliaries 
of another kinil. Of the two great classes 
of enemies to political reform, — the interest- 
etl and the prejudiced, — the activity of the 
first usually supplies what may be wanting 
hi the talents of the last. Judges have for- 
gotten the dignity of their function, — priests 
the mililness of their religion ; the Bench, 
which should have spoken with the serene 
temper of justice, the Pulpit, whence only 
should have issued the healing sounils of 
charity, have been prostituted to party pur- 
poses, and polluteil with invectives against 
freedom. The churches have resounded 
with language at which Laud would have 
shuddered, and Sacheverell would have 
blushed : the most profane comparisons be- 
tween our duty to the Divinity anil to kings, 
have been unblu.shingly pronounced : flat- 
tery of the Ministers has been mixed with 
the solemnities of religion, by the servants, 
and in the temple of God. These profligate 
proceedings have not been limited to a single 
spot: they have been general over England. 
In many churches the French Revolution 
has been c.ipiis.'^ly named : in a majority it 
was the constant theme of invective lor 
many weeks before its intended celebration. 
Yet these are the jieaceful pastors, who so 
sincerely and meekly deprecate political 
sermons.* 

Nor was this suflieient. The grossness of 
the popular mind, on which political invec- 
tive made but a faint impression, was to be 
roused into action by religious fanaticism, — 
the most intractable and domineering of all 
destructive passions. A clamour which had 
for half a century lain dormant has been re- 
vived : — the Church was in danger! The 
spirit of persecution against an unpopular sect 
has been artfully excited; and the friend* 
of freedom, whom it might be odious and 
dangerous professcilly to attack, are to be 
overwhelmed as Dissenters. That the ma- 



* These nrc no vno;ue accusaiions. A sermon 
was preached in a |>arish eluirch in MiiMIesex on 
tlic anniversary of tlie Restoraiion, in which eter- 
nal punishment was denounced against poliiieal 
disaficetion ! Persons for whose discernment and 
veracity I can be respon8il)le, were ainor.g tlia 
indignant auditors of this internal homily. 



REASONS AGAINST THK FJIENCH WAR OF 1793. 



461 



iorily of th(! advocattjs for llie Fnjrich Ro vo- 
lution aie not F)iHHi!iit<!rtJ is, ii)di;(!(l, fiu/fi- 
cioritly known to tlicir tfiifmics. Tluty ai(! 
well Known to hr, jiliiloHojihciH and fncrid.s 
of humanity, hujMMior to tin; cn.'cd of any 
Hoct, and indifferent to thu (\<)'^niUH of any 
popular faith. Jiut it liaH suilcd ihc- purjiOHo 
of their prof|if^;il(! adverwiiicH to confound 
thcrii with lli<! DiKKenterK, and lo anirnatt! 
a;j;aitisl them the fury of prejudices which 
thoHf! very advernarich de8|)iHed. 

This ddfusion of iheKii invr-cstives has pro- 
duced ihoH(! obviou.s and inevilabh; effects, 
which it may refjuire Homelhiiif^ more tlian 
candour to HupporfC not forei^een and desired. 
A banditti, which liad be(!n previoutsly Ktimu- 
latr.'d, art it hasHincr; l)f;(;n excuHr-d and parn;- 
gyrized by incendiary libfdlcrH, liavi; wn-aked 
tht'ir vengeance on a philohopher,* ilhistriou.s 

• Alluding to llie deslructioii of Dr. I*rie»ilcy'8 



by hin talonlH and hiw writincp, venerable 
for Ihe «[)otleHH purity of bin hfe, and amia- 
ble for tlx! unoffending Bimjihcity of hin 
marnierH. The excehWH of tfuH mob of 
churchmen and loyahistH are lo be jyOoriy 
expiated by llie few miKguifled victirriH who 
are na(!rificed lo the vengi-ance of tlie law. 

We arr-, however, oidy concerned with 
thcKo fads, art they are evidt'iice from our 
enr'mies of the projjable pro^^refKof freedom. 
'J'he probability of ihal j)ro;LMeHH llieyall con- 
f<|)ire lo jjrove. Tin; bri(;frt of tlie I'oix', and 
tin; pamphlelH of Mr. Huike, the r'JictH of 
l}i(! Sjianihh Courl, and iIh; rnandaleH of iho 
Spaninh ifKjuiHilion, tlie Rirmingham ri(jter3, 
and the Oxford gradualcH, erjually render to 
I..ibr;rly ihf! involuntary homage of their 
alarm. 



lioiiHC in ilic neifflibourhood of Birmingham by the 
mob, on llie Hili of July, 1791. — Ed. 



REASONS 

AGyVTNST THE FRENCH WAR OF 1793.* 



At Ihe commcuccmnnt of the year 1793 
the wliole body of the; Kupjioi terw of the war 
Heerruid unanimouH; yet even then was p(;r- 
ceptible the germ of a diffitrcMice which time 
and eventK have since unfolded, 'j'he Min- 
ister had early and frequ(;nt recourse to the 
high principles of Mr. Burke, in order to adorn 
his orations, — to assail his antagoiiists in de- 
bate, — to blacken the character of Ihe ene- 
my, — and to arouf^e the national spirit against 
them. Amid the fluctuating forhine of the 
war. ho seemed in the moment of victory 
to cudiver opinions w;arcely distinguishable 
from thowj of Mr. Ruike, and to recede from 
tliem by imperceptible degrees, as success 
abandoned the arms of tfie Allies. When 
the armies of the French republic wer(! 
every where triumtihant, and the pecuniary 
embarrassments oi Great Britain began to 
be severely felt, he at length dismissed alto- 
gether the consideration of the internal state 
of France, and professed to view the war as 
merely defensive against aggressions com- 
mitted on Great Britain and her allies. 

That the war was not just on such princi- 
ples perhaps a very short argument will be 
sufTicient to demonstrate. War is just only 
lo those by whom it is unavoidable; and 
every appeal to arms is unrighteous, except 
that of a nation which has no other resource 
for tli(! maintenance of its security or the 
a.ssertion of its honour. Injury and insult do 
not of themselves make it lawful for a nation 
to seek redress by war, because they do not 

• Vtotr the Monthly Review, vol. xl. p. 435. — Eu. 



make it necessary : another means of redress 
is still in her power, and it is still her duty 
to «!mploy it. It is not either injury or in- 
sult; but injury for which rejiaration has 
been askr-d and denied, or insult lor u hich 
BJitisfaction has been demanded and refused, 
that places her in a state in which, liaving 
in vain employed every othr;r means of vin- 
dicating her rights, she may justly assert 
them by arm**. . Any commonwealth, there- 
fore, which shuts up the channel of negotia- 
tion while disputes are depending, is the 
author of the war which may follow. As a 
perfect equality [»revails in the society and 
intercourse of nations, no state is bound to 
degrade herself by submitting lo unavowed 
and clandestine negotiation ; but every go- 
vernment lias a perfect right to be admitted 
to that open, avowed, authorized, honourable 
negotiation which in the practice of nations 
is employed for the pacific adjustment of 
their contested claims. To refuse authorized 
negotiation is to refuse the only negotiation 
to which a government is forced to submit, 
it is, therefore, in effect to refuse negotiation 
altogether; and it follows, as a necessary 
consetpjence, that they who refuse such au- 
lhoriz<;d negotiation are responsible for a war 
which that refusal makes on their part unjust. 
These principles apply with irresisiible 
force to the conduct of^ the English Govern- 
ment in the commf^ncement of the present 
war. They complained, perhaps justly, of 
the 0[)ening of the Scheldt, — of the Decree 
of Fraternity, — of the countenance shown to 
difcafTected Englishmen: but they lefused 
2o2 



462 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



that authorised intercourse with the French 
Government through its ambassador. M. 
Chauvelin, which might have amicably ter- 
minated these disputes. It is no answer 
that they were ready to carry on a clandes- 
tine correspondence with that govenunent 
thron^h Noel and Maret, or any other of its 
secreT agents. That Government was not 
obliged to submit to such an intercourse; 
and the British Government put itself in the 
wrong by refusing an intercourse of another 
sort. 

No difficulties arising from a refusal to ne- 
gotiate embarrass the sj^stem of Mr. Burke. 
It is founded on the principle that the nature 
of the French Government is a just ground 
of war for its destruction, and regards the 
particular acts of that government no farther 
than as they are proois of its irreconcilable 
hostility to all other states and communities. 

We are not disposed to deny that so mighty 
a change in the frame of government and the 
state of society, of one of the greatest nations 
of the civilized world, as was efTected by the 
Revolution in France, — attended by such ex- 
travagant opinions, and producing such vio- 
lent passions, — was of a nature to be danger- 
ous to the several governments and to the 
quiet of the various communities, which 
compose the great commonwealth of Europe. 
To atfiim the contrary \vould be in effect to 
maintain that man is not the creature of 
Bjinpathy and imitation, — that he is not al- 
ways disposed, m a greater or less degree. 
to catch the feelings, to imbibe the opinions, 
and to copy the conduct of his fellow-men. 
Most of the revolutions which have laid an- 
cient systems in ruins, and changed the 
whole face of society, have sprung from 
these powerful and active principles of hu- 
man nature. The remote effect of these re- 
volutions has been sometimes beneficial and 
sometimes pernicious: but the evil which 
accompanied them has ever been great and 
terrible; their future tendency was neces- 
sarily ambiguous and contingent; and their 
ultimate consequences were always depend- 
ent on circumstances much beyond the con- 
trol of the agents. With these opinions, the 
only question that can be at issue between 
Mr. Burke and ourselves is, whether a war 
was a just, effectual, and safe mode of 
averting the danger with which the French 
Revolution might threaten the established 
governmen's of Europe; — ^just in its princi- 
ple, — effectual for its proposed end, — and 
safe from the danger of collateral evil. On 
all the three branches of this comprehen- 
sive question we are obliged to dissent very 
widely from the opinions of Mr. Burke, 

We are not required to affirm universally 
that there never are cases in which the state 
of the internal government of a foreign nation 
may become a just ground of war; and we 
know too well the danger of universal affir- 
mations to extend our line of posts farther 
than is absolutely necessary for our own de- 
fence. We are not convinced of the fact 
that the French Government in the year 1791 



(when the Royal confederacy originated) was 
of such a nature as to be incapable of being 
so- ripened and mitig-ated by a wise modera- 
tion in the surrounding Powers, that it might 
not become perfectly t;afe and inoffensive to 
the neighbouring states. Till this fact be 
proved, the wliole reasoning of Mr. Burke 
appears to us inconclusive. Whatever may 
be done by prudence and forbearance is not 
to be attempted by war. Whoever, there- 
fore, proposes war as the means of attaining 
any public good, or of averting any public 
evil, must lirst prove that his object is un- 
attainable by any other means. And pecu- 
liarly heavy is the burden of proof on the 
man who, in such cases as the present, is 
the author of violent counsels, — which, even 
when they aie most specious in promise, are 
hard and difficult in trial, as well as most un- 
certain in their issue, — which usually pre- 
clude any subsequent recurrence to milder 
and more moderate expedients, — and from 
which a safe retreat is often difficult, and an 
honourable retreat is generally impossible. 

Great and evident indeed must be the ne- 
cessity which can justify a war that in its 
nature must impair, and in its effects may 
subvert, the sacred principle of national in- 
dependence, — the great master-piinciple of 
public morality, from which all the rules of 
the law of nations ffow, and which they are 
all framed only to defeiid. — of which the 
balance of power itself (for which so many 
wars, in our opinion just, have been carried 
on) is only a safeguard and an outwork. — 
and of which the higher respect and the 
more exact observance have so happily dis- 
tinguished our western parts of Europe, in 
these latter times, above all other agt s and 
countries of the world. Under the guard of 
this venerable principle, our European socie- 
ties, with the most different forms of govern- 
ment and the greatest inequalities of si rcnpih, 
have subsisted and flourished in almost ( iji.al 
securit}', — the character of man has been 
exhibited in all that variety and vigour which 
are necessary for the expansion and display 
both of his powers and of his virtues, — ihe 
spring and spirit and noble pride and gene- 
rous emulation, which arise from a division 
of territory among a number of independent 
states, have been combined with a large 
measvu-e of that tranquil security which has 
been found so rarely reconcilable with such 
a division. — the opinion of enlightened Eu- 
rope has furnished a mild but not altogether 
ineffectual, control over the excesses of des- 
potism itself, — and the victims of tyranny 
have at least found a safe and hospitable 
asylum in foreign countries from the rage of 
their native oppres.sors. It has alike exempt- 
ed us from the lethargic quiet of extensive 
empire, — from the scourge of wide and rapid 
conquest, — and from the pest of frequent do- 
mestic revolutions. 

This excellent principle, like every other 
rule which governs the moral conduct of 
men, may be productive of occa.sional evil. 
It mast be owned that the absolute indepen- 



REASONS AGAINST THE FRENCH WAR OF 1793. 



463 



dence of states, and their supreme exclusive 
juiisdictiou over all acts done within their 
own territory, secure an impunity to the most 
atrocious crimes either of usurpers or of law- 
ful governments degenerated into tyrannies. 
There is no tribunal competent to punish 
such crimes, because it is not for the interest 
of mankind to vest in any tribunal an au- 
thority adequate to their punishment; and it 
is better that these crimes should be unpun- 
ished, than that nations should not be inde- 
pendent. To admit such an authority would 
only be to supply fresh incitements to am- 
bition and rapine, — to multiply tlie grounds 
of war, — to sharpen the rage of national ani- 
mosity, — to destroy the confidence of inde- 
pendence and internal quiet, — and to furnish 
new pretexts for invasion, for conquest, and 
for partition. When the Roman general 
Flaminius was accomplishing the conquest 
of Greece, under pretence of enfranchising 
the Grecian republics, he partly covered his 
ambitious designs under colour of punishing 
the atrocious crimes of the Lacedtemoniau 
tyrant Nabis.* When Catherine II. and her 
accomplices perpetratetl the greatest crime 
Avhich any modern government has ever 
committed against another nation, it was 
easy for them to pretend that the partition 
of Poland was necessary for the extirpation 
of Jacobinism in the north of Europe. 

We are therefore of opinion that the war 
proposed by Mr. Burke is unjust, both be- 
cause it has not been proved that no other 
means than war could have preserved us 
from the danger; and because war was an 
expedient, which it was impossible to employ 
for such a purpose, without shaking the au- 
thority of that great tutelary principle, under 
the shade of which the nations of Europe 
have so long flourished in security. There 
is no case of fact made out to which the 
principles of the law of vicinage are to apply. 
If the fact had been proved, we might confess 
the justice of the w^ar; though even in that 
case its wisdom and policy would still remain 
to be considered. 

The first question to be discussed in the 
examination of every measure of policy is, 
whether it is likely to be eff"ectual for its 
proposed ends. That the war against France 
was inadequate to the attainment of its ob- 
ject, is a truth which is now demonstrated 
by fatal experience : but which, in our 
opinion, at the time of its commencement, 
was very evident to men of sagacity and 
foresight. The nature of the means to be 
employed was of itself sufficient to prove 
their inadequacy. The first condition es- 
sential to the success of the war was, that 
the confederacy of ambitious princes who 
were to carry it on, should become perfectly 
wise, moderate, and disinterested, — that they 
should bury in oblivion past animosities and 
all mutual jealousies — that they should sacri- 
fice every view of amtition and every op- 

* Livy, V\\). x.xxiv. cap. 24 The whole narra- 
tive is extremely curious, and not widiout resem- 
blance and applicaiion t(« later events. 



portunity of aggrandisement to the great 
object of securing Europe from general con- 
fusion by re-establishing the ancient mo- 
narchy of France. No man has proved this 
more unanswerably than Mr. Burke himself. 
This moderation and this disinterestedness 
were not only necessary for the union of the 
Allies, but for the disunion of France, 

But we will venture to affirm, that the 
supposition of a disinterested confederacy 
of ambitious princes is as extravagant a chi- 
mera as any that can be laid to the charge 
of the wildest visionaries of demccrac}'. 
The universal peace of the Abbe St. Pierre 
was plausible and reasonable, when com- 
pared with this supposition. The universal 
republic of Anacharsis Cloots himself was 
not much more irreconcilable with the uni- 
form experience and sober judgment of man- 
kind. We are far from confounding two 
writers, — one of whom was a benevolent 
visionary and the other a sanguinary mad- 
man, — who had nothing in common but the 
wildness of their predictions and the extrava- 
gance of their hopes. The Abbe St. Pierre 
had the simplicity to mistake an ingenious 
raillery of the Cardinal Fleuri for a deliberate 
adoption of his reveries. That minister had 
told him "that he had forgotten an indis- 
pensable preliminary — that of sending a body 
of missionaries to turn the hearts and minds 
of the princes of Europe."' Mr. Burke, with 
all his knowledge of human nature, and with 
all his experience of public affairs, has for- 
gotten a circumstance as important as that 
which was overlooked by the simple and 
recluse speculator. He has forgotten that he 
must have made ambition disinterested, — 
power moderate, — the selfish generous. — and 
the short-sighted wise, before he could hope 
for success in the contest which he recom- 
mended.* To say that if the authors of the 
partition of Poland could be made perfectly 
wise and honest, they might prevail over the 
French democracy, is very little more than 
the most chimerical projector has to offer for 
his wildest scheme. Such an answer only 
gives us this new and important information, 
that impracticable projects will be realised 
when insurmountable obstacles are overcome. 
Who are you that presume to frame laws for 
men without taking human passions into ac- 
count, — to regulate the actions of mankind 



* Perhaps something more of flexibility of cha- 
racter and accommodation of temper, — a mind 
more broken down to the practice of the world, — 
would have fitted Mr. Burke better for the execu 
tion of that art which is the sole instrument of 
political wisdom, and without which the higheM 
political wisdom is but barren speculation — w« 
mean the art of guiding and managmg mankind. 
How can he have forgotten that these vulgar poli- 
ticians were the only tools with which he had to 
work in reducing his schemes to practice ? These 
" creatures of the desk and creatures ot favour" 
unfortunately govern Europe. The ends of gene- 
rosity were to be compassed alone through (he 
agency of the selfish ; and the objects of pro. 
spective wisdom were to be attained by the exer- 
tions of the short-sighted. — Monthly Revie»v 
(N. S.), vol. xix. p. 31'7.— Ed. 



4«4 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCKI.U\NK^M'S KSS.\YS 



;%. \vou\l havo nv^ ri^ht to K' 



n»r\\l to pi^x'tvs aiul his Ub>.>niKuy oovorwl 



*arprisi\l ihat his apmratus sh.>uKl W si\i- 

liis 
with tho faurtnonts, 

I: rau$l b<> o\viu\K jikUhvI. that no ojio 
coutvl h*\-*> r*>nt«ix\l to prtxliot tho twtent 
»nJ extrav;»gauc«» of that monstrous ami 
shuvvst iuortsiiWo infatnatioii which has dis- 
tractt\i tho stitMiiTth and {v»lsii\l iho arms 
v>f tht> Al«ii\l l\>\vt»r*: Init it was t\»sy to 
t\>rt>stv, and it w;»s in taot prt\Uot«\L that a 
s«tfioitn»t doiTTtv ot" that iat;(taatio:) must 
prt»v;ul tv> viotVat tho attainmout of thoir 
pmfossjsl objtvt. Wo cannot help cxnrt^ss- 
HiiT our surprise, that tho immcuso UitVor- 
enco lu this rt»sivx''i bx^twtvn the pn^scnt 
cont\\leracv anil tho (.Jrand Alliatuv of j 
KinjT William 111. vliJ not prt^sont its<Mf 
to the grr'^t umlorstandimr ot Mr. Burke. 
This is a war to avert ine vlanj^^r of the 
FrtMich KovoUttion. in which it is imlis- 
iH>nsably ntve*s;iry to awid all api^wnince 
of a Jesi^a to jtgjirandise tho Allies at the 
exjx»ns^» of Fnxmv. The other w^»s one 
des;irtK\l to limit the e.verbitant power of 
Louts, which w;»s chietly to Iv ethvtevl by i 
vliminishinji his ovei^vown dominions. The I 
members of that cont'edoracy gratiiitxl their 
own ambition by the sune me;uis which 
pn>viJevl tor the jieneral sjUety. In that 
contest, every conquest pivmottnl the iivne- 
ral objtvt ; — in this, every conquest ivtarvls j 
aiid tends to defeat it. No romantic nuvle- 
ration — no chimerical disintert^stt\lness — no 
sacrilice of priv;»te a^"i::undisement to tho 
cause of Eur\i|>e, was tvqniaxl in that con- 
tovleracy. Vet. with that great advantaiiv, ' 
it is ahnosl the only one «vvv;\lt\l iu history. I 
which wnis sutvessful. Still it reouir»Hl. "to 
build it uj\ and hold it te^Mhor. all the ex- 
altevl genms, all the cv>n\ iMchensive wisiloni, 
all the disinlcn^sted n\oderation. and all the , 
unsluvkeu p<^rseveranoe of William* — iHher i 
talents th.in thi>st* of wtty intriirue and jxvu- 
pous declamation. The bitteivst enemies 
of our present ministers cvuild soaively ima- 

* *• If ihor* l)« any man in the pr<>$(>nt «st«> who 
doservos ilu' honour of InMUit ^^>ln^>a^o^^ with this 
grt^.it prinoo. it is l5l^>^s^^ Washin!:ion. Tho 
merit of both is nuTe solivl thsn daiiliiiij. The 
aamo plain sonse. tlio stamo simpUoityorchursottT, 
iho s!»mo love of thoir oounirv, tho same unstVoot- 
#\l horv^ism. tiistiiis;uishotl both thoso iUusirious 
uun< • and both \vor\' Sv> hijihly tavourod by Tn*- ; 
videnoo as to bo ni:ulo its i-l) w<mi ii\sinnnon's for ■ 
rodooming n.itiiins from b,>:id;>jo. .Vs William 
had to contend wi h gro.-t'or iv^ptui'i* n'>d 'o s'rn^- ' 
gle with more eoinpheated p^!it;o.-\! d rt\on!tio». wo 
are able in<»r»' decisivoly to .•xsoertain his m;\r'i.il i 

fjrowess. and his civil pnidoiK'o. It has boon tho 
nrtuno of \Vashins;ton to jjivo a more siijital prwif 
of hi< disintorostodiu^ss. as ho was i^IaooJ in a 
S!!;»nti.>n in wh'oh he conid without blame ros^si-i ' 
the supreme administration of that eommonwealih ' 
which his valour had guarded in infancy aspiiust ! 
a fortiiin tbrco, and which his wisdont has siniv j 
gui.icd tlirouksh still more toviuidable domestic i 
perns." — .Monthly Review, vol. xi. p. 303. — Ed. I 



jjtne sv> cruel a sjitiit* m|xv> them. a» any 
i\»ntiv»ris\>n KMwtxnt their talents and jvltcy, 
ami thiv>*» of the jii>"i»t ntonarxh. The di*. 
appivlvuion of the tH»nduot of the British 
Cal>n\et ttiust have ar.sen to an extmorvlinary 
desjtw of w;un>lh in the mind of Mr, Hnike^ 
b«^K>r<» he vMuKl have pivvaihsl on hiutsell 
to brinjj into view the jndicy of other and 
blotter linte.s. nt\d to awaken r»H>>llectiotis of 
jvist wisklom and iilory which must tend so 
tttnch to embitter our uidignatiou at lht» pr»^ 
sent tuisjjianaiivment of public atVaii^. In 
a w^»^\l. the success of the war rrnpiiivd it to 
b*^ felt by V>T"nch:nen to Iv a war vlirvvt- 
«\l aji^unst the Kevolutioit. smd not apunst 
France; while the an>bition of the .Mhea 
ntvejssjirily ttiade it a war a^j^ainst France, 
atid not JUi^inst the Kovolntion. Mr. Hurke, 
M. do iVilonne, M. Mallet kUx l\>n. nnd all 
the v>ther distii\iiuisln\l writeis who ha\t> 
apjvartvl ot\ bt>half of the Frtnich Koyalistji 
— 1» name which no man shouKl pnniounct> 
without pity, and m> Kniillshntan ou<jht to 
utter without shatut" — have acknowleiloxnl, 
lamenttvl. and convlentn«\l the wietcluvl 
jH>licy of tho ait»ft\lerates. We h;>ve still 
to imjH\u*h their .si^racity. for not bavins;- ori- 
ijinally foreseen what a brittle instrument 
such a ix>nt\\leracy ntnst pi\ne ; we have 
still to ivpixMch thent. for noi havittj; fmm 
the tiist iHMveivt\l, that to emlxuk ihe s;\fety 
of F.urv^jv on the smvess of such an alliance, 
was a most nmbij;tious jH>licy, — only to bo 
rt«lnctantly embrju"t\l. al"ler every other ex- 
jHHlient was exhausted, in a cast^ of the most 
immittent danjiXM-, and in citvumstances of 
the ttiost imperious tuvessity. 

These relleotions naturally lead ns t > tho 
iw.isideration of the s;»fety of the war, or of 
the colIater;»l evil with which it w;>s pivg- 
nanl in either alternative, of its tailnre or 
success ; and wo do tiot hesitate to alHrm, 
that, in our humble opinion, its snecess was 
danpMxnts to the inde[Hnideiict> o{ nations*, 
and its tailuiv hostile to Ihe stability of s^>- 
vernments, Tho choice betwetMi two such 
dreadtnl evils is emlvtrrassitij; and crut^l : yet, 
with the warmest real for the IratHiuillity of 
every jvoplt\ — with the stnniovst wishes 
that can arise fivm personal habits and cha- 
racter tor quiet and rt>|XKse, — with all our 
heartfelt and deeply-nHit<Hl detestation for 
the crimes, calamities, and hormis of civil 
contusion, we cannot pix>vail on onrselv<>s to 
imaiiine that a grt\iter evil conKI bet'all tho 
human race than the ivulition of Kiii\>po 
ainonji the spoilers of Polaiul. All the wild 
fivaks of jxipnlar licentii>n.sne,ss, — ^tll tho 
fantastic transtormations of pi vernntent. — till 
the fi^mtic crueltv of anaivhical tyranny, 
ali^iost vatiish before tho terrible iilea of 
lixitherinij the whole civilixed world under 
the iron yoke of inililary desix>lisin. It is — 
at least, it was — sui iiistinet of the Kiijilish 
chattteter, to teel more alarm aiul lunwr at 
de.six^tism than at any other o( those evils 
whii'h atlliei Ininiaii .•^ocietv ; aiul we own 
our minds to be still under the inllnenco of 
this old juid iXM'haps exploded national jxx'j-.;- 



HKASONS A0AIN8T TIIK FI?KNX1I WAK OP 1793. 



flicfl. It (« a pr<;jij'lic<r, howtfvnr, which ;»;>- 
IHinrnU) UK fanntl^ul oti l\ii' tuoni mAiUrnn arcJ 
profouri'l i>\iilo>ti)j>Uy ; anH it haw b'!«?n Jrn- 

f>larit';'l in tfi<- toiwin of Unuyn^ino'^u \iy \)u:\t 
oiiitl ''Xff.ni-iifjf of tfi'! ini\il<:*X an<l iii;i;%i 
U;(»vi;rntti'uil wjlh w))i<;h th'; botiidyol l/ivuit; 
l'i<>vtiii:ii(>': }i;i« b(;<rri \tU'.uv^fA for (cj tunny 
c*}iitiiti<'.H to favour <•/> cjifmi\i-Tn\/U: a ]x>i\\i>ii 
of th'; fiur/iari ra/-^;. It liaw h'j'rn noijri»Ji/;d 
by th'j l;loo'i of our ion-intlutrn; it iH crn- 
hodi'f'f in our rriont v^f/'-rabl'? irmtitutiou*; 
it i» th«j «pirit of our nixin-d ),-iw>»; it in tii/; 
uniinntiuu priric(pl«;of th«« K(»(rli«h I'htmuiU'.r ; 
it i» th«5 v<!ry Jifr- arcl if^uj of lh«> l{nti»h c/m- 
ktitution ; il n>, \\i<; 'Imtin^uinhint; nobility of 
th/j rri';an«;»it Huvyi'^lirnu.n ; it i» tfiat prou'l 
]»\\\U;i!i'- wlii/;h <;xaltH fiirri, in hi» own ro 
«|><,'ct, abovo t))'! rrioHt illuxfriouH i»lav<5 that 
JraiiH hi« </il'l<;'l <;}iaiM in th'5 court of a ty- 
rant. It h;i» ((iv<!n vi;/'/tir an') hj^tro to our 
warlike ftiiUttutiti<n^ 'yi^.Uci; iu,^\ humanity tr> 
our lawKj and ch;tta('t<-r an'l nii'-ray to our 
national u^f.u'mn wA lit^fratur'j, C)! »uch a 
j>r<jju'lic<s wfj ar'j not 'AnivntiuuS '. ari'l w«^ hav« 
no «l<;«(ifc f> outlivr? il» vxX'auiium in the miwJ» 
of our countrymen ; — 

(i/ric omntt lAt'innm 
FabdJa nornen »;ri(.* 

To r«tam from wliat may be thonght a 

Hi{<rr;n«iori, I/ut whieh i» inPiiircA by i<:i:Y-' ■•■ 
that w'j ho(<<; at h'Jixt a few of our r';;j. ' 
may Mill be oM-fa»»hione'I enoui^h to j^tr 
u» forinrlultjint', — w»j pro'x;eJ to make »'jme 
remarks ^n the (I'dni/fru wifli which lli/; 
failure of lhii» war threatened Kurif^;. It i» 
a memorable exarofile of the int/^xicatir/n of 
men, an'l of their t^ovcniorn, that at the rv;m- 
mencernent of thin war, the bare i'i'wi of the 
jK»«»ibility of ilH failure wouM Iiave been 
rcymii'A with in'lijfnation and x/i'irn : yet it 
became Htatenmen to c/mnA'tt this* event a« 
at hfjist pOHHible; and, in thai alternative, 
wliat were the c/)in9'fui<tTKfM which tlie 
Kuro{M;an (govern rnent» h>fl to apprehend ? 
VVith their r/)i}iin';\% ba/Ih'/l, their armie« rJ';- 
fwifed, tli^jir trcaftiirie* cxluiMtefl, their Kub- j 
jeetx ^r(r,iriUi'^ UfKJer thfj wpif^ht of taxe«, ; 
their military ntren^h btolcen, and their 
rej^utation for military cup^riorityleHlrrjyed, I 
— they lutve to ontend, in their own Rtaten, | 
a^^ainnt the \)r<r/T«;n* of opinirism, which their ' 
own unfortunate f»ol' (ounded with 

the da/,/,linc( luHtre '- and with all 

the attr.'u;tionH and ^ of victory. 

l)tHf^rACj'A in a C/ i democracy 

abrf/a/l, with wlwt v.^v.., ... .'feet can they 
repress it at home? |{ they hfi/J forl.Kjrne 
from cnferinf? on the war, the repul;ition of 
their pr<wer would at least Iiavc been whole 
arifl entire: the awful question, whether the 
French Il/;volution, or the f.y.UihVinhi-A go- 
Ternment* of Kuropc, are the BtronfjcKt, 
wouUi at lea«t have remained undecided ; 

■ ! 

• Pbarialii), lib, rii, 
59 



and tlie ])*ui\)\*i of all cjitutUU:* wr/uld r»ot 
have ■/.'itiii-f.r.tA \)u; danj^erouK examphr* of 
their t^/V(;ri:if(nn humbled Ixrfore )he Unulttrn 
of the r/ew >K;ct, Mr, liurke telln u* »hat tl)« 
war Ii;»«» at j/-a«t procured a re«pjte for Kti- 
roj>" ; but h'; t)a»t/orj/oi(<,'n t/* inform ii»», tfiat 
there are refp/t'-x which ai'i/ravale the m>- 
verity of the puf);»-.hmenl, a/yd ihat there are 
violent nitiiu,iiM'*> which provoke a fate that 
mij/ht '>lherwi*<; !.»<; avoided. 

We \)m\it)f*-\v fo;b<«tr luatAn-ifi/iOn ihinmih- 
ject, becau wj the dipphy <A Xhimi t^tU w hicb, 
at the aimxuiu.Cyftttttui of tli/j war, were likely 
to ar iwj fr'/fn itn failure, i» now V;r;//tne, vufm- 
tunalely, the melancljoly picture of the u/'Atml 
situation of VMtii\ifi. Thin in a theme more 
aA'ApvA for meditation thandim^^urw;. It in 
a« xlf/r^'rre wellv/ifchet* to the Mfability and 
tranquil 'iifiiir<)Vt:tfi';iil of eMabh^h' d t'overn- 
r(i<:iAf,~^itn /,i^n\<)»p, and ardent iiii-inU to tliat 
arlrnirable ry^nwtitution of j^r/vernrnent^ and 
happy order^;f »*f>ciety, which pf<;vai) m fnjr 
native )ar<d, that we orit^inallv deprefsit<;d, 
and Mill C4tiu\t;uuu a war whicri nao br«y«tfht 
th'fwj Uwa\wi\j\i'. \i\i->Miuu.*> into tlie rnocl im- 
minent j^!ril. All the benevolenr;*; and j>a- 
triotlnm of the human heart cannot, in onr 
opini'/n, br*?athe a prayer more aucpicionv 
for Hn'/Vihhrfitm to t;u; huprerne iJuler of the 
world, lli;tn that 1 hey rnay enjoy to the hu-nt 

' -jjtionH the bleH>inj.'« of tfiat r/jwlttvt'vm 

1 ha»» Ujen Ujque-athed t/> them by tlwnr 

. :!her». We defsirft il» improvement, 

jnde-ed, — we ardently Acmi} it* imprf;vc- 

rnent — ?«» a means of^ its preservatirm ; I/ut, 

above all things, we desire its pre»ervatir,;n. 

We tmiinot cUmt: a subject, on which we 
are nf.noun even to melancholy, without of- 
Utt'iuii the n](iTA';r but unbiaftvsd tribute of 
our a/lmirati(/ri and t?ianks to tJiat illustriritj* 
statettrnan, — tlwj friend of wfrat we must call 
the better days of Mr. Borke, — v.hovj jrreat 
talents have been d^rvotcl t/; the r;aus<; of 
liberty and of mankind, — whr^ of all men, 
rno^t ardently loves, \)*:na.nm he most tbo- 
t'jijuh]y underMands, the British rymstilulion, 
— who lias ma^le a noble and memorable, 
thou;.d> unavailinfr, strugtrle trj pre»«;rve at 
from the ^rvils and dangers of the present 
v/ar. — w Iw is rf^/^juiled for the calumnies of 
his enemies, the desertion of his friends, and 
the inffratitude of his c/;«nlry, by the aj^pro- 
)fiU'i'jii of liis own conscience;, and by a well- 
(.^rounded exf><rClation of the t'^^ti'^ide ancT 
reverenc^i of j/*sterity. We never f;an reflect 
on ihe event of this tfreat man's cmjnsci 
without calling to mind that b'-autiful pan- 
sfige of CU'MTOj in wliich he flejJores tfie 
death of his illustrious rival llorlHnn'iUH : " 8i 
fuit ternfrtjs ullurn com exforquerearrna po»- 
iMrt e manibus iratorum civiorn Ixnii civil 
auctorifas et oratio. turn profecto fuit, com 
patrocinium pacis excluAom eMaut errore ho- 
minom aot timore."* 

• De CUri* OraiwiLus. 



4G6 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



ON THE STATE OF FRANCE IN 1815/ 



To appreciate the effects of the French 
Revolutiou on the people of France, is an 
underlaking for which no man now alive has 
sutficieut materials, or sufficient impartiality, 
even if he had sufhcient ability. It is a task 
from which Tacitus and Machiavel would 
have shrunk; and to which the little pam- 
phleteers, who speak on it with dogmatism, 
prove themselves so unequal by their pre- 
sumption, that men of sense do uotwait for the 
additional proof which is always amply fur- 
nished by their performances. The French Re- 
volution was a destruction of great abuses, ex- 
ecuted with much violence, injustice, and in- 
humanity. The destruction of abuse is, in 
itself, and for so much, a good : injustice and 
inhumanity would cease to be vices, if they 
were not productive of great mischief to so- 
c'lety. This is a most perplexing account to 
balance. 

As applied, for instance, to the cultivators 
and cultivation of France, there seems no 
reason to doubt the unanimous testimony of 
all travellers and observers, that agriculture 
has advanced, and that the condition of the 
agricultural population has been sensibly im- 
proved. M. de la Place calculates agricul- 
tural produce to have increased one fifth 
during the last twenty-five years. M. Cu- 
vier, an unprejudiced and dispassionate man, 
rather frieiidly than adverse to much of what 
the Revolutiou destroyed, and who, in his 
frequent journeys through France, surveyed 
the country with the eyes of a naturalist and 
a politician, bears the most decisive testi- 
mony to the same general result. M. de 
Candolle. a very able and enlightened Gene- 
vese, who is Professor of Botany at Mont- 
pellier, is preparing for the press the fruit of 
several years devoted to the survey of French 
cultivation, in which we are promised the 
detailed proofs of its progress. The appre- 
hensions lately entertained by the landed in- 
terest of England, and countenanced by no 
less an authority than that of Mr. Maithus, 
that France, as a permanent exporter of corn, 
would supply our market, and drive our in- 
ferior lands out of cultivation, — though we 
consider them as extremely unreasonable, — 
must be allowed to be of some weight in 
this question. No such dread of the' rival- 
ship of French corn-growers was ever felt 
or affected in this country in former times. 
Lastly, the evidence of Mr. Birkbeck, an 



* From the Edinburgh Review, vol. x.xiv. p. 
518. These remarks were wiiiten during the 
Hundred Days, the author having spent part of 
the preceding winter in Paris. — Ed. 



independent thinker, a shrewd observer, 
and an experienced farmer, though his jour- 
ney was rapid, aiul though he perhaps wish- 
ed to find benefits resulting from the Re- 
volution, must be allowed to be of high 
value. 

But whatever may have been the benefits 
conferred by the Revolution on the cultiva- 
tors, supposing them to have been more ques- 
tionable than they appear to have been, it is 
at all events obvious, that the division of the 
confiscated lands among the jDeasantry must 
have given that body an interest and a pride 
in the maintenance of the order or disorder 
which that revolution had produced. All 
confiscation is unjust. The French confisca- 
tion, being the most extensive, is the most 
abominable example of that species of legal 
robbery. But we speak only of its political 
effects on the temper of the peasantry. These 
effects are by no means confined to those 
who had become proprietors. The promo- 
tion of many inspii-ed all with pride: the 
whole class was raised in self-importance by 
the proprietary dignity acquired by nume- 
rous individuals. Nor must it be sapposed 
that the apprehensions of such a rabble of 
ignorant owners, who had acquired their 
ownerships by means of which their own 
conscience would distrust the fairness, were 
to be proportioned to the reasonable pro- 
babilities of danger. The alarms of a mul- 
titude for objects very valuable to them, 
are always extravagantly beyond the degree 
of the risk, especially when the}- are stretigth- 
ened by any sense, however faint and indis- 
tinct, of injustice, which, by the immutable 
laws of human nature, stamps every posses- 
sion which, suggests it with a mark of inse- 
curity. It is a panic fear; — one of those fears 
which are so rapidly spread and so violently 
exaggerated by sympathy, that the lively 
fancy of the ancients represented them as 
inflicted by a superior power. 

Exemption from manorial rights and feu- 
dal services was not merely, nor perhaps 
principally, considered by the Frertch far- 
mers as a relief from oppression. They were 
connected with the exulting recollections of 
deliverance from a yoke, — of a triumph over 
superiors, — aided even by the remembrance 
of the licentiousness with which they had 
exercised their saturnalian privileges in the 
first moments of their short and ambiguous 
liberty. They recollected these distinctions 
as an emancipation of their caste. The in- 
terest, the pride, the resentmeni, and the 
fear, had a great tendency to make the 



ON THE STATE OF FRANCE IN 1815. 



467 



maintenance of these changes a point of 
honour among ihe whole peasantry of France. 
On this subjectj perhaps, they were lilcely 
to acquire that jealousy and susceptibility 
which the dispersed population of the coun- 
try rarely exhibit, unless when their religion, 
or their national pride, or their ancient usa- 
ges, are violently attacked. The only secu- 
rity for these objects would appear to them to 
be a government arising, like theij.- own pro- 
perty and privileges, out of the Revolution. 

We are far from commending these senti- 
ments, and still farther from confounding 
them with the spirit of liberty. If the forms 
of a free constitution could have been pre- 
served under a counter-revolutionary govern- 
ment, perhaps these hostile dispositions of 
the peasants and new proprietors against 
such a government, might have been gradu- 
ally mitigated and subdued into being one 
of the auxiliaries of freedom. But, in the 
present slate of France, there are unhappily 
no elements of such combinations. There is 
no such class as landed gentry, — no great 
proprietors resident on their estates, — conse- 
quently no leaders of this dispersed popula- 
tion, to give them permanent influence on 
the public counsels, to animate their general 
sluggishness, or to restrain their occasional 
violence. In such a state they must, in ge- 
neral, bo inert ; — in particular matters, which 
touch their own prejudices and supposed in- 
terest, unreasonable and irresistible. The 
extreme subdivision of landed property might, 
under some circumstances, be favourable to 
a demncratical government. Under a limit- 
ed monarchy it is destructive of hberty, be- 
cause it annihilates the strongest bulwarks 
against the powder of the crown. Having 
no body of great proprietors, it delivers the 
monarch from all regular and constant re- 
straint, and from every apprehension but 
that of an inconstant and often servile popu- 
lace. And, melancholy as the conclusion is, 
it seems too probable that the present state 
of property and prejudice among the larger 
part of the people of France, rather disposes 
them towards a despotism deriving its sole 
title from the Revolution, and interested in 
maintaining the system of society which it 
has established, and armed with that tyran- 
nical power which may be necessary for its 
maintenance. 

Observations of a somewhat similar nature 
are applicable to other classes of the French 
population. IMany of the tradesmen and 
merchants, as well as of the numerous bo- 
dies of commissaries and contractors grown 
rich by war, had become landed proprietors. 
These classes in general had participated 
in the early movements of the Revolution. 
They had indeed generally shrunk from its 
horrors ; but they had associated their pride, 
their quiet, almost their moral character, 
with its success, by extensive purchases of 
confiscated land. These feelings were not 
to be satisfied by any assurances, however 
solemn and repeated, or however sincere, 
that the sales of national property were to be 



inviolable. The necessity of such assurance • 
continually reminded them of the odiousness 
of their acquisitions, and of the light in which 
the acquirers were considered by the govern- 
ment. Their property was to be spared as 
an evil, incorrigible from its magnitude. 
What they must have desired, was a govern- 
ment from whom no such assurances could 
have been necessary. 

The middle classes in cities were precisely 
those who had been formerly humbled, mor- 
tified, and exasperated by the privileges of 
the nobilit}-. — for whom the Revolution was 
a triumph over those who, in the daily in- 
tercourse of life, treated them with constant 
disdain, — and whom that Revolution raised 
to the vacant place of these deposed chiefs. 
The vanity of that numerous, intelligent, and 
active })art of the community — merchants, 
bankers, manufacturers, tradesmen, lawyers, 
attorneys, physicians, surgeons, artists, ac- 
tors, men of letters — had been Immbled by 
the monarchy, and had triumphed in the Re- 
volution : they rushed into the stations which 
the gentry — emigrant, beggared, or proscrib- 
ed — could no longer fill : the whole govern« 
ment fell into their hands. 

Buonaparte's 'nobility was an institution 
framed to secure the triumph of all these 
vanities, and to provide against the possibili- 
ty of a second humiliation. It was a body 
composed of a Revolutionary aristocracy, 
with some of the ancient nobility, — either 
rewarded for their services to the Revolu- 
tion, by its highest dignities, or compelled to 
lend lustre to it, by accepting in it secondary 
ranks, w^ith titles inferior to their own, — and 
with many lawyers, men of letters, mer- 
chants, physicians, &c., who often receive in- 
ferior marks of honour in England, but whom 
the ancient system of the French mo:iai#iy 
had rigorously excluded from such distinc- 
tions. The military principle predominated, 
not only from the nature of the government, 
but because military distinction was the pur- 
est that was earned during the Revolution. 
The Legion of Honour spread the same prin- 
ciple through the whole army, vvliich proba- 
bly contained six-and-lhirty thousand out of 
the forty thousand who composed the order. 
The whole of these institutions was an array 
of new against old vanities, — of that of the 
former roturiers against that of the former 
nobility. The new knights and nobles were 
daily reminded by their badges, or titles, of 
their interest to resist the re-establishment 
of a system which would have perpetuated 
their humiliation. The real operation of 
these causes was visible during the short 
reign of Louis XVIII. Military men, indeed, 
had the courage to display their decorations, 
and to avow their titles: but most civilians 
were ashamed, or afraid, to use their new 
names of dignity ; they were conveyed, if at 
all, in a subdued voice, almost in a whisper; 
they were considered as extremely unfa- 
shionable and vulgar. Talleyrand renounced 
his title of Prince of Beneventum ; and Mas- 
sena's resumption of his dignity of Prince 



468 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



was regarded as an act of audacity, if not of 
imentional defiance. 

From, these middle classes were chosen 
another body, who were necessarily attached 
to the Revolutionary government, — the im- 
mense body of civil officers who were placed 
in all the countries directly or indirectly sub- 
ject to France, — in Italy, in Germany, in 
PolaniJ, in Holland, in the Netherlands, — for 
the purposes of administration of finance, and 
of late to enforce the vain prohibition of 
commerce with England. These were all 
thrown back on France by the peace. They 
had no hope of employment : their gratitude, 
their resentment, antl their expectations 
bound them to the fortune of Napoleon. 

The number of persons in France interest- 
ed, directly or indirectly, in the sale of con- 
fiscated property — by original purchase, by 
some part m the successive transfers, by 
mortgage, or by expectancy, — has been com- 
puted to be ten millions. This inust be a 
great exaggeration : but one half of that 
number would be more than sufficient to 
give colour to the general sentiment. Though 
the lands of the Church and the Crown were 
never regarded in the same invidious light 
with those of private owners, yet the whole 
mass of confiscation was held together by its 
Revolutionary origin: the possessors of the 
most odious part were considered as the out- 
posts and advanced guards of the rest. The 
purchasers of small lots were peasants ; those 
of considerable estates were the better classes 
of the inhabitants of cities. Yet, in spite of 
the powerful causes which attached these 
last to the Revolution, it is certain, that 
among the class called ^' Labonne bourgeoisie^^ 
are to be found the greatest number of those 
\iHiio approved the restoration of the Bour- 
bons as the means of security and quiet. 
They were weary of revolution, and they 
dreaded 'confusion : but they are inert and 
timid, and almost as little qualified to defend 
a throne as they are disposed to overthrow it. 
Unfortunately, their voice, of great weight 
in the administration of regular governments, 
is scarcely heanl in convulsions. They are 
destined to stoop to the bold; — too often, 
though with vain sorrow and imlignation, to 
crouch under the yoke of the guilty and the 
desperate. 

The populace of great towns (a most im- 
portant constituent part of a free community, 
when the union of liberal institutions, with a 
vigorous authority, provides both a vent for 
their sentiments, and a curb on their vio- 
lence,) have, throughout the French Revolu- 
tion, showed at once all the varieties and 
excesses of plebeian passions, and all the pe- 
culiarities of the French national character 
hi their most exaggerated state. The love 
of show, or of change, — the rage for liberty 
or slavery, for war or for peace, soon wearing 
itself out into disgust and weariness, — the 
idolatrous worship of demagogues, soon aban- 
doned, and at last cruelly persecuted, — the 
envy of wealth, or the servile homage paid 
to it, — all these, in every age, in every place, 



from Athens to Paris, have characterised a 
populace not educated by habits of reverence 
for the laws, or bound by ties of character 
and palpable interest to the other classes of 
a free commonwealth. When the Parisian 
mob were restrained by a strong government, 
and compelled to renounce their democratic 
orgies, they became proud of conquest, — 
proud of the splendour of their despotism. — 
proud of the magnificence of its exhibitions 
and its monuments. Men may be so bru- 
talised as to be proud of their chains. That 
sort of interest in public concerns, which the 
poor, in their intervals of idleness, and es- 
pecially when they are met togethei, feel 
perhaps more strongly than other classes 
more constantly occupied with prutlential 
cares, overflowed into new channels. They 
applauded a general or a tyrant, as they had 
applauded Robespierre, and woi shipped Ma- 
rat. They applauded the triumphal entry 
of a foreign army within their walls as a 
grand show ; and they huzzaed the victori- 
ous sovereigns, as they would have celebra- 
ted the triumph of a French general. The 
return of the Rourbons was a novelty, and a 
sight, which, as such, might amuse them for 
a day; but the establishment of a pacific 
and frugal government, with an infirm mo- 
narch and a gloomy court, without sights or 
donatives, and the cessation of the gigantic 
works constructed to adorn Paris, were sure 
enough to alienate the Parisian populace. 
There was neither vigour to overawe them, — 
nor brilliancy to intoxicate them, — nor foreign 
enterprise to divert their attention. 

Among the separate parties into which 
every people is divided, the Protestants are 
to be regarded as a body of no small inqiort- 
ance in France. Their numbers were rated 
at between two and three millions ; but their 
importance was not to be estimated by their 
numerical strength. Their identity of inte- 
rest, — their habits of concert, — their com- 
mon wrongs and resentments, — gave them 
far more strength than a much larger number 
of a secure, lazy, and dispirited majority. It 
was, generally speaking, impossible that 
French Protestants should wish well to the 
family of Louis XIV., peculiarly^ supported 
as it was by the Catholic party. The lenity 
with which they had long been treated, was 
ascribed more to the liberality of the age 
than that of the Government. Till the year 
1788, even their marriages and their inheri- 
tances had depended more upon the conni- 
vance of the tribunals, than upon the sanc- 
tion of the law. The petty vexations, and 
ineffectual persecution of systematic, exclu- 
sion from public offices, and the consequent 
degradation of their body in public opinion, 
long survived the detestable but effectual 
persecution which had been carried on by 
missionary dragoons, and which had benevo- 
lently left them the choice to be hypocrites, 
or exiles, or galley-slaves. The Revolution 
first gave them a secure and effective equali- 
ty with the Catholics, and a real admission 
into civil office. It is to be feared that they 



ON THE STATE 01 FRANCE IN 1815. 



469 



may have Rometimes exulted over the suffer- 
ings of the Catholic Church, and thereby 
contracted some part of the depravity of their 
ancient persecutors. But it cannot be doubted 
that they were generally attached to the Re- 
volution, and to governments founded on it. 

The same observations may be applied, 
■\Vithout repetition, to other sects of Dissi- 
dents. Of all the lessons of history, there is 
none more evident in itself, and more uni- 
formly neglected by governments, than that 
persecutions, disabilities, exclusions, — all 
systematic wrong to great bodies of citizens, 
— are sooner or later punished ; though the 
punishment often falls on individuals, who are 
not only innocent, but who may have had 
the merit of labouring to repair the wrong. 

The voluntary associations which have led 
or influenced the people during the Revolu- 
tion, are a very material object in a review 
like the present. The very numerous body 
who, as Jacobins or Terrorists, had partici- 
pated in the atrocities of 1793 and 1794, had, 
in the exercise of tyranny, sufficiently un- 
learned the crude notions of liberty with 
which they had set our. But they all re- 
quired a government established on Revolu- 
tionary foundations. They all took refuge 
under Buonaparte's authority. The more 
base acceptPil clandestine pensions or insig- 
nificant places : Barrere wrote slavish para- 
graphs at Paris; Tallien was provided for by 
an obscure or a nominal consulship in Spain. 
Fouche, who conducted this part of the sys- 
tem, thought the removal of an active Jaco- 
bin to a province cheaply purchased by five 
hundred a year. Fouche himsflf, one of the 
most atrocious of the Terrorists, had been 
gradually formed into a good atlministrator 
under a civilized despotism, — regardless in- 
deed of foims. but paying considerable re- 
spect to the substance, and especially to the 
appearance of justice, — never shrinking from 
what was necessary to crush a formidable 
enemy, but carefully avoiding wanton cru- 
elty and unnecessary evil. His administra- 
tion, during the earlier and b:'tter part of Na- 
poleon's sovernment, had so much repaired 
the faults of his former life, that the appoint- 
ment of Savary to the police was one of the 
most alarming acts of the internal policy 
during the violent period which followed the 
invasion of Spain. 

At the head of this sort of persons, not 
indeed in guilt, but in the conspicuous nature 
of the act in which they had participated, 
were the Regicides. The execution of Louis 
XVI. beinii both unjust and illegal, was un- 
questionably an atrocious murder: but it 
would argue great biaotry and ignorance of 
human nature, not to be aware, that many 
who took a share in it must have viewed it 
in a directly opposite light. Mr. Hume him- 
self, with all his passion for monarchy, ad- 
mits that Cromwell probably considered his 
share in the death of Charles I. as one of 
his most d sfinguished merits. Some of 
those who voted for the death of Louis XVI. 
have proved that they acted only from erro- 



neous judgment, b)' the decisive evidence 
of a virtuous life. One of them perished in 
Guiana, the victim of an attempt to restore 
the Ro3-al Family. But though among the 
hundreds who voted for the death of that 
unfortunate Prince, there might be seen 
every shade of morality from the blackest 
depravity to the very confines of purity — at 
least in sentiment, it was impossible that any 
of them could be contemplated without hor- 
ror by the brothers and daughter of the mur- 
dered Monarch. Nor would it be less vain 
to expect that the objects of this haired 
should fail to support those Revolutionary 
authorities, Avhich secured them from punish- 
ment, — which covered them from contempt 
by station and opulence. — and which com- 
pelled the monarchs of Europe to receive 
them into their palaces as ambassadors. 
They might be — the far greater part of them 
certainly had become — indiflerent to libeity; 
— perhaps partial to that exercise of unlimit- 
ed power to which they had been accustom- 
ed under what they called a "free" govern- 
ment: but they could not be indifTerent in 
their dislike of a government, under \\hich 
their very best condition was that of par- 
doned criminals, whose criminality was the 
more odious on account of the sad necess'ty 
which made it pardoned. All the Terrorists, 
and almost all the Regicides, had accordingly 
accepted emoluments and honours from Na- 
poleon, and were eager to support his autho- 
rity as a Revolutionary despotism, strong 
enough to protect them from general un- 
popularity, and to insure them against the 
vengeance or the humiliating mercy of a 
Bourbon government. 

Another party of Revolutionists had com- 
mitted great errors in the beginning, which 
co-operated with the alternate obstiiuicy and 
feebleness of the Counter-revolutionists, to 
produce all the evils which we feel and fear, 
and which can only be excused by their own 
inexperience in legislation, and by the pre- 
valence of erroneous ojiinions, at that period, 
throughout the most enlightened pari of Eu- 
rope. These were the best leaders of the Con- 
stituent Assembly, who never relinquished 
the cause of liberty, nor disgraced it by sub- 
missions to tyranny, or participation in guilt. 

The best representative of this small class, 
is M. de La Fayette, a man of ihe purest ho- 
nour in private life, vvho has devoted himself 
to the defence of liberty from his earliest 
youth. He may have committed some mis- 
takes in opinion ; but his heart has always 
been worthy of the friend of Washington 
and of Fox. Li due time the world will 
see how victoriously ho refutes the charges 
against him of misconduct towards the Roy- 
al Family, when the palace of \ersailles was 
attacked by the mob, and when the King 
escaped to Varennes. Having hazarded his 
life to preserve Louis XVL, he was impri- 
soned in various dungeons, by Powers, who 
at the same time released Regicides. His 
wife fell a victim to her conjugal heroism. 
His liberty was obtained by Buonaparte, who 
2P 



4T0 



JlACKIXTOSirS IMISCF.T.T.AXEOUS ESSAYS. 



\x\'u\ court to hlin iliuing tho sliort poriiHl of 
appiuviil lilH>r.ilily aiul nuHli'nitioii which 
oiHMicil his poHtical career. JM. do La Fay- 
elto repaid liim, by faithful counsel ; ami 
whoa he saw ills rapid slrivles lowarvls arbi- 
trary power, he teriuiuateJ all eorri<spouil- 
euee with hun, by a leller, which breathes 
the oahu diuiiity of coiislant and intrepid 
virtue. In the choice of evils, he considered 
the prejudices of ihe Court and the Nobility 
ns more capable of being reconcileil willi 
liberty, than the power of an army. Alter a 
lon^i' absence iVoni courts, he appeared at the 
levee of Monsieur, on his entry iino Paris; 
and was reci>ived with a slijiht, — not justi- 
lied by his character, nor by his rank — more 
important thait chaiacter in the estnuate of 
palaces. He returned to his retirement, far 
from courts or conspiracies, with a reputation 
for purity and lirmnes^, which, if it had been 
less rare amouij V^ench headers, would have 
si'curt>d the hberty of that great nation, and 
l^laced her fame on better foundations than 
tlu>se of mere military genius and success. 

This party, wiiose jMinciples are decisively 
favourable to a limited monarchy, and indeed 
to the general oulliues of the institutions of 
iJreat Britain, had some strength among the 
reasoners of the capital, but represented no 
interest and no opinion in the country at 
large. Whatever popularity they latterly 
appeared to pos.sess, arose but too probably 
from the monuMitary conenrrtMice, in opposi- 
tion to the Court, of those who were really 
their most irreconcilable enemies, — the dis- 
contented Revolutionists and conceahHl Na- 
poleonists. During the late short paiise of 
restriction on the press, they availed then)- 
selves of the hall-liberty of publication which 
then existed, to employ the only arms in 
which they were formidabl<\ — those of ar- 
gunu'nt and eloijuence. The pamphltis of 
M, Heitjamin Constant were by far the most 
disiinonished of those which they produced; 
and lie may be considered as the literary 
represemative of a party, which tlieir ene- 
mie.Sj as well as their friends, called the 
''Liberal,'' who were hostile to Ruonaparte 
and to military power, friendly to tht^ gene- 
ral principles of the constitution established 
by Louis XVIIL, though disapproving some 
of its parts, and seriously ilistrnsting the spi- 
rit in which it was e\ecutt\l, and the max- 
ims prevalent at Court. I\I. Constant, who 
had been expelleil from tht< Tribimat. and in 
elfect exiled from France, by Buonaparte, 
beg-au an attack on him before the Allies 
had crossed thi> Rhine, and continued it till 
after his march from Lyons. He is unques- 
tionably the (irst j>olitical writer of the Con- 
tinent, and apparently the ablest man in 
France. His lirst Essay, that on Concpiest, 
is a most ingenious ih>velopmeut of the prin- 
ciple, that a system of war and conquest, 
suitable to the condition of barbarians, is so 
much at variance willi the habits and pur- 
suits of civilized, commercial, and luxurious 
nations, that it cannot be long-lived in such 
an age as ours. If the position be limited to 



those rapid and oxiensivo conquests wuich 
teiul towards universal monardiy, and if tho 
tendency in human alfairs to resist tht>m bo 
••-lated oidy as of great toive, and almost s\iro 
within no long time of checking their pro- 
gress, the doctrine of i\l. Constant will bo 
generally ackia>wledged to be true. With 
the comprehensive views, and tin; brilliant 
poignancy of jMontesquieu, he unites !<ou\o 
of the defects of that great writei. Like 
him, his mind is too systematical for tho 
inegular variety of human alfairs; and ho 
sacrilices too many of those exceptions and 
limitations, which political reasonings re- 
quire, to the pointed sentences which com- 
jHise his nervous and brilliant style. His 
answer to the Abbe IMoulesquii'u's foolish 
plan of restricting the press, is a niudel of 
polemical politics, uniting Kngli.--h solivllty 
and striMmih with French uibanily. Ilia 
tract on INlinisterial Responsibility, with seme 
errors (though surprisingly few) on English 
details, is an admirable di,«cussion of one of 
the most imixirtant institntions of a free go* 
vernmeiil, and, though founded on English 
practice, would convey instruction to most 
of those who liave best studied the English 
constitution. ^Ve liave said thus much of 
tht>se masterly prodnclioup, becau.-e we cou- 
sidtM- them as the only specimens of tho 
Rarisian ]iress, during its semi-emaiicipa- 
lion. which deserve th(> attention of political 
l'hiIoso]->Iiers, and of the friends of true li- 
berty, in all countries. In times of more 
calm, we should have thought a fuller ac- 
count of their contents, and a free discussion 
of their faults, duo to the eminent abilities 
of the author. At pr(>sent we mention tliein, 
ehielly because they exhibit, pretty fairly, 
the oiunions of the libeial party in that 
countiy. 

Rut,' not to ilwell longer on ihis little fra- 
ternity (who are too enlightened and con- 
scientious to be of importance in the shocks 
j of faction, and of whom we have .spoken 
I more from estetnn for their cliaracter, than 
from an opinion of their political inlluem'.e), 
if will be alreaily a]iparent to our readers, 
that many of lh(> most numerous and guiding 
classes in the newly-arranged comnmnity 
of France, were bouiul, by strong ties of in- 
terest and pride, to a Revolutionary govern- 
ment, however little they miuht be (pialified 
or sincerely disjiosed for a frt>e constitution, 
— which they struggleil to confomul with 
the former; that these disjwsitions among 
the civil classes fornu>d one great source of 
danger to the administration of the llour- 
boi\s; and that they now constitute a nnite- 
rial part of the strength of Napoleon. To 
them he appeals in his Proclannition.s, when 
he speaks of "a new dynasty fonnd(\l on 
the same bases with the new interests and 
ninv institutions which owe their rise to tho 
Uevolntion." To them he appeals, though 
more covertly, in his professions of '/eal lor 
the ilii^nity of the people, and ef hostility 
to feudal iiobility, and monarchy by Divine 
riiiht. 



ON THE STATK OF FRANCE IN IS 15. 



471 



It is riritiiral fo iiiciuiro how tlio conwrip- 
tion,aii(l tlu! [)ro'ligiouHcxj)fiifliliii<!f<( hiifriaii 
liU: ill tli'! c:i.Mij);ii;.ni.s of tSpniii and J{uHH:a, 
wero not of th<!rriKr;Iv(.'» Hiifficiciil to iriaki! 
thcj govoriirnciit of Na))oli;oii (l(;t<;Hl(;(l liy llw; 
gr(!at majority of tlio Fn-iich jxiooK;. JJul it 
18 a very inolaiic.iioly truth, that tho body of 
a poopio may bo ffradiially so habitiiatod to 
war, thut th(;ir habits and expoolations aie 
at lofist so udaptfd to its (l<;mand for mr;n, 
and its vvasto of hfo, tlial thoy bocom'; almost 
insonsiblo to its ovjls^ and roijuire Ion;,' dis- 
ciiiiiiKi to r(j-inK})ir<! tiK.Tn with a rolibh for 
th(j blos:siii;.^sof jioaco, and a capacity (or tlio 
virluos of industry. The corni)lairit is loast 
whon tho evil is (greatest: — it is as difficult 
to t(!acii siicli a pcopio tho valm; of peace, 
as it woufii b'! to reclaim a drunl^anl, or to 
subject a robber to [)ati(Mil labour. 

A conscription is, under j)retence of erjua- 
Jily, the most unerjnal of all laws; because 
it assumes that military service is equally 
easy to all clas.-es and ranks of men. Ac- 
cordin;,'ly, it ahvays produces pecuniary com- 
mutation in the sedentary and educated 
classes. To them in many of tlir; towns of 
France it was an oppressive and f^rif;vous tax. 
But to the majority of the p<;or)le, .-ilwa^s 
accustomed to military service, trie life of a 
8oIdir:r became perhupsmore aj(re(;able than 
any other. Families even considered it as a 
means of provision for th(;ir children : r-ach 
parent labourin^r to persuade* hims<df trial his 
children vvould be amorifj those who should 
have the fortune to survive. Loiif^ and con- 
stant wars created a n!j.'ular demand for men, 
to which the princi()l(! (jf pojiulalion adapted 
itself.- An army whicli had con([uerefl and 
plundered iMiiope, and in which a private 
soldier mi;,dit r'-asonably enough hop(; to be 
a marshal or a prince, had more allurcfments, 
and not more repulsive rpjalities, than many 
of those odious, dis^^ustitifr, unwholesome, or 
perilous occupations, which in the common 
course of society are always amply supplied. 
The habit of war unfortunately perpetuates 
itself: and this moral effect is a far f^reater 
evil than the more flrfstructioii of life. What- 
ever may be the justness of these specula- 
tions, certain it is, that the travelle-rs who 
lately visited Franc(!, neither found the con- 
scription so unpopular, nor the decay of male 
population so percepid^le', as plausible and 
confident statements luid led ihern to ex- 
pect. 

It is probable that among the majority of 
the Fifiiich (excluding the army), the rr-stored 
Bourbons gained less popularity by abolish- 
ing the conscription, than thi:y lost by the 
cession of all the cotrrpr-sts of France. This 
fact affords a most important warning of the 
tremendous dangers to which civilized na- 
tions expose their charact<;r by long war. 
To say that liberty cannot survive it, is say- 
ing little: — liberty is one of the luxuries 
which only a few nations seem destined to 
enjoy; — and they only for a short period. 
It is not only fatal to the refinements and 
ornaments of"^ civilized life; — its long con- 



tinuance must inevitably destroy even that 
di'grer; (mod<;ialr! as it is) of order and secu- 
rity which j)rr;vails even in tli(! jjure mon- 
areliies of Europe, and distinguishes tin m 
above all other societies ancient or modern. 
It is vain to iriv<;igh against the jaojiIu of 
France for delighting in war, for exulting in 
coiHjuest, and for being exasperated and mor- 
tifie-d by renouncing those vast acquisitions, 
'i'liese deplorable consequences arise from 
an excess of the- noblest anrl most necessary 
l^riiKnjjIes in the character of a nation, acted 
ijjion by habits of arms, and "cursed with 
ev(;ry giant<;d prayer," during years of vic- 
tory and coiHpjest. No nation could endure 
such a trial. iJoubtless tho.se nations who 
li;ive the mo.st liberty, the most intelligence, 
thi; most virtue, — uho possess in tiie highest 
decree all thr; constituents of the most perfect 
civilization, will resist it the Jor:gest, But, 
lr;t us not (leceive ourselves, — long war ren- 
ders all these blessings impossible: it dis- 
solves all the civil and pacific viitnes; it 
leaves no calm for the cultivation of reason; 
aii<l by substituting attachment to leaders, 
instead of iev<;rerice for laws, it dristroys 
libeit\', tlio parent of inteJligence and of 
virlue. 

TIk; Fre-nch Revolution has strongly con- 
firmed the lesson taught by the hisloiy of all 
ages, that while politi<;al divisions excite the 
activity of genius, anrl teach honour in en- 
mity, as well as fidelity in attachment, tho 
excess of civil confusion and convulsion ))io- 
duces diametrically oj)posite effects, — sub- 
jects society to force, instead of miiul, — 
renders its distinctions the prey of boldness 
and atrocity, instead of being the prize of 
talent, — ami conci;ntrates the thoughts and 
ferdirigs of every individual uj;on h mself, — 
his own sufi'enngs and fears. Whatever 
begimiingsof such an unhappy stale may bo 
observed in Fiance, — whatever tendency it 
may have had to disjiose the peoph; toa light 
tiansferof alli'giance. andanundistinguishing 
profession of attachment, — it is more useful 
to consider them as the results of these 
general cau.scs, than as vices peculiar to lliat 
grrat nation. 

To this we must add, before we conclude 
our cursory survey, tlutt frequent changes of 
govrfrnrnent, howevr;r arising, prrimote a dis- 
jiosition to acfjuiesce in change. No people 
can long preserve the enthusiasm, v. hieh first 
impels them to take an active part in change. 
Its fr(;quencyat least teaches them patiently 
to bear it. Th<!y become indiffe-rent to go- 
vernme-nts and wjvereigns. They are spec- 
tators of revolutions, instead of actors in 
th<;m. They are a prey to be fought for by 
the haidy and bold, and are geiK-rally dis- 
poned of by an army. In this state of things, 
r(;volutions be-come bloodless, not from the 
humanity, but from the indifierence of a 
people. Perhaps it may be true, though it 
will appear paradoxical to many, that such 
revolutions, as those of England and Ame- 
I rica, conducted with such a regard for mo- 
[deration arrd humanity, and even with such 



472 



IMACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



respect for established authorities and insti- 
tutions, independently of their necessity for 
the preservation of liberty, may even have 
a tendency to strengthen, instead of weaken- 
ing, the frame of the commonwealth. The 
examjjle of reverence for justice, — of caution 
in touching ancient institutions, — of not in- 



novating, beyond the necessities of the case^ 
even in a season of violence and anger, may 
impress on the minds of men those conser- 
vative principles of society, more deeply and 
strongly, than the most uninterrupted obser- 
vation of them in the ordinary course of quiet 
and regular government. 



ON 



THE RIGHT OF PAllLIAMENTARY SUFFRAGE/ 



What mode of representation is most 
likely to secure the liberty, and consequent- 
ly the happiness, of a community circum- 
stanced like the people of Great Britain 1 
On the elementary part of this great ques- 
tion, it will be sufficient to remind the reader 
of a few undisputed truths. The object of 
government, is security against wrong. — 
Most civilized governments, tolerably secure 
their subjects against wrong from each other. 
But to secure them, by laws, against wrong 
from the government itself, is a problem of 
a far more difficult sort, which few nations 
liave attempted to solve. — and of which it is 
not so much as pretended that, since the be- 
ginning of history, more than one or two 
great states have approached the solution. 
It will be universally acknowledged, that 
this approximation has never been affected 
by any other means than that of a legislative 
assembly, chosen by some considerable por- 
tion of the people. 

The direct object of a popular representa- 
tion is, that one, at least, of the bodies exer- 
cising the legislative power being dependent 
on the people by election, should have the 
strongest inducement to guard their interests, 
and to maintain their rights. For this pur- 
pose, it is not sufficient, that it should have 
the same general interests with the people; 
for every government has, in truth, the same 
interests with its subjects. It is necessary 
that the more direct and palpable interest, 
arising from election, should be superadded. 
In every legislative senate, the modes of ap- 
pointment ought to be such as to secure the 
nomination of members the bast qualified, 
and the most disposed, to make laws condu- 
cive to the well-being of the whole commu- 
nity. In a representative assembly this con- 
dition, thoush absolutely necessary, is not 
of itself sufficient. 

To understand the principles of its compo- 
sition thoroughly, we must divide the people 
into classes, and examine the variety of local 
an>l professional interests of which the whole 



* From the Edinburgh Review, vol. xx\i. p. 
1/4.— Ed. 



is composed. Each of these classes must be 
represented by persons who will guard it.'? 
peculiar interest, whether that interest arises 
from inhabiting the same district, or pursu- 
ing the same occupation, — su<'h as traffic, or 
husbandry, or the useful or ornamental arts. 
The fidelity and zeal of such representatives, 
are to be secured by every provision which, 
to a sense of common interest, can superadd 
a fellow-feeling with their constituents. Nor 
is this all : in a great state, even that part of 
the public interest which is common to all 
classes, is composed of a great variety of 
branches. A statesman should indeed have 
a comprehensive view of the whole ; but no 
one man can be skilled in all the particulars. 
The same education, and the same pursuits, 
which qualify men to understand and regu- 
late some branches, disqualify them for 
others. The representative assembly must 
therefore contain, some members peculiarly 
qualified for discussions of the constitution 
and the laws, — others for those of foreign 
policy, — some for those of the respective in- 
terests of agriculture, commerce, and manu- 
factures, — some for those of mihtary affairs 
by sea and land, — and some also who are 
conversant with the colonies and distant pos- 
sessions of a great empire. It woukl be a 
mistake to suppose that the place of such 
representatives could be supplied by wit- 
nesses examined on each particular subject. 
Both are not more than sufficient; — skilful 
witnesses occasionally, for the most minute 
information, — skilful representatives contin- 
ally, to discover and conduct evidence, and 
to enforce and dlustrate the matters belong- 
ing to their department with the weight of 
those who speak on a footing of equality. 

It is obvious, that as long as this composi- 
tion is insured, it is for the present purpose 
a matter of secondary importance whether it 
be effected by direct or indirect means. To 
be a faithful representative, it is neces.sary 
that such an assembly should be numerous, 
— that it should learn, from experience, the 
movements that agitate multitudes, — and 
that it should be susceptible, in no small de- 
gree, of the action of those causes which 



ON THE RIGHT OF PARLIAMENTARY SUFFRAGE. 



473 



sway the thoughts and feehngs of assemblies 
of the people. For the same reason, among 
others, it is expedient that its proceedings 
should be public, and the reasonings on 
which they are founded, submitted to the 
judgment of mankind. These democratical 
elements are indeed to be tempered and re- 
strained by such contrivances as may be 
necessary to maintain the order and inde- 
pendence of deliberation : but, without them, 
no assembly, however elected, can truly 
represent a people. 

Among the objects of representatiooj two 
may, in an especial manner, deserve ob- 
servation: — the qualifications for making 
good lawsj and those for resisting oppression. 

Now, the capacity of an assembly to make 
good lavs, evidently depends on the quan- 
tity of skill and information of every kind 
which it possesses. But it seems to be ad- 
vantageous that it should contain a large 
proportion of one body of a more neutral and 
inactive character, — not indeed to propose 
much, but to mediate or arbitrate in the dif- 
ferences between the more busy classes, 
from whom important propositions are to be 
expected. The suggestions of every man 
relating to his provnice, have doubtless a 
peculiar value : but most men imbibe preju- 
dices with their knowledge; and, in the 
struggle of various classes for their conflict- 
ing interests, the best chance for an approach 
to right decision, lies in an appeal to the 
largest body of well-educated men, of lei- 
sure, large property, temperate character, 
and who are impartial on more subjects than 
any other class of men. An ascendency, 
therefore, of landed proprietors must be con- 
sidered, on the whole, as a beneficial cir- 
cumstance in a representative body. 

For resistance to oppression, it is pecu- 
liarly necessary that the lower, and. in some 
places, the lowest classes, should possess the 
right of suffrage. Their rights would other- 
wise be less protected than those of any 
other class; for some individuals of every 
other class, would generally find admittance 
into the legislature; or, at least, there is no 
other class which is not connected with some 
of its members. But in the uneducated 
classes, none can either sit in a representa- 
tive assembly, or be connected on an equal 
footing with its members. The right of suf- 
frage, therefore, is the only means by which 
they can make their voice heard in its de- 
liberations. They also often send to a repre- 
sentative assembly, members whose charac- 
ter is an important element in its composi- 
tion, — men of popular talents, principles, and 
feelings, — quick in suspecting oppression, — 
bold in resisting it, — not thinking favourably 
of the powerful, — listening, almost with cre- 
dulity to the complaints of the humble and 
the feeble, — and impelled by ambition, where 
they are not prompted by generosity, to be 
the champions of the defenceless. 

In all political institutions, it is a fortunate 
circumstance when legal power is bestowed 
on those who already possess a natural in- 
60 



fluence and ascendant over their fellow-citi- 
zens. Wherever, inileed, the circumstances 
of society, and the appointments of law, are 
in this respect completely at variance, sub- 
mission can hardly be maintained without 
the odious and precarious means of forcis 
and fear. But iii a representative assembly, 
which exercises directly no power, and of 
which the members are too numerous to de- 
rive much individual consequence from their 
stations, the security and importance of the 
body, more than in any other case, depend 
on the natural influence of those who com- 
pose it. In this respect, talent and skillj,- 
besides their direct utilitj-, have a secondary; 
value of no small importance. Together- 
with the other circumstances which com- 
mand respect or attachment among men, — 
with popularity, with fame, with property, 
with liberal education and condition, — they 
form a body of strength, which no law could 
give or take away. As far as an assembly 
is deprived of any of these natuial princi- 
ples of authorhy, so lar it is weakened both 
for the purpose of resi.sling the usurpations 
of government and of i"^.aintaining the order; 
of society. 

An elective system tends also, in other 
material respects, to secure that free govern- 
ment, of which it is the most essential mem- 
ber. As it calls some of almost every class 
of men to share in legislative power, and 
many of all classes to exercise the highest 
franchises, it engages the pride, the honour,, 
and the private interest as well as the gene- 
rosity, of every part of ihe community, in 
defence of the constitution. Every noble 
sentiment, every reasonable consideration, 
every petty vanity, and every contemptible 
folly, are made to contribute towards its se- 
curity. The performance of some of its 
functions becomes part of the ordinary habits 
of bodies of men numerous enough to spread 
their feelings over great part of a nation. 

Popular representation thus, in various 
ways, tends to make governments good, and 
to make good governments secure : — these 
are its primary advantages. But free, that 
is just, governments, tend to ninkf men more 
intelligent, more honest, more brave, more 
generous. Liberty is the parent of genius, — 
the nurse of reason, — the inspirer of that 
valour which makes nations secure and 
powerful, — the incentive to that activity and 
enterprise to which they owe wealth and 
splendour, the school of those principles of 
humanity and justice v.hich bestow an un- 
speakably greater happiness, than any of the 
outward advantages of which they are the 
chief sources, and the sole guardians. 

These effects of free government on the 
character of a people, may, i]i one sense, be 
called indirect and secondary ; but they are 
not the less to be considered as among its 
greatest blessings: and it is scarcely neces- 
sary to observe, how much they tend to en- 
large and secure the liberty from which they 
spring. But their effect will perhaps be 
better shown by a more particular view of 
2p2 



474 



IMACKIXTOSH'S INIISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



the influence of popular elections on the 
character of the ditreieiit classes of the com- 
munity. 

To begin with the higher classes : — the 
English nobility, who are blended with the 
gentry bj" imperceptible shades, are the most 
opulent and powerful order of men in Europe. 
They are comparatively a small body, who 
unite great legal privileges with ample pos- 
sessions, and names both of recent renown 
and historical glory. They have attained 
almost all the objects of human pursuit. 
They are surrounded by every circumstance 
which might seem likely to fill them with 
arrog-ance, — to teach tluMn to scorn their in- 
feriors, and which might naturally be sup- 
posed to extinguish enterprise, and to lull 
every power of ihe understanding to sleep. 
What has preserved their character ? What 
makes them capable of serving or adorning 
their country as orators and poets, men of 
letters and men of business, in as great a 
proportion as in any equal number of the 
best educated classes of their countrymen'? 
Surely only one solution can be given of these 
phenomena, peculiar to our own country.* 
Where all the ordinary incentives to action 
are withdrawn, a free constitution excites it, 
by presentuia^ political power as a new object 
of pursuit. By rendering that power in a 
great degree dependeiit on popular favour, it 
compels the highest to treat their fellow- 
creatures with decency and courtesy, and 
disposes the best of them to feel, that inferiors 
in station may be supeiiors in worth, as they 
are equals in right. Hence chiefly arises 
that useful preference for (Country life, which 
distinguishes the English gentry from that 
of other nations. In despotic countries they 
flock to the court, where all their hopes are 
fixed : but here, as they have much to hope 
from the people, they must cultivate the 
esteem, and even court the favour of their 
own natural dependants. They are quicken- 
ed in the pursuit of ambition, by the rivalship 
of that enterprising talent, which is stimu- 
lated by more urgent motives. These dis- 
positions and manners have become, in some 
measure, independent of the causes which 
originally produced them, and extend to 
many on whom these causes could have little 
operation. In a great body, we must allow 
for every variety of form and degree. It is 
sufficient that a system ot| extensively popu- 
lar repres'Mitation has, in a course of time, 
produced this general character, and that the 
English democracy is the true preservative 
o\ the talents and virtues of the aristocracy. 

Th^T eflVcts of the elective franchise upon 
the humbler classes, are, if possible, still 

* To be quiie correct, we must remind the rea- 
der, that we speak of the character of ihe whole 
body, composed, as it is, of a small mimher. In 
a body like the French noblesse, amounting per- 
haps to a hundred thousand, many of whom were 
acted upon by the strongest siimulants of neces- 
eity, and, in a country of such diffused intelligence 
as France, il would have been a miracle if many 
had not risen to eminence in the state, and in let- 
ters, as well as in their natural profession of arms. 



more obvious and important. By it the pea- 
sant is taught to " venerate himself as a 
man" — to employ his thoughts, at least oc- 
casionally, upon high matters, — to meiiilate 
on the same subjects with the wise and the 
great, — to enlarge his feelings beyond the 
circle of his narrow concern.'^, — to sympa- 
thise, however irregularly, with great bodies 
of his fellow-creatures, and sometimes to do 
acts which he may reganl as contributing 
directly to the welfare of his country. IMuch 
of this good tendency is doubtless counter- 
acted by other circumstances. The outward 
form is often ridiculous or odious. The judg- 
ments of the ninUitude are never exact, and 
their feelings often grossly misapplied : but, 
after all possible deductions, great benefits 
must remain. The important object is, that 
they should think and feel, — that they should 
contemplate extensive consequences as capa- 
ble of arising from their own actions, and 
thus gradually become conscious of the moral 
dignity of their nature. 

Among the very lowest classes, w here the 
disorders of elections are the most ollensive, 
the moral importance of the elective fran- 
chise is, in some respects, the greatest. As 
individuals, they feel themselves of no con- 
sequence ; — hence, in part, arises their love 
of numerous assemblies, — the only scenes in 
which the poor feel their importance. Brought 
together for elections, their tumultuary dis- 
position, which is little else than a desire to 
display their short-lived consequence, is 
gratified at the expense of inconsiderable 
evils. It is useful that the pride of the high- 
est should be made occasionally to bend 
before them, — that the greatest objects of 
ambition should be partly at their dispo.sal ; 
it teaches tliem to feel that tliey also are 
men. It is to the exercise of this iianchise, 
by some bodies of our lowest classes, that we 
are to ascribe that sense of equality, — that 
jealousy of right, — that grave independence, 
and calm pride, which has been obseiveil by 
foreigners as marking the deportment of Eii- 
glishmen. 

By thus laying open some of the particular 
modes in which representation produces its 
advantages to the whole community, and to 
its sepaiate classes, we hope that v e have 
contributed somewhat to the right decision 
of the practical question \\ hicli now presents 
itself to our view. Systems of election may 
be of very various kinds. The right of suf- 
frage may be limited, or universal; it may 
be secretly, or openly exercised ; the repre- 
sentatives may he directly, or indirectly, 
chosen by the people; and where a qualifi- 
cation is necessary, it may be uniform, or it 
may vary in different places. A variety of 
rights of suffrage is the principle of the En- 
glish representation. In the reign of Edward 
the First, as much as at the present moment, 
the members for counties were chosen by 
freeholders, and those for cities and towns 
by freemen, burg-age tenants, householders 
or freeholders. Now, we prefer this general 
principle of our representation to any unifoiin 



ON THE RIGHT OF PARLIAMENTARY SUFFRAGE. 



475 



right of suffrage; though we think that, in 
the present slate of things, thr;re are many 
particulars which, according to that principle, 
ought to be amended. 

Our reasons for this preference are shortly 
these: — every uniform system which se- 
riously differs from universal suffrage, must 
be founded on such a qualification, as to take 
away the elective franchise from those por- 
tions of the inferior classes who now enjoy 
it. Even the condition of paying direct taxes 
would disfranchise many. Alter what we 
have already said, on the general subject of 
representation, it is needless for us to add, 
that we should consider such a disfranchise- 
ment as a most pernicious mutilation of the 
representative system. It has already been 
seen, how much, in our opinion, the proper 
composition of the House of Commons, the 
justice of the government and the morality 
of the people, depend upon the elections 
which would-be thus sacrificed. 

This tentlency of an uniform qualification 
is visible in the new French system. The 
qualification for the electors, is the annual 
payment of direct taxes to the amount of 
about 121. When the wealih of ihe two 
countries is compared, it will be apparent 
that, in this countrj', such a system would 
be thought, a mere aristocracy. In France, 
the result is a body of one hundred thousand 
electors;* and in the situation and temper of 
the French nation, such a scheme of repre- 
sentation may be eligible. But we mention 
it only as an example, that every uniform 
qualification, which is not altogether illusorj', 
must incline towards independent propert)', 
as being the only ground on which it can 
rest. The reform of Cromwell had the same 
arLstocratical character, though in a far less 
degree. It nearly excluiled what is called 
the "populace;" and, for that reason, is 
commended by the most sagacioust of our 
Tory writers. An uniform qualification, in 
short, must be so hi^h as to exclude true 
popular election, or so low, as to be liable to 
most of the objections which we shall pre- 
sently ofler against universal suffrage. It 
seems difficult to conceive how it could be 
so adjusted, as not eittier to impair the spirit 
of liberty, or to expose the quiet of society 
to continual hazard. 

Onr next objection to uniformity is, that it 
exposes the difference between the proprie- 
tors and the indigent, in a way offensive and 
degrading to the feelings of the latter. The 
difference itself is indeed real, and cannot be 
removed : but in our present system, it is 
disguised under a great variety of usajres; it 
is far from uniformly regulating the franchise ; 
and, even where it does, this invidious dis- 
tinction is not held out in its naked form. It 
is something; also, that the system of various 
rights does not constantly thrust forward that 
qualification of property which, in its undis- 

* The population of France is now [1818, Ed.] 
estimaied at tweniy-nirie millions and a half. 
+ Clarendon, Hume, &c. 



guised state, may be thought to teach the 
peojjle too exclusive a regard for wealth. 

This variety, by giving a very great weight 
to property in eome elections, enables us 
safely to allow an almost unbounded scope 
to popular feeling in others. While some 
have fallen under the influence of a few great 
proprietors, others border on universal suf- 
frage. All the intermediate varieties, and 
all their possible combinations, find their 
place. Let the reader seriously refli-ct how 
all the sorts of men, who are neces.«ary com- 
ponent parts of a good House of Commons, 
could on any other scheme find thtir v. ay to 
it. We have already sufficiently animad- 
verted on the mischief of excluding popular 
leaders. Would there be no misfhief in ex- 
cluding those important classes of men, whose 
character unfits them for success in a can- 
vass, or whose fortune may be unequal to 
the expense of a contest ? A representative 
assembly, elected by a low uniform quali- 
fication, would fluctuate between country- 
gentlemen and dema;;o£rues: — elected on a 
high qualification, it would probably exhibit 
an unequal contest between landholders and 
courtiers. All other interests would, on either 
system, be unprotected : no other cla.ss would 
contribute its contingent of skill ai;d know- 
ledge to aid the deliberations of the legisla- 
ture. 

The founders of new commonwealths 
must, we confess, act upon some uniform 
principle. A builder can seldom imitate, 
with success, all the fantastic but picturesque 
and comfortable irregularities, of an old man- 
sion, which through a course of ages has been 
repaired, enlarged, and altered, according to 
the pleasure of various owners. This is one 
of the many disadvantages attendant on the 
lawgivers of infant states. Something, per- 
haps, by great skill and caution, they might 
do; but their wisdom is most shown, after 
guarding the grpat principles of liberty, by 
leaving time to do the rest. 

Though we are satisfied, by the above and 
by many other considerations, that we ought 
not to exchange our diversified elections for 
any general qualification, we certainly consi- 
der universal suffraire as beyond calculation 
more mischievous than any other uniform 
right. The reasons which make it important to 
liberty, that the elective franchise should be 
exercised by large bodies of the lower classes, 
do not in the least degree require that it 
should be conferred on them all. It is ne- 
cessary to their security from oppression, that 
the whole class should have some represen- 
tatives : but as their interest is every where 
the same, representatives elected by one 
body of them are necessarily the guardians 
of the rights of all. The great object of 
representation for them, is to be protected 
against violence and cruelty. Sympathy with 
suffering, and indignation against cruelty, are 
easily excited in numerous assfmblies, and 
must either be felt or assumed by all their 
members. Popular elections generally insure 
the return of some men, who shrink from no 



476 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



appeal, however invidious, on behalf of the 
oppressed. We must again repeat, that we 
consider such men as invaluable members 
of a House of Commons; — perhaps their 
number is at present too small. What we 
now maintain is, that, though elected by one 
place, they are in truth the representatives 
of the same sort of people in other places. 
Their number must be limited, unless we 
are willing to exclude other interests, and to 
sacrifice other most important objects of 
representation. 

The e.vercise of the elective franchise by 
some of the labouring classes, betters the 
character, raises the spirit, and enhances the, 
consequence of all. An English farmer or 
artisan is more high-spirited and independent 
than the same classes in despotic countries; 
but nobody has ever observed that there is 
in England a like difference between the 
husbandman and mechanic, who have votes, 
and who have not. The exclusion of the 
class degrades the whole : but the admission 
of a part bestows on the whole a sense of 
importance, and a hold on the estimation of 
their superiors. It must be admitted, that a 
small infusion of popular election would not 
produce these effects: whatever might seem 
to be the accidental privilege of a few, would 
have no influence on the rank of their fellows. 
It must be considerable, and, — what is per- 
haps still more necessary, — it must be con- 
spicuous, and forced on the attention by the 
circumstances which excite the feelings, and 
strike the imagination of mankind. The 
value of external dignity js not altogether 
confined to kings or senates. The people 
also have their majesty ; and they too ought 
to display their importance in the exercise 
of their rights. 

The question is, whether all interests will 
be protected, where the repre.sentatives are 
chosen by all men, or where they are elect- 
ed by considerable portions only, of all 
classes of men. This question will perhaps 
be more clearly answered by setting out 
from examples, than from general reason- 
ings. If we suppose Ireland to be an inde- 
pendent state, governed by its former House 
of Commons, it will at once be admitted, 
that no shadow of just government existed, 
where the legislature were the enemies, in- 
stead of being the protectors, of the Catholics, 
who formed a great class in the community. 
That this evil was most cruelly aggravated 
by the numbers of the oppressed, is true. 
But, will it be contended, that such a go- 
vernment was unjust, only because the Ca- 
tholics were a majority'? We have only then 
to suppose the case reversed ; — that the Ca- 
tholics were to assume the whole power, 
and to retaliate upon the Protestants, by ex- 
cluding them from all political privilege. 
Would this be a just or equal government? 
That will hardly be avowed. But what 
would be the effect of establishing universal 
suffrage in Ireland ? It would be, to do that 
in substance, which no man would propose 
in form. The Catholics, forming four-fifths of 



the population, would, as far as depends on 
laws, possess the whole authority of the state. 
Such a government, instead of protecting all 
interests, would be founded in hostility to 
that which is the second interest in numbers, 
and in many respects the first. The oppress 
sors and the oppressed would, indeed, change 
places ; — we should have Catholic tyrants, 
and Protestant slaves: but our only conso- 
lation would be, that the island would con- 
tain more tyrants, and fewer slaves. If there 
be per.sons who believe that majorities have 
any power over the eternal principles of jus- 
tice, or that numbers can in the least degree 
affect the difierence between right and 
wrong, it would be vain for us to argue 
against those with whom we have no prin- 
ciples in common. To all others it must be 
apparent, that a representation of classes 
might possibly be so framed as to secure 
both interests; but that a representation of 
numbers must enslave the Protestant mi- 
nority. 

That the majority of a people may be a 
tyrant as much as one or a few, is most ap- 
parent in the cases where a state is divided, 
by conspicuous marks, into a permanent ma- 
jority and minority. Till the principles of 
toleration be universally felt, as well as ac- 
knowledged, religion will form one of these 
cases. Till reason and morality be far more 
widely diffused than they are, the outward 
distinctions of colour and feature will form 
another, more pernicious, and less capable 
of remedy. Does any man doubt, that the 
establishment of universal suffrage, among 
emancipated slaves, would be only another ^ 
word for the oppression, if not the dcstruc- { 
tion, of their former masters'? But is slavery 
itself really more unjust, where the slaves 
are a majority, than where they are a mi- 
nority? or may it not be said, on the con- 
trary, that to hold men in slavery is most 
inexcusable, where society is not built on 
that unfortunate foundation, — where the sup- 
posed loss of the labour would be an incon- 
siderable evil, and no danger could be pre- 
tended from their manumission ? Is it not 
apparent, that the lower the right of suffrage 
descends in a country, where the whites are 
the majority, the more cruel would be the op- 
pression of the enslaved minority ? An aris- 
tocratical legislature might consider, with 
some impartiality, the disputes of the free 
and of the servile labourers; but a body, in- 
fluenced chiefly by the first of these rival 
classes, must be the oppressors of the latter. 

These, it may be said, are extreme cases; 
— they are selected for that reason : but the 
principle which they strikingly illustrate, 
will, on a very httle reflection, be found ap- 
plicable in some degree to all communities 
of men. 

The labouring clas.ses are in every country 
a perpetual majority. The diffusion of edu- 
cation will doubtless raise their minds, and 
throw open prizes for the ambition of a few 
which will spread both activity and content 
among me rest : but in the present slate of 



ON THE RIGHT OF PARLIAMENTARY SUFFRAGE. 



477 



the popjlation and territory of European 
countries, the majority of men must earn 
their subsistence by daily labour. Notwith- 
standing local differences, persons in this situ- 
ation have a general resemblance of charac- 
ter, and sanneness of interest. Their ijiterest, 
or what they think thinr interest, may be at 
variance with the real or supposed interests 
of the higher orders. If they are considered 
as forming, in this respect, one class of so- 
ciety, a share in the representation may be 
allotted to them, sufficient to protect their 
interest, compatibly with the equal protec- 
tion of the interests of all other classes, and 
regulated by a due regard to all the quahties 
which are required in a well-composed le- 
gislative assembly. But if representation be 
proportioned to numbers alone, every other 
interest in society is placed at the disposal 
of the multitude. No other class can be 
effectually represented ; no other class can 
have a political security for justice ; no other 
can have any weight in the dehberations of 
the legislature. No talents, no attainments, 
but such as recommend men to ihe favour 
of the multitude, can have any admission 
into it. A representation so constituted, 
would produce the same practical effects, 
as if every man whose income was above a 
certain amount, were excluded from the 
right of voting. It is of httle moment to the 
proprietors, whether ihey be disfranchised, 
or doomed, in every election, to form a hope- 
less minority. 

Nor is this all. A representation, founded 
on numbers only, would be productive of 
gross inequality in that very class to which 
all others are sacrificed. The difference be- 
tween the people of the country and those 
of towns, is attended with consequences 
which no contrivance of law can obviate. 
Towns are the nursery of pohtical feeling. 
The frequency of meeting, the warmth of 
discussion, the variety of pursuit, the rival- 
ship of interest, the opportunities of informa- 
tion, even the fluctuations and extremes of 
fortune, direct the minds of their inhabitants 
to pubjic concerns, and render them the 
seats of republican governments, or the pre- 
servers of liberty in monarchies. But if this 
difference be considerable among educated 
men, it seems immeasurable when we con- 
template its effects on the more numerous 
classes. Among them, no strong public senti- 
ment can be kept up without numerous meet- 
ings. It is chiefly when they are animated 
by a view of their own strength and numbers. 
— when they are stimulated by an eloquence 
suited to their character, — and when the pas- 
.sions of each are strengthened by the like 
emotions of the multitude which surround 
him, that the thoughtsof such men are direct- 
ed to subjects so far from their common call- 
ings as the concerns of the commonwealth. 
All these aids are necessarily wanting to the 
dispersed inhabitants of the country, whose 
frequent meetings are rendered impos.sible 
by distance and poverty, — who have few 
opportunities of being excited by discussion 



or declamation, and very imperfect means 
of correspondence or concert with those at 
a di.stance. An agricultural people is gene- 
rally submissive to the laws, and observant 
of the ordinary duties of life, but stationary 
and stagnant, without the enterprise which 
is the source of improvement, and the public 
spirit which preserves liberty. If the whole 
political power of the state, therefore, were 
thrown into the hands of the lowest classes, 
it would be really exercLsed only by the 
towns. About two-elevenlhs of the people 
of England inhabit "towns which have a 
population of ten thousand souls or upwards. 
A body so large, strengthened by union, dis- 
cipline, and spirit, would without difficulty 
domineer over the ]ife!e!=;s and scattered 
peasants. In towns, the lower part of the 
middle classes are sometimes tame; while 
the lowest class are alv\ays su.'^ceptible of 
animation. But the small freeholders, and 
considerable farmers, acquire an indepen- 
dence from iheir position, w hich makes ihem 
very capable of public spirit. While the 
classes below them are incapable of being 
permanently rendered active elements in any 
political combination, the dead weight of 
their formal suffrages would only oppress 
the independent votes of their superiors. 
All active talent would, in such a case, fly 
to the towns, where alone its power could 
be felt. The choice of the country would 
be dictated by the cry of the towns, where- 
ever it was thought worth while to take it 
from the quiet influence of the resident pro- 
prietors. Perhaps the only contrivance, which 
can in any considerable degree remedy the 
political inferiority of the iidiabitants of the 
country to those of towns, has been adopted 
in the English constitution, which, while it 
secures an ascendant of landholders in the 
legislature, places the disposal of its most 
honoured and envied seats in the hands of 
the lowest classes among the agricultural 
population, who are capable of employing 
the right of suffrage with spirit and effect. 

They who think representation chiefly 
valuable, because whole nations cannot meet 
to deliberate in one place, have formed a 
very low notion of this great improvement. 
It is not a contrivance for conveniently col- 
lecting or blindly executing all the pernicious 
and unjust resolutions of ignorant multitudes. 
To correct the faults of democratical govern- 
ment, is a still more important object of 
representation, than to extend the sphere to 
which that government may be applied. It 
balances the power of the multitude by the 
influence of other classes: it substitutes 
skilful lawgivers for those who are utterly 
incapable of any legislative function ; and 
it continues the trust long enough to guard 
the legislature from the temporary delusions 
of the people. By a system of universal 
suffrage and annual elections, all these tem- 
peraments would be destroyed. The effect 
of a crowded population, in increasing the 
intensity and activity of the political pas- 
sions, is extremely accelerated in cities of 



•ITS 



MACKINTOSirS MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



the first oluss. Tlio poiiuUilioii of Loiulon 
ami its environs is noarly t'qiial to that of all 
othiM' towns in Kni^land of oi above ten tliou- 
sand souls. Aoeoiiling to the principle of 
universal sudVaoe, it woulil contain about 
two humlred and lifty thousand electors; and 
send lifly-tive members to Parliament. This 
eleetoral army would be occupied tor the 
whole year in election or canvass, or in the 
endless animosities in which both would be 
fertile. A Inuulred candniates for their suf- 
'rages would be ilaily emj^loyed in inllamiug 
their passions. No time for deldnMaliou, — 
no interval of re^iose in which inllanied pas- 
sions might subsiile, could e.vi.st. The repre- 
sentatives would naturally be the most da- 
ring, and, for their purposes, the ablest of 
their body. They must l(>ad or overawe 
the legislature. Every transient delusion, or 
momentary ])hrensy of which a multitude 
is susceptible, must rush with unresisted 
violence into the representative body. Such 
a represeulation would tlitier in no b(>nelicial 
respect i'nnn the wildest democracy. It 
would be a democracy clotluul in a specious 
disguise, and armed with more etfective in- 
struments of opprt\ssion, — but not wis(>r or 
more ju.st than the democracies-of old, which 
Hobbes called "an ariytocracii of orators, 
sometimes interrupted by the moiiarcliii of a 
siuglo orator." 

It may be said that such reasonings sup- 
pose the absence of those moral restraints 
of property and opinion which would temper 
the e.vercise of this, as well as of every other 
kind of sullVage. Landholders would still 
iulluence their tenants, — farmers their la- 
bourers, — artisans and manufacturers those 
whom they employ; — property would still 
retain its power over those who depend on 
the propritMor. To this statement we in 
some respects accede; and on it we build 
our last and most conclusive argument ag-aiust 
universal sutlrage. 

It is true, that in very quiet times, a multi- 
plication of liepeudent voters wouKl oidy 
augment the in'duence of wealth. If votes 
were bestowed on every private soldier, the 
efTect would be only to give a thousand votes 
to the conunandinu- oliicer who marched his 
battalion to the poll. Whenever the people 
felt little interest in public allairs, the same 
power would be e.vercised by every master 
throuiih his dependants. The trailers who 
employ many labourers in great cities would 
possess the highest power; tlie great consu- 
mers and landholders would engross the re- 
maind(>r; the rest of thi> people would be 
insigniticant. As the multitude iscomposeil 
of those individuals who are most incapable 
of fi.ved opinions, and as they are, in their 
collective capacity, peculiarly alive to pre- 
sent impulse, there is no vice to which they 
are so liable as inconstancy. Their passions 
are quickly worn out by their own violence. 
They become weary of the excesses into 
which they have been ]>lunged. Lassitude 
•uud indill(Mence succet\l to their fur)-, and 
are proportioned to its violence. They aban- 

I 



dqii public affairs to any liaiid di.sjiosed to 
guide them. They give up their lavouiit<? 
mi-asures to reprolialion, and their darling 
haulers to destrnclioii. 'i'heir acclamations 
are often as loud around the scallold of the 
demagogue, as around his triumphal car. 

Under the elective system, against which 
we now argue, the opposite evils of too much 
streugtheiiing wealth, auit too much subject- 
ing property to the multituile, are likely, by 
turns, to prevail. In either case, in may bo 
observed that the power of the midille classes 
would be annihilateil. Society, on ^'-uch a 
system, would e.vhibit a series of alternate 
lits of phrensy and ItMliargy. When the 
people were naturally dispo.scd to violence, 
the moileof election would inilaint> it to mad- 
ness. ^Vllen they were too much inclined 
of themselves to listlessuess and apathy, it 
would lull lluMii to sleep. In these, as in every 
other respect, it is the reverse of a wi.scly con- 
stituted representation, w hich is a rt>straint on 
the people in times of hi-al, and a stimulant 
to their sluggishness when tlu-y would oIIkm'- 
wise fall into torpor. This even and steady 
interest in public concerns, is impossible in 
a scheme which, in every case, wouKl aggra- 
vate the predominant excess. 

It must never be forgotleu. that llu> whole 
proprietary body must be in a state of per- 
manent conspiracy ag-ainst an extreme de- 
mocracy. They are the natural enemies of 
a constitution, which grants them no power 
and no safety. Thouuh p.roperty is often 
borne down by the torrent of popular tyranny, 
yet it has many chances of prevailing at 
last. Proprietors have steadiness, vigilance, 
concert, secrecy, and, if need be, dissimula 
tion. They yiekl to the storm : they regain 
their natural ascendant in the calm. Not 
content with persuading the people to sub- 
mit to salutary restraints, ihey usually betiay 
them, by insensible degrees, into absolute 
submission. 

If the commonwealth does not take this 
road to slavery, tlu>re are many }nillis that 
lead to that state of ])erditiou. ''A ilema- 
gogu{> seizes on that tlespotic power, for him- 
self, which h(> for a long time has (wereiseil 
in the name of his faction ; — a victoriousgene- 
ral hnuls his army to enslave their country: 
and both these candidates for tyranny too 
often (iiid auxiliaries in those classes of so- 
ciety which are at length brought to ri>gard 
absolute monarchy as an asylum. Thus, 
wher(>ver property is not allowed great 
weii^ht in a fn-e state, it will destroy lib<'rty. 
The history of popular clamour, even iu Eng- 
land, is enouL;h to show that it is easy some- 
times to work the populace into "a sedition 
for slavery." 

These obvious consequences have di!»- 
posed most advocates of universal suflmge 
-to propose its combination with some other 
iugreilients, by which, they tell us, that the 
poison will be converted info a remedy. 
The eomposiliou now most in vogue is its 
uu'on with the Ballot. Before we proceed 
to tlie consideration of that proposal, we shall 



ON TIIE RKJUT OF PAJlLIAMEx\TARY SUFFRAGE. 



479 



bestow a f<!W words on some olhor plans 
which have boeii a(lopt(;d or proposed, to 
render unifoirn popular election consistent 
with public qui(!t. I'ho rnoHt remarkable 
of these arc that of Mr. Uiirne, where the 
freeholders and the inhabitants assessed to 
the poor, (dect ihoivi who are to name the 
members of tlie Supreme Council j-^that 
lately proposed in France, where a popular 
body wfjuld jjropose candidales, from whom 
a small number of the most considerable pro- 
prietors would select tin; representatives; — 
and the f-iofzular plan of Mr. Ilorne Tooke, 
which proposed to ^ive the ii'^]a of votiri;.^ 
to all persons rated to the land-tax or parish- 
rates at 2l. 2.S. per annum, on condition of 
their payiiif,' to the public 21. 2s. at the time 
of votnij;; but proviibnj^, thai if the number 
of voters in any district fell short of four 
thousand, every man rated at 201. peranrmm 
uii^'ht ;:i;ive a second vote, on again paying 
the same sum; and making the same provi- 
sion, in case of the same failure, for third, 
fourth, fiflii, &e. voles for every additional 
100/. at which tlie voter is rated, till the 
number of four thousand votes for the dis- 
trict should be completed. 

This plan of Mr. Tooke is {in ingenious stra- 
tagem lor augmenting the power of wealth, 
under pretence of bestowing the suffrage 
almost universally. To that of Mr. Hume 
it is a decisive objection, that it leaves to the 
peo[)le only those subordinate elections which 
would excite no interest in their mind.s, and 
would consequently fail in attaining one of 
the principal objects of jjopular elections. 
All schemes for separating the proposition 
of candidates for public office from the choice 
of the ofncers, become in practicie a power 
of nomination in the proposers. It is easy to 
leave no choice to the electors, by coupling 
the favoared candidates with none but such 
as are absolutely ineligible. Yet one reason- 
able object is common to these projects : — 
they all aim at subjecting elections to the 
joint influence of property and popularity. 
In noiHMjf ihem is overlooked ihf; grand prin- 
ciple of.eriually 8"f;uririg all orders of rnen, 
and interesting all in the maintenance of the 
constitution. It is possible that any of them 
might be in some measure effectual ; but it 
would be an act of mere wantonness in us 
to make the experiment. By that variety of 
rights of KufTrage which seems so fantastic, 
the English constitution hasproviiled for the 
union of the principles of property and popu- 
lapity. in a manner much more efleclual than 
those which the most celebrat(;d theorists 
have imagined. Of the three, ptirhaps the 
least unpromising is that of Mr. Tooke, be- 
cause it approaches nearest to the forms of 
public and truly popular elections. 

In the system now established in France, 
where the right of suffrage is confined to 
those who ])ay direct taxes amou/iting to 
twelve ])fjuiids by the year, the object is evi- 
dently to vest the whole power in the hands 
of the middling clas.ses. The Royalists, who 
are still proprietors of the greatest estates in 



the kingdom, would have prriferrcd a greater 
extension of suffrage, in order to multiply 
the votes of their dependants. Hut, as the 
subdivision of forfeited estates has created a 
numerous body of small land-owners, who 
are deej)ly interested in maintaining the new 
institutions, the law, which gives them almost 
the whole elective power, may on tliat ac- 
count be apj)rov<;d as politic. As a general 
regulation, it is very objeciionabli;. 

If we were; compelled to coidine all elec- 
tive influence to one order, we must indeed 
vest it in the middling classes ; both because 
th';y possess the largest share of sense and 
virtue, and because they have the moft 
numerous cotniections of interest with the 
other parts of society. It is right that they 
should have a preponderating influence, be- 
cause they are likely to make the best choice. 
Rut that 13 not the sole object of representa- 
tion ; and, if it were, thrre are not wanting 
circumstances which render it unfit that they 
should engross the whole influence. Per- 
haps ihc.m never was a time or country in 
which the middling classes wrro of a cha- 
racter so res[)ectable and improving as they 
are at this day in Great Britain : but it un- 
fortunately hai)penB, that this sound and pure 
body have more to ho};e from the favour of 
Government tlian any other part of the nation. 
The hiiiher classes may, it th(-y please, be 
independent of its influi'iice; the lovier are 
almost below its direct action. On the mid- 
dling classes, it acts with concentrated and 
unbroken force. Independent of that local 
consideration, the virtues of that excellent 
class are generally of a circumspect nature, 
and apt to degenerate into timidity. They 
have little of that political boidness w'hich 
sometimes belongs to commanding fortune, 
and often, in too great a degree, to thought- 
less poverty. They require encouragement 
and guidance from higher leaders, and they 
need excitement from the numbers and even 
turbulence of their inferiors. The end of 
representation is not a medin.m between 
wr'allh and numbers, but a combination of 
the influence of both. It is the result of the 
separate action of great property, of delibe- 
rate opinion, and of popular epiril, on different 
parts (rf the political system. 

'•That principle of representation," sJd 
Mr. Fox, " is the best which calls into ac- 
tivity the greatest number of independent 
votes, and excludes those whose condition 
takes from them the powers of deliberation." 
ihit even this principle, true in general, can- 
not be universally applied. Many who are 
neither independent nor capable of delibera- 
tion, are at present lightly vested with the 
elective franchise, — not because they are 
qualified to make a good general choice of 
members, — but because they indirectly con- 
tribute to secure the good composition and 
right conduct of the legislature. 

The question of the Ballot remains. On 
the Ballot the advocates of universal suffrage 
seem exclusively to rely for the defence 
of their scherhes: without it, they appear 



4S0 



]\IACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



tacitly to admit tliat universal suflVage would 
be an iiiipini-ticable a!i<i pernicious proposal. 

But all nniies iti the kingdom, it is said, 
may annually vote at elections with quiet 
and iudejiendence, if the Hallot enables them 
to give their voles secretly. Whelher this 
expectation be rea.sonable, is the question on 
which the decision of the dispute seems now 
to tlepend. 

The tirst objection to this proposal is, that 
the Ballot would not pro:iuce secrecy. Even 
in those classes ot men v,ho are most ac- 
customed to keep their own secret, the ellect 
ol' the Ballot is very unequal and uncertain. 
The common case of clubs, in which a small 
minority is generally suthcient to exclude a 
c;indidate, may serve as an example. ^Vhere 
the club is numerous, the secret may be 
kept, as it is ditlicull lo distinguish the few 
who reject : hut in small clubs, where the 
dissentients may amount to a consiilerable 
proportion of the whole, they are almost 
always ascertained. The practice, it is true, 
is, in these cases, still uset'ul ; but it is only 
because it is agreed, by a sort of tacit con- 
vention, that an exclusion by Ballot is not a 
just cause of offence : it prevents quarrel, 
not disclosure. In the House of Commons, 
Mr. Bentham allows that the Ballot does not 
secure secrecy or indeptMident choice. The 
example of the elections at the India House is 
very unfortunately selected; for every thing 
which a Ballot is suppo.sed to prevent is to be 
found in these elections: public and private 
canva,ss, — the iiiHuonco of personal friend- 
ship, connexion, gratitude, expeclation, — pro- 
mises almost uiuvorsally matle and observed, 
— votes generally if ;;ot always known, — as 
much reg-ard, indeed, to public grounds of 
preference as in most other bodies, — but 
.scarcely any exclusion of private motives, 
unless it be the apprehension of 'eeuiring re- 
sentment, which is naturally coniiiicd within 
narrow limits, by the independent condition 
of the greater part of the electors. In gene- 
ral, indeed, they refuse the secrecy which 
the legislature seems to tender to them. 
From kindness, from esteem, from other 
m'otives, they are desirious that their votes 
should be known to candidates whom they 
favour. And what is disclosed to friends, 
is speedily discovered by opponents. 

If the Ballot should be thought a less of- 
fensive mode of voting against an individual 
than the voice, this slight advantage is alto- 
gether confined to those classes of society 
who have leisure for such fantastic refine- 
ments. But are any such influences likely, 
or rather sure, to act on the two millions of 
voters who would be given to us by univer- 
sal suffrage 1 Let us examine them closely. 
Will the country labourer ever avail himself 
of the proffered means of secrecy ? To be- 
lieve this, we must suppose that he performs 
the most important act of his life, — that 
which most flatters his pride, and gratifies 
his inclination, — without speaking of his in- 
leatioa before, or boasting of his vote when 
ba has given it. His life has no secrets. 



The circle of his village is too small for con- 
cealment. His wife, liis children, his fellow- 
labourers, the companions ot his reereationsi, 
know all that heiloes, and almost all that he 
thinks. Can any one believe that he would 
pass the evening before, or the evening alter 
the day of election, at his alehouse, wrapt 
up in the secrecy of a Venetian senator, and 
concealing a sufi'rage as he would do a mur- 
der? If his character disposed him to se- 
crecy, would his situation allow it 1 His 
landlord, or his employer, or their agents, or 
the leaders of a jiarty in the election, could 
never have any ditiicully in discovering him. 
The simple acts of writing his vote, of de- 
livering it at the poll, or sending it if he could 
not attend, would betray his secret in spite 
of the most complicated Ballot ever contrived 
in Venice. In great towns, the veiy men- 
tion of secret sufiVage is ridiculous. By what 
contrivance are public meetings of the two 
hundred and fifty thousand London electors 
to be prevented ? There may be cjuiet and 
secrecy at the poll ; but this does not in the 
least prevent ]Hiblicity and tumult at other 
meetings occasioned by the eU'ction. A cau- 
tlidate will not forciio the means of succesa 
which such meetings ailoni. The votes of 
those who attend them must be always 
known. If the Council of Ten were dispersed 
among a AVcstminster mob^^hile candidates 
were speaking, they would catch its spirit, 
and betray their votes by huzzas or hi.sses. 
Candidates and their partis;ins, committees 
in parishes, agents in every street during an 
active canvass, would quiekly learn the se- 
cret of almost any man in Westminster. The 
few who afl'ected mystery would be tletecled 
by their neighbours. The evasive answer 
of the ablest of such dissemblers to his fa- 
voured friend or party, would be observably 
different, at least in tone and maimer, from 
that.which he gave to the enemy. The zeal, 
attachment, and enthusiasm, which must 
prevail m vsuch elections, as long as they con- 
tinue really jiopular, would probably bring 
all recurrence to means of secrecy into dis- 
credit, and very speedily into geneial disuse. 
Even the smaller tradesmen, to whom the 
Ballot miiiht seem desirable, as a shield from 
the displeasure of their opulent customers, 
would betray the part they took in the elec- 
tion, by their ambition to be leaders in their 
parishes. The formality of the Ballot might 
remain: but the object of secrecy is incom- 
patible with the nature of such elections. 

The second objection is, that if secrecy of 
suffrage could be really adopted, it Avould, 
in practice, contract, instead of extending, 
the elective fianchise, by abating, if not ex- 
tinguishing, the strongest inducements to its 
exercise. All wise laws contain in them- 
selves effectual means for their own execu- 
tion : but, where votes are secret, scarcely 
any motive for voting is left to the majority 
of electors. In a blind eagerness to free the 
franchise from influence, nearly aU the com- 
mon motives for its exercise are taken away. 
The common elector is neither to gain the 



ON THE RIGHT OF PARLIAMENTARY SUFFRAGE. 



481 



favour of his superiorB, nor the kiiulriesB of 
his fallows, nor tho ^ratitU(l« of the ciindi- 
dalf;; for whom ho votes: from all thfsr-, se- 
crecy must exclude him. He is forbidden 
to strengthen his conviction)— to kindle his 
zeal, — to con(iuer hi."! fearft or seifishner.s, in 
numerous meetings of those with whom he 
agrees; for, if he attends such meetings, he 
must publish his suffrage, and the Ballot, in 
liis case, becomes altogether illusory. Every 
blamable motive of interest, — every p;irdon- 
able inducement of personal impartialit)-, is, 
indeed, taken away. But w hat is left in their 
place ? Nothing but a mere sense of pub- 
lic duty, unaided by the popular discipline 
which gives fervour and vigour to public 
sentiments. A wise lawgiver does not trust 
to a general sense of duly in the most unim- 
portant law. If such a principle could be 
tru.sted, laws would be unnecessary. Yet 
to this cold feeling, stripped of all its natural 
and most powerful aicfs, would the system 
of secret sufTrage alone tru.st for its execu- 
tion. At the poll it is said to be sufficient, 
because all temptations to do ill are sup- 
posed to be taken away : but the motives by 
which electors are induced to go to a poll, 
have been totally overlooked. The infe- 
rior classes, for whom this whole system is 
contrived, would, in its practice, be speedily 
disfranchised. They would soon relinquisn 
a privilege when it was reduced to a trouble- 
some duty. Their public principles are often 
generous; but they do not arise from secret 
rr.editation, and they do not flourish in soli- 
tude. 

Lastly, if secret suffrage were to be per- 
manently practised by all voters, it would 
deprive election of all its popular qualities, 
and of many of its beneficial effects. The 
great object of popular elections is, to in- 
spire and strengthen the love of liberty. 
On the strength of that sentiment freedom 
wholly depends, not only for its security 
against the power of time and of enemie.«, 
but for its efficiency and reality while it lasts. 
If we could suppose a people perfectly indif- 
ferent to political measures, and without any 
disjwsition to take a part in public affairs, 
the most perfect forms and institutions of 
liberty would be among them a dead let- 
ter. The most elaborate machinery would 
stand still for want of a moving power. In 
proportion as a people sinks more near to that 
slavish apath)', their constitution becomes 
so far vain, and their best laws impotent. 
Institutions are carried into effect by men, 
and men are moved to action by their feel- 
ing.-?. A system of liberty can be executed 
oidy by men who love libertj'. With the 
spirit of liberty, very unpromising forms 
grow into an excellent government : without 
it, the most specious cannot last, and are not 
worth preserving. The institutions of a free 
itate are safest and most effective, when nu- 
merous bodies of men exercise their politi- 
cal rights with pleasure and pride, — conse- 
quently with zeal and boldness, — when these 
rights are endeared to them by tradition and 
61 



by habit, as well as by conviction and feeN 
irig of their inestimable value, — and when 
the mode of exercising privileges is such a« 
to excite the sympathy of all who view it, 
and to spread through the whole society a 
jealous love of j)oi)nlar riirht, and a pronenesa 
to repel with indignation every encroach- 
ment on it. 

Popular elections contribute to those ob- 
jects, partly by the character of the majority 
of the eii.'ctors, and paitly by the mode in 
which they give their suffrage. Assemblies 
of the people of great cities, are indeed very 
ill (jualifietl to exercise authority; but with- 
out their occasional use, it can never be 
strongly curbed. Numbers are nowhere else 
to be collected. On numbers, alone, much 
of their power depends. In numerous meet- 
ings, every man catches animation from 
the feelings of his neighbour, and gathers 
courage from the strength of a- multitude. 
Such assemblies, and they alone, with all 
their defects and errors, have the privilege 
of inspiring many human beings with a per- 
fect, however transient, disinterestedness, 
and of rendering the most ordinary men 
capable of foregoing interest, and forgetting 
self; in the enthusiasm of zeal for a common 
cause. Their vices are a corrective of tho 
deliberating selfishness of their superiors. 
Their bad, as well as good qualities, render 
them the portion of society the most sus- 
ceptible of impressions, and the most acces- 
sible to public feelings. They are fitted to 
produce that democratic spirit which, tem- 
pered in its progress through the various 
classes of the community, becomes the vital 
principle of liberty. It is very true, that the 
occasional absurdity and violence of these 
meetings, often alienate men of timid virtue 
from the cause of liberty. It is enough for 
the present purpose, that in those long pe- 
riods to which political reasonings mu.st al- 
ways be understood to apply, they contribute 
far more to excite and to second, than to 
offend or alarm, the enlightened friends of 
the rights of the people. But meetings for 
election are by far the safest and the most 
effective of all popular assemblies. They 
are brought together by the constitution: 
they have a legal character; they display 
the ensigns of public authority ; they assem- 
ble men of all ranks and opinions : and, in 
them, the people publicly and conspicuously 
bestow some of the highest prizes pursued 
by a generous ambition. Hence they derive 
a consetjuence, and give a sense of self-im- 
portancr«, to their humblest members, which 
would be vainly sought for in spontaneous 
meetings. They lend a part of iheir own 
seriousness and dignity to other meeting« 
occasioned by the election, and even to those 
which, at other times are really, or even no- 
minally, composed of electors. 

In elections, political principles cease to 
be mere abstractions. They are crnbodied 
in individuals; and the cold conviction of a 
truth, or the languid approbation of a mea 
sure, is animated by attachment for leaders, 
2Q 



482 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



and hostility to advors;\iies. Every political 
passion is warmoil in tho oontfst. Even the 
outwaril oiiounistaiioos ol tlie scono strike 
the iinaiiiiialion, auil allVct tho fVeliiig's. Tho 
recital ot" ihcm ilaily sproaJs onlhiisiasin over 
a country. Tho various lortunos of the com- 
bat o\oito anxioty and aj::itation on all siilos; 
anil an opi>urtunily is olloroii ot" ilisoussiui;' 
almost every political qnostion, undtM' cir- 
cumstances in which tho hearts ot' boarei-s 
and readers take pirl in the aigument: till 
the issue of a controversy is reg^arded by the 
nation with some degree of the s;ime solici- 
tude as the event of a battle. In this man- 
ner is formed domocratical ascendency, 
wftich is most perfect when the greatest 
numbers of independont judgments inlluoiice 
tho measures of governmont. Reading maV; 
indeed, increase the number and intoUigvnoe 
of those whose sentiments compose public 
opinion ; but mnuerous assemblies, and coii- 
sequonlly popular elections, can alone gone- 
rate the courage and zeal which form so large 
a portion of its power. 

Willi theso etlocts it is apparent that secret 
sutrmgo IS absolutely incomiiatibie : they can- 
not exist together. Assemblies to elect, or 
assemblies during elections, make all sullVa- 
ges known. The publicity and boKIness in 
which voters give tlieir sutlVage are of the 
very essence of popular elections, and greatly 
contribute to tlioir animating ellect. Tho 
advocates of the Ballot tell us, indeed, that 
it \vould destroy canvass and tumult. But 
after the dostruct:o;i of the canvass, elections 
would no longer teach humility to the great, 
nor solt'-esteem to the humble. Wimo the 
causes of tumult destroyoti, elections would 
no longer be nurseries of political zeal, and 
instruments for rousing uaiional spirit. The 
frieuvls of liberty ought ralhor to view the 
turbulence of the people with indulgence and 
pardon, as powerfully temling to exercise and 
invigorate their public spirit. It is not to be 
e.vtingnished, but to be rendered s;ife by 
countervailing institutions of an opposite ten- 
dency on other parts of the constitutional 
system. 

Tho original fallacy, which is the source 
of all erroneous reasoning in favour of the 
Ballot, is the assumption that the value of 
popular elections chiefly depends on the ex- 
ercise of a deliberate judgment by the elec- 
tors. The whole anxiety of its advocates is 
to remove the causes which might disturb a 
considerate choice. In order to obtain such 
a choice, which is not the great purpose of 
popular elections, these speculators would 
deprive them of the power to excite and dif- 
fuse public spirit, — the great and inestima- 
ble service which a due proportion of such 
elections renders to a free state. In order to 
make the forms of democracy universal, their 
plan would universally extinguish its spirit. 
In a commonwealth where universal suflrage 
was already established, the Ballot might 
perhaps be admissible as an expedient for 
tempering such an extreme democracy. 
Even there, it might be objected to, as one 



I of those remedies for licentiousness which 
are likely to endanger liberty by ilostroyinj» 
all ilcmocratic spirit ; — it wouM bo one ot 
those dexterous trauds by which the jn'ople 

I are oIUmi weaned from the exeilioii of their 
privileges. 

The system which we oppose is establish- 
ed in tho Unitoil States of America ; and it 
is s;ud to bo attended with no misohiovons 

I oliocls. To this we answer, that, in America, 
univeis;il sullrage is not the rule, but the ex- 
ception. In twelve out of the uiuotoen states* 
which compose that immense coutodoracy, 
tho disgraceful instilution of slavery deprives 
great multitudes not only of political fran- 
chises, but of the indefeasible rights of all 
mankind. Tho numbers of the reproseuta- 
livos of the Slave-states in Congress is pro- 
portioned to their population, whether slaves 
or freemen; — a provision arising, iiuleed, 
from tho most abominable of all luiinan in- 
stitutions, but recognising the just principle, 
that property is one of the elements of every 
wise representation. In many states, the 
white complexion is a necessary ijualilica- 
tion for sntlVage, and the disfranchised are 
separated from tho privileged order by a phy- 
sical boundary, which no iiulividual can ever 
pass. In countries of slavery, whore to be 
tree is to be noble, the universal distribution 
of privilege among the ruling caste, is a na- 
tural consequence of tho aristocratical pride 
with which each man reg-ards the dignity of 
the whole order, especially when they are 
all distinguished from their slaves by the 
same conspicuous and indelible marks. Yet, 
in Virginia, which has long been the ruling 
state of the confederacy, even the citizens 
of the governing class cannot vote without 
the possession of a freehoUl estate. A real 
or personal estate is requireil in New Eng- 
land, — tho ancient seat of the characler and 
spirit of America, — the parent ot those sea- 
men, who. with a courage and skill wonhy 
of our common forefathers, have met the fol- 
lowers of Nelson in war, — the nursery of the 
intelligent and moral, as well as hardy and 
laborious race, who now annually colonize 
the vast regions of the West. 

But were the fact otherwise, America con- 
tains few large, and no very great towns; 
the people are dispersed, and ;vgricultural ; 
and, peniaps, a majority of the inhabitants 
are either land-owners, or have that imme- 



diate expectation of becoming proprietors, 
which produces nearly the same effect on 
character with the possession of property. 
Adventurers who, in other countries, disturb 
society, are there natui-ally attracted towards 
the frontier, where they pave the way for in- 
dustry, and become the pioneers of civiliza- 
tion. There is no part of their people in the 
situation where democracy is ciangerous, oi 
even usually powerful. The dispersion of 
the inhabitants, and their distance from lh«» 



* This was wTittPn in 1819. In 1845 the pro 
portion is thirteen Slave to fourteen Free atates 
exclusive of Texas. — Ed. 



ON THE RIGHT OF PARLIAMENTARY SIFFRAGE. 



483 



scene of ffrcat nffn'irH, are pr;rhaps likfjly ra- 
thf.T to rriakr; thr; spirit of libc-i ty among them 
lafigui(K than lo rou«(; it to cxcuhh. 

In wriat rriann';r the pi(,'S(!iit elective sys- 
tem ol Atrn-rica may act, at the remote pe- 
riod wli(;n the pro;(n;HS of society shall have 
co!i(luct(;d that country to the crowded cili<;f< 
and uneqnal rorturie.s of Enr<j[)e, no man will 
pielend to foresee;, except those whose pre- 
ttumpluoiJH folly di8.abl<;8 thern from forrninf^ 
probable conjectures on such subjects. If, 
from the unparalleled situation of America, 
the present usages should quietly prevail for 
a very long time, they rnay insensibly adapt 
themselves to trie gradual changes in the 
national condition, and at length be found 
ca[)able of subsisting in a state of things to 
wdiich, if the-y had been suddenly introduced, 
they would have proved irreconcilably arl- 
verse. In the thinly peopled states of the 
West, univeisal suffrage itself may be so lorjg 
exercised without the possibility of danger, 
as to create a national habit which rnay be 
strong ntiough to render its e«ercise safe in 
the midst of an indigent populace. In that 
long tranqnillity it may languish into forms, 
and these forms may soon follow ihe spirit. 
For a pf;riod far exceeding our foresight, it 
cannot affect the confederacy further than 
the (jffect v/hich may arise from very jjopu- 
lar elections in a few of the larger VVf-stern 
towns. The order of the interior country 
wherever it is adopt(;d, will be aided by the 
compression of its firmer and more compact 
confederates. It is even possible that the 
extremely popular system which prevails in 
some American elections, may, in future 
times, be found not more th;m sufTicient to 
counterbalance the growing influence of 
•wealth in the South, and the tendencies to- 
wards Toryism which arc of late perceptible 
in New England. 

The operation of different principles on 
elections, i[i various parts of the Continent, 
may even now be discerned. Some remarka- 
ble facts have already appeared. In the 
state of Pennsylvania, we nave* a practical 
proof that the Hallot is not attended with 
secrecy. We also know,t that committees 
composed of the leaders of the Federal and 
Democratic parlies, instruct their partisans 
how they are to vote at every election ; and 
that in this manner the leaders of iheDemo- 
• cratic party who now predominate in their 
Caucust or committee at Washington, do in 



* Fearon, Travels in North America, p. 138. 
How could ihia inielligfint writer treat the absence 
of tumult, in such a city and country, as bearin;? 
any rcBCmblancc to the like circumstance in Eu- 
rope 1 

t Ibid. p. 320. 

t The following account of this strange term, 
will show its probable origin, and the long-experi- 
enced efTicacy of such an cxpedir-nt for contro!lin;j 
the Ballot : — " About the year 1738, the father of 
Samuel Adams, and twenty others who lived in 
the north or Khipping part o< Bo.ston, used to meet, 
to make a Caucus, and lay their plan for intro- 
ducing certain persons into places of trust. Each 
distributed the ballots in bis own circle, and thev 



effect nominate lo all the important offices 
in North America. Thus, we already see 
combinations forrnerl, and interests arising, 
on which llie future government of the con- 
federacy may depend more than on the forms 
of election, or th'; h.ttrir of its present laws. 
Those who condemn the priiici{)le of party, 
may disjippiove these associations as uric^jn- 
stilutional. To us who consider parties as 
inse|)arable from liberty, they seem remark- 
able as exarn])les of tho.se undesigned and 
unforeseen correctives of inconvenient laws 
which spring out of the circurn.stances of 
WK;if;ty. 'i'he election of bo great a magis- 
trate as the President, by great numbers of 
electors, scattered over a vast continent, 
without ihe power of concert, or the means 
of iK.-rwjnal knowledge, wouM naturally pro- 
duce confusion, if it were not tempered by 
4h<; confidence of the members of both parties 
in the judgment of their respective leaders. 
The permanence of these leaders, slowly 
rai.sefl by a mrl of insensible election to the 
conduct of parties, tends to counteract the 
evil of that sy-stem of periridical removal, 
which is peculiarly inconvenient in its appli- 
cation to important executive offices. The 
internal discipline of parties may be found 
to be a principle of subordination of great 
value in rf![)ublican institutions. Certain it 
is, that the affairs of the United States have 
hitherto been generally administered, in 
times of great difficulty and under a succes- 
sion of Presidents, with a forbearance, cir 
cumspeclion, constancy, and vij'our, not sur 

Eassed by those common weal tns who have 
een most justly renowned for the wisdom 
of their councils. 

The only disgrace or danger which we^ 
perceive impending over America, arises 
from the execrable institution of f^lavery, — 
the unjust disfranchisement of free Blacks, — 
the trading in slaves carried on from state 
to state, — and the dissolute and violent cha- 
racter of those adventurers, whose impa- 
tience for guilty wealth sprea/Is the horrors 
of slavery over the new acquisitions in the 
Sfjulh. Let the lawgivers of that Imperial 
Republic deeply consider how powerfully 
these disgraceful circumstances tend to 
weaken the love of liberty, — the only bond 
which can hold together such vast territo- 
ries, and therefore the only source and 
guard of the tranquillity ancl greatness of^ 
America. 



generally carried the election. In this manner 
Mr. S. Adams first became representative for 
Boston. Caucunin/r means electioneering." — 
(Gordon, History of the American Revolution, p 
216, note.) It is conjectured, that as this practice 
originated in the shipping pari of Boston, ' Caucus' 
was a corruption ot Caulkers' Meeting. For this 
information we are indebted to Pickering's Ameri- 
can Vocabulary (Boston, 181f>); a modest and 
sensible book, of which the principal fault is, that 
the author ascribes too much importance to some 
English writers, who are not objects of rnuch 
reverence to a near observer. Mr. Pickering's 
volume, however, deserves a place in Engliah 
libraries. 



4S4 



RTACKINTOSirS RlISCKIJ.AMsOUS ESSAYS. 



A SPEECH 



DEFENCE OF JEAN TELTIEE, 

ACCUSED OF A UBBL ON TIIK FIRST CONSUL OF FRANCE. 
DEUTERED IN THE COURT OK KING's BENCH ON THE 21ST OF FEBKUARY. 1803.* 



(IkNTLEMKN of THF. Jl'RY. 

Tho tinio is now como for mo to aildross 
yon on behalf of the nnfortnnato Gontloman 
who is the defendant on this record. 

I mnst bosrin with observing:, that thongh 
I know myself too well to ascribe to any 
thiiiir bnt to the kindness and ^>od-natnre of 
my learned friend the Attorney-tieneral t the 
unmerited praises which he has been pleased 
to bestow on me. yet I will ventnre to say. 
he has done me no more than jnstice in snp- 
pojing that in this place, and on this occasion, 
where I exercise the fnnctions of an inferior 
minister of jnstice. — an inferior minister in- 
deed, but a minister of justice still, — I am 
incapable of lendinir myself to the passions 
of any client, and that I will not make the 
proceedinirs of this Court subservient to any 
jxilitical purjxise. Whatever is respected by 
the laws and jrovemment of my conntrv, 
shall, in this place, be respected by me. fn 
considering matters that deeplv interest the 
quiet, the safety, and the liberties of all 
mankind, it is imjxissible for me not to feel 
warmly and strongly ; but I shall make an 
eflbrt to control my feelings, however painful 
that effort may be, and where I caimot speak 

• The First Consul had for some time previ- 
ously shown consiilorabie irritability under the fire 
of the English journalists, when the Teace of 
Atniens. bv perniiitinsi a rapprochemt-ut with the 
Englisii IVtinisiry, atlorded an opening throufxii 
which his paw could reach the source of annoyance. 
M. Jean Peltier, on whom it lighted, was aii emi- 
grant, who liad been conducting for some years 
various periodical works in the Rovaiist iniercst. 
From one of these, — " L'.'Vmbiirti^' — three arti- 
cles, which are alluded to separately in the course 
of the speech, were selected by flie law ollicers 
of the C rown for prosecution, as iusiig^itinfi; the 
assassination of the First Consul. Nor pcrnans, 
could such a conclusion have been successfully 
strugorled with by any advocate. The proceeding 
was one that was accompanied wiih much e.xciie- 
nient in public opinion, as was evidenced by the 
concourse of persons surroundiii}]; the court on the 
day of trial. It was supposed bv some that a ver- 
dict of acquittal would have had an unfavourable 
etTect upon the already feverish stale of the inter- 
course between the two Governments. In fact, 
though found ' guilty,' the Defendant escaped 
any sentence through the recurrence of hoatiii- 
ties. — Ed. 

t The Ri/{ht Honourable Spencer Perceval. 
— Ep. 



out at the risk of offonding either sinceriiy 
or prudence, I shall labour to contain my.sell 
and be silent. 

I cannot but feel, Gentlemen, liow mudi I 
stand in need of vonr favourable attention 
and indulgiMice. The charge which I have 
to defend is surrounded with the most in- 
vidious topics of discussion. Put they are 
not of my seeking. The case, and the topics 
which are insejvxrable from it, are brought 
here by the prosecutor. Here I iind them, 
and here it is my tlutv to deal with them, as 
the interests of Mr. IVltier seem to me to 
require. He, by his choice and conlidence, 
has cast on me a very arduous duty, which 
I could not decline, and which I can still less 
betray. He has a right to expect from men 
faithtul. a zealous, and a fearless defence; 
and this his just expectation, according to 
the measure of my humble abilities, shall be 
fuKilled. I have said, a fearless defence : — 
perhaps that word was unnec^s^iry in the 
place where I now stand. Intrepiility in the 
discharge of professional iluty is so common 
a quality at the English Har, that it has^ 
thank God ! long ceased to be a matter of 
boast or praise. If it had been otherwise, 
Gentlemen, — if the Bar could have been 
silenced or overawed by power, I may pre- 
.sume to i!ay, that an English jiuy wouKl not 
this day have been met to administer jnstice. 
Perhaps I need scarce s;ry that my defence 
shall be fearless, in a place wliere fear never 
entered any heart but that of a criminal. But 
you will pardon nre for having said so much, 
when you consider who the real parties 
before you are. 

Gentlemen, the real prosecutor is the mas- 
tor of the greatest empire the civilized world 
ever saw. The Defendant is a defenceless 
proscribed exile. He is a French Boyalist^ 
who fled from his country in the autumn ot 
17P'.3, at the periotl of that memorable and 
awfnl emigration when all the projM-ietors 
and magistrates of the greatest civilized 
country of Europe wore driven from their 
homes by the daggers of assassins ; — when 
our shores were covered, as with the wreck 
of a great tempest, with old men, and wo- 
men, and children, and ministers cf religion, 
who fled from the ferocity of their country- 
men as before an army of invading bavba- 



DEFENCE OF JEAN TELTIER. 



485 



rianB. The proator part of these unfortunate 
exiloH, — of lhofi(; I moan who have boon 
spared by lli(3 sword, or who have survived 
tne offoct of pislilential clirnatciH or broken 
hearts, — have been since permitted to n;- 
visit their country. Though d<;spoiled of 
their all, they Ji;ive ea;jerly embraced even 
the sad j)iivil('fre of beiriy suffered to die in 
iheir native land. Even this miserable in- 
dulgence was lo be purchased by compli- 
ances, — by declarations of allegiance to the 
new government, — which some of these suf- 
fering ro3\'ilisls deemed incompatible with 
their conscience, with their dearest attach- 
mentsand their most sacred duties. Among 
these last is Mr. Peltier. I do not presume 
to blame those who submitted; and I trust 
you will not judge harshly of those who re- 
fused. You will not think unfavourably of 
a man who stands before you as the volun- 
tary victim of his loyalty and honour. If a 
revolution (which God avtMt !) wf;re to drivt; 
us into exilr;, and to cast us on a foreign 
shore, we should expect, at least, to be par- 
doned by generous men, for stubborn loyalty, 
and unseasonable fidelity, to the laws and 
goverumfiiit of our fathers. 

This unfortunate Gentleman had devoted 
a great part of his life to lileraturt!. It was 
the amusement and ornament of his b(!tt<!r 
days: since; his own ruin, and the d(!solation 
of his country, he has been compelled to 
employ it as a means of support. For the 
last ten years he has bfien engaged in a va- 
riety of publications of con.siderable import- 
ance : but, since the peace, he has desisted 
from Kerious political uiscussiori, and confined 
himself to the obscure journal which is now 
before you, — the least calculated, surely, of 
any publication that ever issued from the 
press, to rouse the alarms of the most jeal- 
ous government, — which will not be read in 
England, because it is not written in our 
language, — which cannot be read in France, 
because its entry into that country is .pro- 
hibited by a power whose mandates arr; not 
very Bupin<;ly enforcfjd, nor often evaded 
with impunity, — which can have no other 
object than that of amusing the companions 
of the author's principles and misfortunes, by 
pIeasantri(!Band sarcasms on their victorious 
enemi(!S. There is, indeed. Gentlemen, one 
remarkable circumstance in this unfortunate 
publication: it is the only, or almost the 
only, journal, which still dares to espouse 
the cause of that royal and illustrious family, 
which but fourteen yr-ars ago was flaltirred 
by every press, and guarded by every tribu- 
nal, in Europe. Even the court in which we 
are met affords an example of the vicissi- 
tudes of their fortune. My Learned Friend 
has remindfrd you, that the last prosecution 
tried in this place, at the instance of a French 
governmi'iit, was for a libel on that mngnani- 
uious princess, who has eince been butchered 
in sight of her palace. 

I do not make these observations with any 
purj)ose of questioning the general princij)les 
which have been laid down by my Learned 



Friend. I must admit his right to bring be- 
fore you those who libel any governmem re- 
cogiMsed by His Majesty, and at peace with 
lh(! Hritish empire. 1 admit that, wluMher 
such a government be of yesterday or a thou- 
SJUid years oM, — whethei it be a crude and 
bloody usur|)ation, or the most ancient, just, 
and jjaternal authority upon earth, — we are 
ecjually bound hy His Majesty's r<;cognition 
to protect it .'igainst lib(;llou8 attacks. I ad- 
mit that if, during our Usurpation, Lord Cla- 
rendon had published his ni.'>tory at Paris, 
or the Marijuis of Montrose his verses on 
the murd(!r of his sovereign, or Mr. Cowley 
his Discourse on Cromwell's Government, 
and if the English ambassjidor had com- 
plained, the President de Mole, or any other 
of the great magistrates who then adorned 
the Parliament of Paris, however r<;luctanl- 
ly, painfully, and indignantly, might have 
been compe-lled to have condemned tlK.-.ne il- 
lustrious men to the punishment of libellers. 
I say this only for the sake of bespeaking a 
favourable attention from your generosity 
and comi)assion lo what will be feebly urged 
in behalf of my unfortunate Client^ who rias 
sacrificed his fortune, his hopes, his connec- 
tions, and his country, to his conscience, — 
who seems marked out for destruction in this 
his last asylum. 

That he still enjoys the security of this 
asylum, — that he has not been sacrificed to 
th(! rest'iitment of his powerful en(;mies, is 
perhaps owing to the firmness of the King'.s 
Government. If that be the fact. Gentle- 
men, — if his Majesty's Ministers have re- 
sisted the applications to expel this unfor- 
tunate Gentleman from England, I should 
publicly thank them for iheir firmness, if it 
were not unseemly and improper to suppose 
that they could have acted otherwise, — to 
thank an English Government for not viola- 
ting the most .sacred duties of ho.spitalily, — 
for not bringing indcdible disgrace on (heir 
country. But be that as it may, Gentlemen, 
he now comes before you perfectly satisfied 
that an English jury is the most refreshing 
prospect tliat the eye of accused innocence 
ever met in a human tribunal ; and he feels 
with me the most fervent gratitude to the 
Protector of empires, that, surrounded as 
we are with the ruins of principalities and 
powers, we still continue to meet together, 
after tlie manner of our fathers, to adminis- 
ter justice in this her ancient sanctuary. 

There is another point of view. Gentle- 
men, in which this case seems to me to 
merit your most serious attention. I con- 
sider it as the first of a long series of con- 
fiicts between the greatest power in the 
world, and the only free press remaining in 
Europe. No man living is more thoroughly 
convinced than I am, that my Learned Friend 
will never degrade his excellent character. — 
that he will never disgrace his high magis- 
tracy by mean compliances, — by an immode 
rate and unconscientious exercise of power; 
yet I am convinced bv circumstances which 
I shall now abstain from discussing, thai / 
2a2 



4S6 



MACKIMVSJI'S Rlli^CKLUVM:Oll> F^A\:>. 



tm to tonsidtr this as the Jirst of a hms[ stries 
ofconjiicls. hfttrttn the greatest jmrer in the 
tcofid, and the onhfite jurss uotr remaining 



«M Europe. CJontlonion, ihis distinction ot" 
the Einrli^i nrt^ss js now : it is »' T!l^'_5\j^l 
melanoiuily distiiK\ti«>n. Iv'foro U\o givat 
eartluiuaTf? of tlio FriMioh Kovolution had 
swallowovl up all tho asylums of tVo»' disous- 
sion on tho lontinont, wo onjoyod that pri- 
vilegtv iuilotvl. nioiv fully tluui othors. init 
we did not OMJoy it «v\i"lusivoly. In groat 
inouarv.'hios tho pioss has always boon oon- 
sidortnl as too formidable an onjiine to bo 
intrusted to unlioonst^d individuals. But in 
other Continental oountrios, either by the 
laws of the state, or by lou>>- habits of lilv- 
rality and toleration in magistrates, a liberty 
of disenssion has Iveu enjoyed, perhaps sulii- 
oient for the tuost useful purposes. It ex- 
islovl, in fact, where it was not pioteoted by 
law: and the wise and gvneiMus eonuivanoo 
of g\nernn\ents was daily nu>iv and more 
stvuivd by the grviwiutr eivilizatlon of their 
subjects. In Holland, in Switzerland, and in 
the Imperial towns of (Jovmany. tho press 
was either log-ally or practically five. Hol- 
land and Switzerland aiv no more: and, 
since the commencement of this prosecu- 
tion, titty Imperial towns have been orastnl 
from the list of iiulependtMit ,<statos, by ome 
dash of the }>«mi. Three or lour still preserve 
a pivoarious and trembliu^e.\islenco. I will 
not s;iy l^y what compliances 'ilie\"nmst pur- 
chase its continuance. I will not insult the 
feebleness of states v, hose unmeritoil fall I 
do most bitterly ileplore. 

These gxivernments were in many respects 
one of the most interesting jxirts of the an- 
cient system of Kuwpe. Unfortanately for 
the reiH^se of mankind, great states are com- 
pelled, by reg-ard to their own s;»rety, to con- 
sider the nuliiary spirit and marlial habits 
of their people as one of the main objects 
of their policy. Frequent ha<;tilities seem 
almost the necessary condition of their great- 
ness : and. without being great, they cannot 
long remain s;ife. Smaller states, exempteil 
frtim this cruel necessity, — ;\ hard condition 
of ureatness, a bitter s;itireon hnnuin naluve, 
— devoted themst^lves to the arts of peace, 
to the cultivation of literature, and the im- 
provetntnit of reason. They became places 
of refuge for free and fearless itiscussion: 
they weie the imixirtial .><]Hvialorsaiul ju^lgt^s 
of the various contests of ambition, which, 
from time to time, disturbed tho (]uiet of the 
world. They thus became peculiarly quali- 
fied to be the oigixns of that public opinion 
which converted Kumpo into a great rt>pub- 
lic, with laws which mitig~ated, though thov 
could not extinguish, ambition, and with 
moral tribunals to which even the most ^le- 
s^Hjtic s«nereigns were amenable. If wars 
ot aggrandisiMnent were uiulerlaken, their 
authors were arraigned in the face of Kuiope. 
If acts of internal tyranny wt>re perpelratoil, 
they n^sounded from a lhous;uid presses 
thmughont all civilized countries. Princes 
(Ml vfhose will there were no b^^^il checks, 



thus found n momi restraint which the most 
l^nverful of them could not brave with absso- 
fute inipunity. They «elt\l before a vast 
audience, to who.><e applause or cvmdi luna- 
tion they could net l>e utterly ind Herent. 
The verv iH>nstitutionof hunum natuir, — tho 
uiialtoraVle lawsof the mnul of num, Hguiiist 
which all rebellion is iVuilU\'i,s subjected tho 
prouvlest tyrants to this ci«>tr\^l. IS'o eleva- 
tion of jHuvor, — no ilopravity, however ei>u- 
!«umuuite,— no innoeence, however spotless, 
can render man wholly independent of the 
prai.>je or blame of his leliow-uun. 

These gxnt>rnments were inotluM- rt^spects 
one of the most beautiful aiul intore.^liiig 
jwrts tvl" our anci<nit s) stout. The perlecl 
si>curity of sueh inconsiiloiablo and fotblo 
states, — their undisturbovl traiuiuillity autiilst 
tho wars and cotu|uests that tsuriouiuled 
them, attested, beyond any other part of the 
F.umpoan system, tho moderation, tho jus- 
tice, tho civilization to which Christian Ku- 
rope had reached in modern tinu\s. Their 
weakness was pivtoctovl only by the habitual 
rovonMico for lustice, whicli, »luring a long 
series of agvs, had gmwn up in Chrislei'dom. 
This was the only lorlilication which do- 
fended tht in ag^aiiisl those mighty moi;archs 
to whom they ofViMod thent.-'elvos so easy a 
prey. And, till the French lu volution, t\;s 
was sutliciont. Consivfer. for inslaiico. tho 
situation of tho republic ot (ieiu>va : tliii.k of 
her defenci>Ies,-5 position in the very jaws of 
France; but think also of her uuvlistuibed 
security, — of her pmt'ound <iuiet, — ivl" the 
brilliant success with which she applied to 
industry and liteialuiv, while I.ouis XIY. 
was pouring his myriads into Italy before 
her gates. Call to mind, if ages crowded 
into years have not etraceil ihi-m from your 
nuMuory. that happy perii^l \\ hen we scarcely 
dreamt more of the subjugation of the fet bU st 
republic of F.urope, than of tho coiu|uest of 
her mightiest empire, and IcW uu< if vou ean 
imagilie a spectacle more beautiful to the 
moral eye. or a more striking proof of pm- 
gress in the noblest principles of true civili- 
zation. 

These feeble states, — those monuHUMils of 
the justiee of Kurope, — the asylums of piace, 
of industry, and of literature, — the org^ans 
of public reason, — tho n^fugo of oppressed 
innocence and ptM"secut<\l truth. — have pe- 
rished with tho.^e ancient principlt^s wlueh 
were their sole guardians and protectors. 
They have been swallowed iip by that fear- 
ful convulsion which has shaktMi the utter- 
most corners of the earth. They are ^le- 
stroved and gvue for ever. One asylum of 
free discussion is still inviolate. There is 
still one spot in Kurope where man can fro«'ly 
o\erei.>^^ nis reason on the most imj^ortant 
concerns of society, — where he can bolilly 
publish his juilgnuMit on the acts of the 
proudest and most powerful tyrants. Tho 
press of Knglaiul is .^till free. It isgnarde-i 
by the free constitution of our forelallu-rs; — 
it is guarded by the hearts and arms of 
Englishmen; and I trust 1 may veiilure to 



T>K PENCE OP JKAN PKLTTEIl. 



4«7 



My. that ir it \)<) to fall, It will fftll only 
yri''(;r Ih'; ni'iiiH of th'J IJriliMi <rm|(ir<i. It i*t 
nfi awful r',o/iKi'lc(;i,tiori. <it;ii\\t:rif-ii : — nvury 
Oiht'.r rnofium'ffil of K'tropir.ut lif«;rty L'i« 
ji«ri*li'!'l ; lliat Htt<:iiuil fabric v. hicli h;t» \>*;<:n 
grsuluiiWy r'far'vl by th'; wiwlorri anfl virtue 
of our fatli'iriiKtill wlarifl«. ItntandH. (ibarikH 
be lo Go'l !) m)li(I hikI «;;itirc ; but Jt nUindn 
alrnie, ari'l it Marifif* arriidKt ruiriK. 

In tli''H<! i:xirw>r(iiiiiiTy circurriHtarices. f 
rfjK;at llial I iriuHt iU)ur,\<U:T tbit* a» ibo brwl 
ot a loti;? r^'ucn of CMwiYicAn, b';tw<;<;(i Ibo 
tp'oatrfftt j>ow«jr in the world uo'l \.\ii: only 
tree prcHH n-mainint.^ in Kuiope; and I truHt 
l)i;it you will <;<>un\<\i;t your>i<;lv<!H aK tb'j ad- 
V',ii\<:<:<\ (^uaid of liberty, aH biviiij^ tbm day 
to fi^i^bl lb'; fifHt battle of free <\m;nnw)fi 
Bjjai/mt tbe rno«t formidable enemy th;tt it 
over encountered. Vou will therefore ex- 
CUHf} me, if on «r> irniKtrtant an oeea^ion T 
remind you at more lerij^ib than it* u»iual, of 
thorn; t'eneral priiiciolen of law and |Hilicy on 
thiH Hiibjcct, which nave b<;<;n fiarided down 
lo ii« by our ancewtorH. 

TIlow; who Hlowly built up the fabric of 
our lawK, never all«;fr<jjled anythin;.^ w» absurd 
a« to define by any pr<;ci»<; rule the obfcure 
mid chillinjr boundaries which divide libel 
from hintory or dincuKHion. It i« a subject 
whicli, from itn nature, ;i/lrnitH neither rule« 
nor definition?'/. 'I'he same wordu may be 
jK?rfectly innocent in one caw, and rnr>«t 
tnitwihievoiiH and libellouH in another. A 
chan;.je of circurnntanceH, oft<;n api>arr;fitly 
•light, Ih sufficient to make the wholr; rliffer- 
o/ice. Thew; ^•^lAu^^f^.^^, which may be an 
numerouB a« the variety of human intentionn 
and condition«, can never be farcuc^m or 
comprehended under any lej.otl rlefinitionn ; 
and the frarner« of our law have never at- 
tempted to ftnbjeet them to Ru<;h fbfinitionH. 
They left wich rnliculouH atlemplK to ihotw; 
who call themficlvcfK philowphern, but who 
have in fact proved themwelvcfB mOHt (2r()iii'\y 
and stupidly ignorant of that f)hilow)phy 
which ift converwirit wilfi human affairn. 

The principles of the law of Krif^land on 
the Hubjectof [Ktlitical lib';! are fewarirl sim- 
ple' and they are necessarily so broad, that, 
without an huibitually mild fwlrninistration 
of justice, they rnitrht encroa<'h materially 
on the liberty of jKilitiwil discuj'.sion. Kvery 
publication which is intended to vilify either 
our own [^overnrne/it or tlw; f/overnrnent of 
any fore(<rri «iate in amity with thiskJn^^dom, 
in, by th'; law of P>n((Iand, a libel. To pro- 
tect political dis<;usHion from the (Imtfj^cr to 
which it would be exposed by these wide 
princi|)leK, if they were severely and literally 
onforcfjd, our ancestors trusted to various 
Bficurities; s'une (,'rowinf^ out of the law and 
onstilution, and others arisiiifj from the 
cfiaracter of those puf^iic officers whom th<! 
const itution had formed, and to whom its 
adrninisl ration is wjinmitled. 'J'hi;y trusted 
in the first {)laf;<; to the moderation oi the 
l(jj(al ofJiceiH of the Crown, «;dueated in the 
maxims and inibui'A with the spirit of a free 
government, controllod by the ituperinteriding 



I rx^werof Parliament, and j:>eculiarly waieh';4 
I m all j>'Witical |<row;cut;ons by tfie r<«i>vr>(^bl») 
I and whol<;S'»me jealousy of lh';ir (ellow-uub- 
! j<'Cts, And I am bound to Si/irnit, that since 
; the tdoriouH era of I'le |{/;voiulion, — timkinft 
(lot: allowance for liit- frailties, the faults, and 
I the occasional vi<;<;sof men. — they liave U[>on 
the whole not ber;n disappointeri, i know tr»at, 
in the Iwnds of my Learned Kriend, that troKt 
will nev<;r be abus<;d. But, aUivc all, they 
(■j)n(i<U;i\ in the moderation and j(Ood s<;niMe of 
juries, — iKipular in their ori^rin, — p(/pular in 
their feelin{(s, — popular in their vt-.ry preju- 
(lU'yitH, — taken from the mass of the [wople, 
and irnm'.d lately letuuiinf/ tothat ma>'s;jprain. 
I'y these checks and temperaments limy 
hojx.d tluit they shonlrj sufficiently reprewi 
rnali(.Miant \i\n:ln, without endai/" ■ ,i / that 
freedom of inrjuiry whu;h is the ty 

tTT'si Tfi-JilHiiOi. Tli'-y tnew tli;x< ea' 

fit !l'p6Vlflti:itTih<:\ iniA n very |K'Cui.ar nature, 
and diff<;nng in th<; mo>«t impoitani (yaiticu- 
lars from all other cnrnes. In all other ca«ot 
the most s<;vere execution of law can only 
sj>read tr;rroramon{r the ;(uilty ; but in |)^>liti- 
cal libels it inspires even the innwienl with 
fear. This slrikin{r peculisirity iirmm from 
the same c;rcumHl;ui<;e» which make it im- 
[Kissible lo define the limits of bb<'l and inno- 
cent discuHHion, — which make it irni^'JSf.ible 
for a man of the parent and most honourable 
mind to be always jierfectlycert-iin, whe,ther 
he be within the l<;rrilory of fair ar;.'ument 
and honest narrative, or wh"ther he rnay 
not have unwittinjfly overstep|Xid the faint 
and varyinc( line which bounrls them. But, 
Centlernen, I will (<o farther: — this is the 
only offence where severe and frr;fju';/it pun- 
ishments not only intimidate the innocent, 
but deter men from ihe most meritorioii* 
acts, and from renderiiifj the most imj/<jrlant 
servi«;es to their wiuiilry. — indis[K>K.<;and dift* 
rpjalify men for the diwjfuirge of the most 
sacrea rluties which they owe lo mankind, 
7'o inform the public on the c^^nduct of 
thosr? who administer public affairs, require* 
(XMiraj/e and <xjnseious security. It is always 
an invidious and obnoxious offifMv. but it is 
often th; rno^t nec»;«sary of all public duties. 
If it is not done boldly, it cannot be done 
(;frectually: and it is not fiom writers trem- 
\)\if)if under the uplifted seourfje, tlwt we are 
to hope for it. 

There are other matters. Gentlemen, to 
which I am desirous of particularly calling 
your attention. These are, the circufh- 
stancesin the condition of this country, which 
have itidutM-fl our ancestors, at all limes, to 
handle with more tlian ordinary tenderness 
that branch of the liberty of discussion which 
is applii;fJ to the conduct of foreign states. 
The relation of this kingflorn to the common- 
wealth of Kuio[)e is so peculiar, that no his- 
tory, I think, furnisheH a paiallel to it. From 
(he moment in whiirh we abandoned all pro- 
jects of Continental a<.'grarKlisr;menl, we 
could have no interefcl respectii<(( the state 
of the C'jntinent, but the interests of national 
safety, and of commercial prosperity The 



488 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



paramount interest of every state, — that 
which comprehends every other, is security: 
and the security of Great Britain requires 
nothing on the Continent but the uniform 
observance of justice. It requires nothing 
but the inviolabihty of ancient boundaries, 
and the sacredness of ancient possessions, 
which, on these subjects, is but another form 
of words for justice. 

As to commercial prosperity, it is, indeed, 
a secondary, but still a very important branch 
of our national interest ; and it requires no- 
thing on the Continent of Europe but the 
maintenance of peace, as far as the para- 
mount interest of security will allow. What- 
ever ignorant or prejudiced men may affirm, 
no war was ever gainful to a commercial na- 
tion. Losses may be less in some, and in- 
cidental profits may arise in others. But no 
such profits ever formed an adequate com- 
pensation for the waste of capital and indus- 
try which all wars must produce. Next to 
peace, our commercial greatness depends 
chiefly on the affluence and prosperity of our 
neighbours. A commercial nation has, in- 
deed, the same interest in the wealth of her 
neighbours, that a tradesman has in the 
wealth of his customers. The prosperity 
of England has been chiefly owing to the 
general progress of civilized nations in the 
arts and improvements of social life. Not 
an acre of land has been brought into culti- 
vation in the wilds of Siberia, or on the shores 
of the Mississippi, which has not widened 
the market for English industry. It is nou- 
rished by the progressive prosperity of the 
world; and it amply repays all that it has 
received. It can only be employed in spread- 
ing civilization and enjoyment over the earth ; 
and by the unchangeable laws of nature, in 
spite of the impotent tricks of governments, 
it is now partly applied to revive the industry 
of those very nations who are the loudest in 
their senseless clamours against its pretended 
mischiefs. If the blind and barbarous pro- 
ject of destroying English prosperity could 
be accomplished, it could have no other 
effect than that of completely beggaring the 
very countries, which now stupidly ascribe 
their own poverty to our wealth. 

Under these circumstances. Gentlemen, it 
became the obvious policy of this kingdom, 
— a policy in unison with the maxims of a 
free government, — to consider with great in- 
dulgence even the boldest animadversions 
of our political writers on the ambitious pro- 
jects of foreign states. Bold, and sometimes 
indiscreet, as these animadversions might be, 
they had at least the effect of warning the 
people of their danger, and of rousing the 
national indignation against those encroach- 
ments which England has almost always 
been compelled in the end to resist by arms. 
Seldom, indeed, has she been allowed to 
wait, till a provident regard to her own safety 
ehould compel her to take up arms in defence 
•f others. For, as it was said by a great 
orator of antiquity, " that no man ever was 
the enemy of the republic who had not first 



declared war against him,"* so I may say, 
with truth, that no man ever meditated the 
subjugation of Europe, who did not consider 
the destruction, or the corruption, of England 
as the first condition of his success. If you 
examine history you will fijul, that no such 
project was ever formed in which it was not 
deemed a necessary preliminary, either to 
detach England from the common cause, or 
to destroy her. It seems as if all the con- 
spirators against the independence of nations 
might have sufficiently taught other states 
that England is their natural guardian and 
protector, — that she alone has no interest but 
their preservation, — that her safety is inter- 
woven with their own. When vast projects 
of aggrandisement are manifested, — when 
schemes of criminal ambition are carried into 
effect, the day of battle is fast approaching 
for England. Her free government cannot 
engage in dangerous wars, without the hearty 
and affectionate support of her people. A 
state thus situated cannot without the utmost 
peril silence those public discussions, which 
are to point the popular indignation against 
those who must soon be enemies. In do- 
mestic dissensions, it may sometimes be the 
supposed interest of government to overawe 
the press : but it never can be even their 
apparent interest when the danger is purely 
foreign. A King of England who, in such 
circumstances, should conspire against the 
free press of this country, would undermine 
the foundations of his own throne; — he 
would silence the trumpet which is to call 
his people round his standard. 

Gentlemen, the public spirit of a people 
(by which I mean the whole body of those 
affections which unites men's hearts to the 
commonwealth) is in various countries com- 
posed of various elements, and depends on 
a great variety of causes. In this country, I 
may venture to say, that it mainly depends 
on the vigour of the popular parts and prin- 
ciples of our government ; and that the spirit 
of liberty is one of its most important ele- 
ments. Perhaps it may depend less on those 
advantages of a free government, which are 
most highly estimated by calm reason, than 
upon those parts of it which delight the ima- 
gination, and flatter the just and natural 
pride of mankind. Among these we .are 
certainly not to forget the political rights 
which are not uniformly withheld from the 
lowest classes, and the continual appeal 
made to them, in public discussion, upon the 
greatest interests of the state. These are 
undoubtedly among the circumstances which 
endear to Englishmen their government and 
their country, and animate their zeal for that 
glorious institution which confers on the 
meanest of them a sort of distinction and no- 
bility unknown to the most illustrious slaves 
who tremble at the frown of a tyrant. Who- 
ever was unw-arily and rashly to abolish or 
narrow these privileges (which it must be 



* The reference is probably to Cicero. Orat. in 
Catilinam, iv. cap. 10. — Ed. 



DEFENCE OF JEAN PELTIER. 



489 



owned are liable to great abuse, and to very 
specious objections), might perhaps discover, 
too late, that he had been dismantling the 
fortifications of his country. Of whatever 
elements public spirit is composed, it is 
always and every where the chief defensive 
principle of a state (it is perfectly distinct 
from courage : — perhaps no nation — certainly 
no European nation ever perished from an 
inferiority of courage); and undoubtedly no 
considerable nation was ever subdued, in 
which the public affections were sound and 
vigorous. It is public spirit which binds to- 
gether the dispersed courage of individuals, 
and fastens it to the commonwealth : — it is 
therefore, as I have said, the chief defensive 

f)rinciple of every country. OfaJijhe stimu- 
aQts which rouse it into action, the most 
<l powerful among us is certainly the press: 
,' and the press cannot be restrained or weak- 
■ ened without imminent danger that the na- 
', tional spirit may languish, and that the peo- 
ple may act with less zeal and affection for 
their country in the hour of its danger. 

These principles. Gentlemen, are not new : 
they are genuine old English principles. And 
though in our days they have been disgraced 
and abused by ruffians and fanatics, they are 
in themselves as just and sound as they are 
liberal ; and they are the only principles on 
which a free state can be safely governed. 
These principles I have adopted since I first 
learnt the use of reason ; and I think I shall 
abandon them only with life. 

On these principles I am now to call your 
attention to the libel with which this unfor- 
tunate Gentleman is charged. I heartily re- 
joice that I concur with the greatest part of 
what has been said by my Learned Friend, 
who has done honour even to his character 
by the generous and liberal principles which 
he has laid down. He has told you that he 
does not mean to attack historical narrative ; 
— he has told you that he does not mean to 
attack political discussion ; — he has told you 
also that he does not consider every intempe- 
rate word into which a writer, fairly engaged 
iu narration or reasoning, might be betrayed, 
as a fit subject for prosecution. The essence 
of the crime of libel consists in the malignant 
mind which the publication proves, and from 
which it flows. A jury must be convinced, 
before they find a man guilty of libel, that 
his intention was to libel, — not to state facts 
which he believed to be true, or reasonings 
which he thought just. My Learned Friend 
has told you that the liberty of history in- 
cludes the right of publishing those observa- 
tions which occur to intelligent men when 
ihey consider the aflfairs of the world ; and I 
think he will not deny that it includes also 
the right of expressing those sentiments 
which all good men feel on the contempla- 
tion of extraordinary examples of depravity 
or excellence. 

One more privilege of the historian, which 

the Attorney-General has not named, but to 

which his principles extend, it is now my 

duty to claim on behalf of my client: — I 

62 



UTI, 



mean, the right of republishing, historically, 
those documents (whatever their original 
malignity may be) which display the cha- 
racter and unfold the intentions of govern- 
ments, or factions, or individuals. I think 
my Learned Friend will not deny, that an 
historical compiler may innocently repubhsh 
in England the most insolent and outrageous 
declaration of war ever published against 
His Majesty by a foreign government. The 
intention of the original author was to vilify 
and degrade his Majesty's government : but 
the intention of the compiler is only to gratify 
curiosity, or perhaps to rouse just indignation 
against the calumniator whose production he 
republishes; his intention is not libellous, — 
his republication is therefore not a libel. Sup- 
pose this to be the case with Mr. Peltier; — 
suppose him to have republished libels with 
a merely historical intention. In that case it 
cannot be pretentled that he is more a libeller 
than my learned friend Mr. Abbott,* who 
read these supposed libels to you when he 
opened the pleadings. Mr. Abbott repub- 
lished them to you, that you might know and 
judge of them : Mr. Peltier, on the supposi- 
tion I have made, also fepublished them that 
the public might know and judge of them. 

You already know that the general plan of 
Mr. Peltier's publication was to give a pic- 
ture of the cabals and intrigues, — of the 
hopes and projects, of French factions. It 
is undoubtedly a natural and necessary part 
of this plan to republish all the serious and 
ludicrous pieces which these factions circu- 
late against each other. The Ode ascribed 
to Chenier orGingutiie I do really believe to 
have been written at Paris. — to have been 
circulated there, — to have been there attri- 
buted to one of these writers, — to have been 
sent to England as their work, — and as such, 
to have been republished by Mr. Peltier. 
But I am not sure that I have evidence to 
convince you of the truth of this. Suppose 
that I have not : will my Learned Friend say 
that my client must necessarily be con- 
victed"? I, on the contrary, contend, that it 
is for my Learned Friend to show that it is 
not an historical republication : — such it pro- 
fesses to be, and that profession it is for him 
to disprove. The profession may indeed be 
a "mask :" but it is for my Friend to pluck 
off the mask, and expose the libeller, before 
he calls upon you for a verdict of ''gxiilty." 

If the general lawfulness of such republi- 
cations be denied, then I must ask Mr. At- 
torney-General to account for the long im- 
punity which English newspapers have en- 
joyed. I must request him to tell you why 
they have been suffered to republish all the 
atrocious, official and unofficial, libels which 
have been published against His Majesty for 
the last ten years, by the Bri.ssots, the Marats, 
the Dantons, the Robespierres, the Barrercs 
the Talliens, the Reubells, the Merlins, the 
Barras', and all that long line of bloody ty- 

* The junior counsel for the prosecution, aftor* 
varda Lord Tenterden.— En. 



490 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



rants who oppressed their own country, and 
insulted every other which they had not the 
power to rob. What must be the answer? 
That the English publishers were either in- 
nocent if their motive was to gratify curiosit}', 
or praiseworthy if their intention was to rouse 
indignation against the calumniators of their 
country, ff any other answer be made, I 
must remind my Friend of a most sacred 
part of his duty — the duty of protecting the 
honest fame of those who are absent in the 
service of their country. Within these few 
days, we have seen in every newspaper in 
England, a publication, called the Report of 
Col. Sebastiani, in which a gallant British 
ofRcer (General Stuart) is charged with writ- 
ing letters to procure assassination. The 
publishers of that infamous Report are not 
and will not be prosecuted, because their in- 
tention is not to libel General Stuart. On any 
other principle, why have all our newspapers 
been suffered to circulate that most atrocious 
of all libels against the King and the people of 
England, which purports to be translated 
from the Moniteur of the 9lh of August, 
1802 ; a libel against a Prince, who has passed 
through a factions and stormy reign of forty- 
three years without a single imputation on 
his personal character, — against a people 
who have passed through the severest trials 
of national virtue with unimpaired glory, 
who alone in the world can boast of mutinies 
withoiit murder, of triumphant mobs without 
massacre, of bloodless revolutions and of civil 
wars unstained by a single assassination ; — 
that most impudent and malignant libel, 
which charges such a King of such a people 
not only with having hired assassins, but 
with being so shameless, — so lost to all sense 
of character, as to have bestowed on these 
assassins, if their murderous projects had 
succeeded, the highest badges of public ho- 
nour, — the rewards reserved for statesmen 
and heroes, — the Order of the Garter; — the 
Order which was founded by the heroes of 
Cre^y and Poitiers, — the Garter which was 
worn by Henry the Great and by Gustavus 
Adolphus, — which might now be worn by 
the Hero* who, on the shores of Syria, the 
ancient theatre of English chivalry, has re- 
vived the renown of English valour and of 
English humanity, — that unsullied Garter, 
which a detestable libeller dares to say is to 
be paid as the price of murder. 
/ If I had now to defend an English pub- 
lisher for the republication of that abominable 
libel, what must I have said on his defence? 
I must have told you that it was originally 
published by the French Government in their 
oflicial gazette, — that it was republished by 
the English editor to gratify the natural cu- 
riosity, perhaps to rouse the just resentment, 
of his English readers. I should have con- 
tended, and, I trust, with success, that his 
rejjublication of a libel was not libellous, — 
that it was lawful, — that it was laudable. ; 
All that would be important, at least all that 

* Sir Sydney Smith. — Ed. 



would be essential in such a defence I now 
state to you on behalf of Mr. Peltier; and 
if an English newspaper may safely repub- 
lish the libels of the French Government 
against His Majesty, I shall leave you to 
judge whether Mr. Peltier, in similar cir- 
cumstances, may not, with equal safety, re- 
publish the libels of Chenier against the 
First Consul. On the one hand you have the 
assurances of Mr. Peltier in the context that 
this Ode is merely a republication ; — you 
have also the general plan of his work, with 
w-hich such a republication is perfectly con- 
sistent. On the other hand, you have only the 
suspicions of Mr. Attorney-General that this 
Ode is an original production of the Defendant. 
But supposing that you should think it his 
production, and that 30U should also think^t 
a libel, — even in that event, which I cannot 
anticipate, I am not left without a defence. 
The question will still be open : — is it a libel 
on Buonaparte, or is it a libel on Chenier or 
Ginguene ? This is not an information for a 
libel on Chenier: and if you should think 
that this Ode was produced by Mr. Peltier, 
and ascribed by him to Chenier for the sake 
of covering that writer with the odium of 
Jacobinism, the Defendant is entitled to your 
verdict of "not guilty." Or if you should 
believe that it is ascribed to Jacobinical wri- 
ters for the sake of satirising a French Jaco- 
binical faction, you must also in that case 
acquit him. Butler puts seditious and im- 
moral language into the mouths of rebels 
and fanatics; but Hudibras is not for that 
reason a libel on morality or government. 
Swift, in the most exquisite piece of irony in 
the world (his Argument against the Aboli- 
tion of Christianity), uses the language of 
those shallow, atheistical coxcombs whom 
his .satire was intended to scourge. The 
scheme of his irony required some levity, 
and even some profaneness of language ; but 
nobody was ever so dull as to doubt whether 
Swift meant to satirise atheism or religion. 
In the same manner Mr. Peltier, when he 
wrote a satire on French Jacobinism, was 
compelled to ascribe to Jacobins a Jacobinical 
hatred of government. He was obliged, by 
dramatic propriety, to put into their mouths 
those anarchical maxims which are com- 
plained of in this Ode. But it will be said, 
these incitements to insurrection are here 
directed against the authority of Buonaparte. 
This proves nothing, because they must have 
been so directed, if the Ode was a satire on 
Jacobinism. French Jacobins must inveigh 
against Buonaparte, because he exercises 
the powers of government : the satirist who 
attacks them must transcribe their senti- 
ments, and adopt their language. 

I do not mean to sa}^, Gentlemen, that Mr. 
Peltier feels any affection, or professes any 
allegiance to Buonaparte. If I were to say 
so, he would disown me. He would disdain 
to purchase an acquittal by the profession of 
sentiments which he disclaims and abhors. 
Not to love Buonaparte is no crime. The 
question is not whether Mr. Pelliei' loves or 



DEFENCE OF JEAN PELTIER. 



491 



hutes the First Consul, but whether he has 
put revolutionary language into the mouth of 
Jacobins, with a view to paint their incor- 
rigible turbulence, and to exhibit the fruits 
of Jacobinical revolutions to the detestation 
of mankind. 

Now, Gentlemen, we cannot give a proba- 
ble answer to this question without previously 
examining two or three questions on which 
the answer to the first must very much de- 
pend. Is there a faction in Fiance which 
breathes the spirit, and is likely to emjiloy 
the language of this Ode? Does it perfectly 
accord with their character and views'? Is 
it utterly irreconcilable with the feelings, 
opinions, and wishes of Mr. Peltier 1 If these 
questions can be answered in the alllrmative, 
then I think you must agree with me, that 
Mr. Peltier does not in this Ode speak his 
own sentiments, — that he does not here vent 
his own resentment against Buonaparte, but 
that he personates a Jacobin, and adopts his 
language for the sake of satirising his prin- 
ciples. 

These questions. Gentlemen, lead me to 
those political discussions, which, generally 
speaking, are in a court of justice odious and 
disgusting. Here, however, they are neces- 
sary, and I shall consider them only as far as 
the necessities of this cause require. 

Gentleriien, the B'rench Revolution — I must 
pause, after I have uttered words which pre- 
sent such an overwhelming idea. But I have 
not now to engage in an enterprise so far 
beyond my force as that of examining and 
judging that tremendous revolution. I have 
only to consider the character of the factions 
which it must have left behind it. The 
French Revolution began with great and 
fatal errors. These errors produced atrocious 
crimes. A mild and feeble monarchy was 
succeeded by bloody anarchy, which very 
shortly gave birth to military despotism. 
France, in a few years, described the whole 
circle of human society. All this was in the 
order of nature. When every principle of 
authority and civil discipline, — when every 
principle which enables some men to com- 
mand, and disposes others to obey, was ex- 
tirpated from the mind b)'' atrocious theories, 
and still more atrocious examphs, — when 
every old institution was tram})led down with 
contumely, and every new institution covered 
in its cradle with blood, — when the principle 
of property itself, the sheet-anchor of society, 
was annihilated, — when in the persons of the 
new possessors, whom the poverty of lan- 
guage obliges us to call proprietors, it was 
contaminated in its source by robbery and 
murder, and became separated from the 
education and the manners, from the general 
presumption of superior knowledge and more 
scrupulous probity which form its only libe- 
ral titles to respect, — when the people were 
taught to despise every thing old. and com- 
pelled to detest every thing new, there re- 
mained only one principle strong enough to 
hold society together, — a principle utterly 
incompatible; indeed, with liberty, and un- 



friendly to civilization itself, — a tyrannical 
and barbarous principle, but, in that miser- 
able condition of human affairs, a refuge 
from still more inloleiable evils: — I mean 
the principle of military power, which gains 
strength from that confusion and bloodshed 
in which all the other elements of society 
are dissolved, and which, in these terrible 
extremities, is the cement that preserves it 
from total destruction. Under such circum- 
stances, Buonaparte usurped the sujjreme 
power in France ; — I say vsurpecl, because an 
illegal assumption of power is an usurpation. 
But usurpation, in its strongest moral sense, 
is scarcely applicable to a period of lawless 
and savage anarchy. The guilt of military 
u.surpation, in truth, belongs to the authors 
of those confusions which sooner or later 
give birth to such an usurpation. Thu.s, to 
use the words of the historian, "by recent 
as well as all ancient example, it became 
evident, that illegal violence, with whatever 
pretences it may be covtreil, and whatever 
object it may pursue, must inevitably end at 
last in the arbitrary and despotic govern- 
ment of a single person."* But though the 
government of Buonaparte has silenced the 
Revolutionary factions, it has not and it can- 
not have extinguished them. No human 
power could reimpress upon the muids of 
men all those sentiments and opinions which 
the sophistry and anarchy of fourteen years 
had obliterated. A faction must exist, which 
breathes the spirit of the Ode now before 
you. 

It is, I know, not the spirit of the quiet 
and submissive majority of the French peo- 
ple. They have always rather suffered, than 
acted in, the Revolution. Completely ex- 
hausted by the calamities through which 
they have passed, they yield to any power 
which gives them repose. There is, indeed, 
a degree of oppression which rouses men to 
resistance; but there is another and a greater 
which wholly subdues and unmans them. 
It is remarkable that Robespierre himself 
was .safe, till he attacked his own accom- 
plices. The spirit of men of virtue was 
broken, and there was no vigour of character 
left to destroy him, but in those daring ruf- 
fians who were the sharers of his tyranny. 

As for the wretched populace who were 
made the blind and senseless instrument of 
so many crimes, — whose frenzy can now be 
reviewed by a good mind with scarce any 
moral sentiment but that of compassion, — 
that miserable multitude of being.'j, scarcely 
human, have already fallen into a bruti.sh 
forgetfulness of the very atrocities which 
they themselves perpetrated : they have al- 
ready forgotten all the acts of their drunken 
fury. If you ask one of them, who destroyed 
that magnificent monument of religion and 
art ? or who perpetrated that massacre ? they 
stupidly answer, "The Jacobins!" — ihougK 
he who gives the an.swer was probably one 
of these Jacobins himself: so that a traveller, 

* Hume, History of England, vol. vii. p. 220. 



492 



MACKINTOSH'S MSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



rgiioraiit of French history, might suppose 
the Jacobins to be the name of some Tartar 
horde, who, after laying waste France for 
ten years, were at last expelled by the native 
inhabitants. They have passed fiom sense- 
less rage to stupid quiet : their delirium is 
followed by lethargy. 

In a word. Gentlemen, the great body of 
the people of France have been severely 
trained in those convulsions and proscriptions 
which are the school of slavery. They are 
capable of no mutinous, and even of no bold 
ana manly political sentiments : and if this 
Ode professed to paint their opinions, it would 
be a most unfaithful picture. But it is other- 
wise with those who have been the actors 
and leailers in the scene of blood : it is other- 
wise with the numerous agents of the most 
indefatigable, searching, multiform, and om- 
nipresent tyranny that ever existed, wliich 
pervaded every class of society. — which had 
ministers and victims in every village in 
France. 

Some of them, indeed, — the basest of the 
race, — the Sophists, the Rhetors, the Poet- 
laureates of murder, — who were cruel only 
from cowardice, and calculating selfishness, 
are perfectly willing to transfer their venal 
pens to an)' government that does not disdain 
their infamous support. These men, repub- 
licans from servility, who published rhetorical 
panegyrics on massacre, and who reduced 
plunder to a system of ethics, as are ready 
to preach slavery as anarchy. But the more 
daring — I had almost said the more respect- 
able — rulliaus cainiot so easily bend their 
heads au<ler the yoke. These fierce spirits 
have not lost 

" The uiieonquerable will, the study of revenge, 
immorial hate."* 

They leave the luxuries of servitude to the 
mean and dastardly hypocrites, — to the 
Belialsand INIammonsof the infernal faction. 
They pursue their old end of tyranny under 
their ohl pretext of liberty. The recollection 
of their mibounded power renders every in- 
ferior condition irksome and vapid : and their 
former atrocities form, if I may so speak, a 
sort of moral destiny which irresistibly im- 
pels them to the perpetration of new crimes. 
They have no place left for penitence on 
earth: they labour under the most awful 
proscription of opinion that ever was pro- 
nounced against human beings : they have 
cut down every bridge by which they could 
retreat into the society of men. Awakened 
from their dreams of democracy, — the noise 
subsided that deafened their ears to the voice 
of humanity, — the film fallen from their eyes 
vi'hich hid from them the blackness of their 
own deeds, — haunted by the memory of 
their inexpiable guilt, — condemned daily to 
look on the faces of those whom their hand 
has made wiiiows and orphans, they are 
goaded and scourged by theee real furies, 
and hurried into the tumult of new crimes, 
to drown the cries of remorse, or, if they be 
»— — — ■■ 

• Paradise Lost, book ii, — Ed. 



too depraved for remorse, to silence the 
curses of mankind. Tyrannical power ia 
their only refuge fiom the just vengeance of 
their fellow creatures : nmrder is their only 
means of usurping jjower. They have no 
taste, no occupation, no pursuit, but power 
and blood. If their hands are tied, they 
must at least have the luxury of murderous 
projects. Tliey have drunk too deeply of 
human blood ever to relinquish their camiibal 
appetite. 

Such a faction exists in France : it is nu- 
merous' it is powerful; and it has a principle 
of fidelity stronger than any that ever held 
together a society. They are banded together 
by despair of forgiveness, — by the unanimous 
detestation of mankind. They are now con- 
tained by a severe and stern government : 
but they still meilitate the renewal of insur- 
rection and massacre ; and they are prepared 
to renew the woist and most atrocious of 
their crimes, — that crime agriinst posterity 
and against human nature itself, — that crime 
of which the latest generations of mankind 
may feel the fatal consequences, — the crime 
of degrading and prostituting the sacred 
name of liberty. I must own that, however 
paradoxical it may appear, I should almost 
think not worse, but more meanly of them 
if it were otherwise. I must then think them 
destitute of that — I will not call it courage^ 
because that is the name of a virtue — but ol 
that ferocious energy which alone rescues 
ruflians from contempt. If they were desti- 
tute of that which is the heroism of murder- 
ers, they would be the lowest as well as the 
most abominable of beings. It is impossible 
to conceive any thing more despicable than 
wretches who, after hectoring and bullying 
over their meek and blameless sovereign, 
and his defenceless family, — whom they 
kept so long in a dungeon trembling for their 
existence, — whom they put to death by a 
slow torture of three years, — after playing 
the republicans and the tyrannicides to wo- 
men and children. — become the supple and 
fawning slaves of the first government that 
knows how to wield the scourge with a firm 
hand. 

I have used the word "Republican," be- 
cause it is the name by which this atrocious 
faction describes itself. The assumption of 
that name is one of their crimes. They are 
no more "Republicans" than "Royalists :" 
they are the common enemies of all human 
society. God forbid, that by the use of that 
word, I should be supposed to reflect on the 
members of tho.se respectable republican 
communities which did exist in Europe be- 
fore the French Revolution. That Revolution 
has spared many monarchies, but it has 
spared no republic within the sphere of its 
destructive energy. One republic only now 
exists in the world — a republic of English 
blood, which was originally composed of re- 
publican societies, under the protection of a 
monarchy, which had therefore no great and 
perilous change in their internal constitution 
to effect, and of which (I speak it with plea- 



DEFENCE OF JEAN PELTIER. 



493 



sure and pride), tne inhabitants, even in the 
convuIsioDS of a most Jeplorabl<i separation, 
displaysd .he humanity as well as valour, 
which, I trust, I may say they inherited from 
their forefathers. Nor do I mean, by the 
use of the word "Republican,'- to confound 
this execrable faction with all those who, in 
the liberty of private speculation, may prefer 
a republican form of government. I own, 
that after much reflection, I am not able to 
conceive an error more gross than that of 
those who believe in the jjossibility of erect- 
ing a republic in any of the old monarchical 
countries of Europe, — :who believe that in 
such countries an elective supreme magis- 
tracy can produce any thing but a succession 
of stern tyrannies and bloody civil wars. It 
is a supposition which is belied by all expe- 
rience, and which betrays the greatest igno- 
rance of the first principles of the constitution 
of society. It is an error which has a false 
appearance of superiority over vulgar preju- 
dice; it is, therefore, too apt lo be attended 
with the most criminal rashness and pre- 
sumption, and too easy to be inflamed into 
the most immoral and anti-social fanaticism. 
But as long as it remains a mere quiescent 
error, it is not the proper subject of moral 
^(liisapprobalion. 

If then, Gentlemen, such a faction, falsely 
calling itself " Republican." exists in France, 
let us consider whether this Ode speaks their 
sentiments, — describes their character, — 
agrees with their views. Trying it by the 
principle I have slated, I think you will have 
no difficulty in concluding, that it is agree- 
able to the general plan of this publication 
to give an historical and satirical view of 
the Brutus' and brutes of the Republic, — of 
those who assumed and disgraced the name 
of Brutus,* and who, under that name, sat as 
judges in their mock tribunals with pistols 
in their girdles, to anticipate the office of the 
e.xecutioner on those unfortunate men whom 
they treated as rebels, for resistance to Ro- 
bespierre and Coulhon. 

I now come to show you, that this Ode 
cannot represent the opinions of Mr. Peltier. 
He is a French Royalist ; he has devoted his 
talents to the cause of his King; for that 
cause he has sacrificed his fortune and 
hazarded his life ; — for that cause he is pro- 
scribed and exiled from his country. I could 
easily conceive powerful topics of Royalist 
invective against Buonaparte : and if Mr. Pel- 
tier had called upon Frenchmen by the 
memory of St. Louis and Henry the Great, 
— by the memory of that illustrious family 
which reigned over them for seven centuries, 
and with whom all their martial renown and 
literary glory are so closely connected, — if he 
had adjured them by the spotless name of 
that Louis XVI., the martyr of his love for 
his people, which scarce a man in France 
can now pronounce but in the tone of pity 
and veneration; — if he had thus called upon 

• A Ciiizen Brutus was President of the Mili- 
tary Commission at Marseilles, in Jtuiuary, 1794. [ 



them to change their useless regret and their 
barren pity into generous and active indig- 
nation, — if he had reproached the conquerors 
of Europe with the di.sgrace of being the 
slaves of an upstart strangi'r, — if he had 
brought before their minds the contrast be- 
tween their country under her ancient mo- 
narchs, the source and model of refinement 
in manners and taste, and since their expul- 
sion the scourge and opprobrium of humanity, 
— if he had exhorted them to drive out their 
ignoble tyrants, and to restore their native 
sovereign, I should then have recr^gnised the 
voice of a Royalist, — I should have recog- 
nised language that must have flowed from 
the heart of Mr. Peltier, and I should have 
been compelled to acknowledge that it was 
pointed against Buonaparte. 

But instead of these, or similar topics, 
what have we in this Ode 1 On the suppo- 
sition that it is the invective of a Royalist, 
how is it to be reconciled to common sense '? 
What purpose is it to serve 1 To whom is it 
addressed ? To what interests does it ap- 
peal ? What passions is it to rouse 1 If it 
be addressed to Royalists, then I request, 
Gentlemen, that you will carefully read it, 
and tell me whether, on that supposition, it 
can be any thing but the ravings of insanity, 
and whether a commission of lunacy be not 
a proceeding more fitted to the author's case, 
than a conviction for a libel. On that sup- 
position, I ask you whether it does not 
amount, in substance, to such an address as 
the following : — " Frenchmen ! Royalists ! I 
do not call upon you to avenge the murder 
of your innocent sovereign, the butchery of 
your relations and friends, or the disgrace 
and oppression of your country. I call upon 
you by the hereditary right of Barras, trans- 
mitted through a long series of ages, — by 
the beneficent government of Merlin and 
Reubell, those worthy successors of Charle- 
magne, who.se authority was as mild as it 
was lawful, — I call upon you to revenge on 
Buonaparte the deposition of that Directory 
who condemned the far greater part of your- 
selves to beggary and exile, — who covered 
France with Bastiles and scafTolds, — who 
doomed the most respectable remaining 
members of their community, the Piche- 
grus, the Barbe-Marbois', the Barthelemis, 
to a lingering death in the pestilential wilds 
of Guiana. I call upon you to avenge on 
Buonaparte the cause of those Councils of 
Five Hundred, or of Two Hundred, of Elders 
or of Youngsters, — those disgusting and nau- 
seous mockeries of representative assemblies, 
— those miserable councils which sycophant 
sophists had converted into machines for 
fabricating decrees of proscription and con- 
fiscation, — which not only proscribed unborn 
thousands, but, by a refinement and innova- 
tion in rapine, visited the sins of the children 
upon the fathers and beggared parents, not 
for the ofTences but for the misfortunes of 
their sons. I call upon you to restore this 
Directory and these Councils, and all this 
horrible profanation of the name of a repub- 
2B 



494 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



lie, and to punish those who delivered you 
from them. I exliort you to reverence the 
den of these banditti as 'the sanctuary of 
the laws/ and to lament the day in which 
this intolerable nuisance was abated as ' an 
unfortunate da}'.' Last of all, I e.\hort )'ou 
once moie to follow that d'^plorable chimera, 
— the first lure that led you to destruction, 
— the sovereignty of the people; although I 
know, and you have bitterly felt, that you 
never were so much slaves in fact, as since 
you have been sovereigns in theory 1" Let 
me ask Mr. Attorney-General, whether, upon 
his supposition, I have not given yon a faith- 
ful translation of this Ode; and I think I may 
safely repeat, that, if this be the language 
of a Royalist addressed to Royalists, it must 
be the production of a lunatic. But. on my 
supposition, ever}' thing is natural and con- 
sistent. You have the sentiments and lan- 
guage of a Jacobin : — it is therefore probable, 
if you take it as an historical republication 
of a Jacobin piece; it is just, if you take it 
as a satirical representation of Jacobin opi- 
nions and projects. 

Perhaps it will be said, that this is the 
production of a Royalist writer, who assumes 
a Republican disguise to serve Royalist pur- 
poses. But if my Learned Friend chooses 
that supposition, I think an equal absurdity 
1-eturns upon him in another shape. We 
must then suppose it to bs intended to ex- 
cite Republican discontent and insurreclion 
against Buonaparte. It must then be taken 
as addressed to Republicans. Would Mr. 
Peltier, in that case, have disclosed his name 
as the publisher ? Would he not much rather 
have circulated the Ode in the name of 
Chenier, without prefixing his own, which 
was more than sufficient to warn his Jaco- 
binical readers against all his counsels and 
exhortations. If he had circulated it under 
the name of Chenier only, he would indeed 
have hung out Republican colours ; but by 
prefixing his own. he appears without dis- 
guise. You must suppose him then to say: 
— " Republicans ! I, your mortal enemy for 
fourteen years, whom you have robbed of 
his all, — whom you have forbidden to revisit 
his country under pain of death, — who, from 
the beginning of the Revolution, has unceas- 
ingly poured ridicule upon your follies, and 
e.xposed your crimes to detestation, — who in 
the cause of his unhappy sovereign braved 
your daggers for three years, and who es- 
caped, almost by miracle, from your assassins 
in September, — who has since been con- 
stantly employed in warning other nations 
by your example, and in collecting the evi- 
dence upon which history will pronounce 
your condemnation, — I who at this moment 
deliberately choose exile and honourable 
poverty, rather than give the slightest mark 
of external compliance with your abomina- 
ble institutions, — I your most irreconcilable 
end indefatigable enemy, offer you counsel 
which you know can only be a snare into 
which I expect you to fall, though by the 
mere publication of my name I have suffi- 



ciently forewarned you that I can have no 
aim but that of your destruction." I ask you 
again. Gentlemen, is this common sense! Is 
it not as clear, from the name of the author^ 
that it is not addressed to Jacobins, as, from 
the contents of the publication, that it is not 
addressed to Royalists t It may be the genu- 
ine work of Chenier; for the topics are such 
as he wonki employ : it may be a satire on 
Jacobinism; for the language is well adapted 
to such a composition : but it cannot be a 
Royalist's invective against Buonaparte, in- 
tended by him to stir up either Royalists or 
Republicans to the destruction of the First 
Consul. 

I cannot conceive it to be necessary that I 
should minutely examine this Poem to con- 
firm my construction. There are one or two 
passages on which I shall make a few ob- 
servations. The first is the contrast between 
the state of England and that of France, of 
which an ingenious friend* has favoured me 
with a translation, which I shall take the 
liberty of reading to you: — 

" Her glorious fabric England rears 
On law's tix'd base alone; 
Law's guardian pow'r while each revertfa, 
England ! thy people's freedom fears 
No danger from the throne. 

" For tiiere, before almighty law, 
High birili, high place, with pious awe, 

In reverend homage bend : 
There's man's free spirit, unconstrain'd, 
Exults, in man's best rights maintain'd,— 
Rights, which by ancient valour gain'd, 

From age to age descend. 

" Britons, by no base fear dismay'd, 

May power's worst acts arraign. 

Does tyrant force their rights invade? 

They call on law's impartial aid, 
Nor call that aid in vain. 

" Hence, of her sacred charter proud, 
With every earthly good endow'd. 

O'er subject seas unfurl'd, 
Britannia waves her standard wide ; — 
Hence, sees her freighted navies ride, 
Up wealthy Thames' majestic tide, 

The wonder of the world." 

Here, at first sight, you may perhaps think 
that the consistency of the Jacobin character 
is not supported — that the Republican dis- 
guise is thrown off, — that the Royalist stands 
unmasked before you : — but, on more consi- 
deration, you will lind that such an inference 
would be too hasty. The leaders of the 
Revolution are now reduced to envy that 
British constitution which, in the infatuation 
of their presumptuous ignorance, they once 
rejected with scorn. They are now slaves 
(as themselves confess) because twelve years 
ago they did not believe Englishmen to be 
free. They cannot but see that England is 
the only popular government in Europe; and 
they are compelled to pay a reluctant homage 
to the justice of English principles. The 
praise of England is too striking a satire on 
their own government to escape them ; and 
I may accordingly venture to appeal to all 



Mr. Canning. — Ed. 



DEFENCE OF JEAN PELTIER. 



495 



those \vho know any thing of the pohtical 
circles of Paris, whether such contrasts be- 
tween France and England as that which I 
have read to you be not the most favourite 
topics of the opponents of Buonaparte. But 
in the very next stanza : — 

Cependant, encore affligee 
Par I'odieuse heredite, 
Londres de litres surcharseo, 
Loridres n'a pas VEgalile: — 

you see that though they are forced to render 
an unwilhng tribute to our hberty, they can- 
not yet renounce all their fantastic and de- 
pLrable chimeras. They endeavour to make 
a compromise between the experience on 
which they cannot shut their eyes, and the 
wretched systems to which they still cling. 
Fanaticism is the most incurable of all men- 
■■ tal diseases; because in all its forms, — reli- 
I gious, philosophical, or political, — it is dis- 
^ tinguished by a sort of mad contempt for 
I experience, which alone can correct the errors 
? of practical judgment. And these demo- 
cratical fanatics still speak of the odious 
principle of '-hereditary government;" they 
Btill complain that we have not '^ equality :^^ 
they know not that this odious principle of 
inheritance is our bulwaik against tyranny, 
— that if we had their pretended equality 
we should soon cease to be the objects of 
their envy. These are the sentiments which 
you would naturally expect from half-cured 
lunatics : but once more I ask you, whether 
they can be the sentiments of Mr. Peltier? 
Would he complain that we have too much 
monarchy, or too much of what they call 
'•'aristocracy 1" If he has any prejudices 
against the English government, must they 
not he of an entirely opposite kind ] 

I have only one observation more to make 
on this Poem. It relates to the passage 
which is supposed to be an incitement to 
assassination. In my way of considering the 
subject, Mr. Peltier is not answerable for 
that passage, whatever its demerits may be. 
It is put into the mouth of a Jacobin ; and it 
will not, I think, be affirmed, that if it were 
an incitement to assassinate, it would be 
very unsuitable to his character. Experi- 
ence, and very recent experience, has abun- 
dantly proved how widely the French Re- 
volution has blackened men's imaginations, 
— what a daring and desperate cast it has 
given to their characters, — how much it has 
made them regard the most extravagant pro- 
jects of guilt as easy and ordinary expe- 
dients, — and to what a horrible extent it has 
familiarised their minds to crimes which be- 
fore were only known among civilized na- 
tions by the history of barbarous times, or 
as the subject of poetical fiction. But. thank 
God ! Gentlemen, we in England have not 
learned to charge any man with inciting to 
assassination, — not even a member of that 
atrocious sect who have revived political as- 
sassination in Christendom, — except when 
we are compelled to do so by irresistible 
evidence. Where is that evidence here? 
in general it is immoral, — because it is in- 



decent, — to speak with levity, still more to 
anticipate with pleasure, the destruction of 
any human being. But between this immo- 
ralit)- and the horrible crime of inciting to 
assassination, there is a wide interval in- 
deed. The real or supposed author of this 
Ode gives you to understand that he would 
hear with no great sorrow of the destruction 
of the First Consul. But surely the publica- 
tion of that sentiment is very different from 
an exhortation to assassinate. 

But, sa3's my Learned Friend, why is the 
example of Biutus celebrated 1 Why are the 
French reproached with their baseness in 
not copying that example? Gentlemen, I 
have no judgment to give on the act of Mar- 
cus Brulus. I rejoice that I have not: I 
should not dare to condemn the acts of brave 
and virtuous men in extraordinary and ter- 
rible circumstances, and which have been, 
as it were, consecrated by the veneration or 
so many ages. Still less should I dare to 
weaken the authority of the most sacred 
rules of duty, by praises which would be 
immoral, even if the acts themselves were 
in some measure justified by the awful cir- 
cumstances under which they were done. I 
am not the panegyrist of "those instances 
of doubtful public spirit at which morality is 
perplexed, reason is staggered, and fiom 
which afinghted nature recoils."* But 
whatever we may think of the act of Brutus^ 
surely my Learned Friend will not contend 
that every allusion to it, every panegyric on 
it, which has appeared for eighteen centu- 
ries, m prose and verse, is an incitement to 
assassination. From the '■' coTispiciics divina 
Philippica famcE,''' down to the last schoolboy 
declamation, he will find scarce a work of 
literature without such allusions, and not 
very many without such panegyrics. I must 
say that he has construed this Ode more hke 
an Attorney-General than a critic in poetry. 
According to his construction, almost every 
line writer in our language is a preacher of 
murder. 

Having said so much on the first of these 
supposed libels, I shall he very short on the 
two that remain : — the Verses ascribed to a 
Dutch Patriot, and the Parody of the Speech 
of Lepidus. 

In the first of these, the piercing eye of Mr. 
Attorney-General has again discovered an 
incitement to assassinate, — the most learned 
incitement to as.sassinate that ever was ad- 
dressed to such ignorant ruffians as are most 
likely to be employed for such purposes! — 
in an obscure allusion, to an obscure, and 
perhaps fabulous, part of Roman history, — 
to the supposed murder of Rcmiulus, about 
which none of us know any thing, and of 
which the Jacobins of Paris and Amsterdam 
probably never heard. 

But the Apotheosis : — here my Learned 
Friend has a little forgotten himself: — he 
seems to argue as if Apotheosis always pre- 
supposed death. But he must know, that 



* Burke, Works, (quarto,) vol. iv. p. 427. 



4% 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCKLLANKOUS KSSAYS. 



Ausustu?, aiul ovoii TibtMiiis and Noro, were 
litMlii'il ilmiiiiT thoir livos; niul ho cannot 
have toiiixHtiMi t!u> tonus in which ont^ol llio 
I'omt-nocts ot Augustus speaks o( his mas- 
ter's divinity : — 

rrii'sfiis tiivns liiiln'hiinr 

Ausiiusiuii, ailjcctis nrii:«niii«i 

Inipori« — ' 

It" any uunhMn rival of Augustus shouK^ 
I'liooso tliat jvith to C^lyinpus, 1 thmk ho will 
liml it inoro stoon anil rniii^i'il lliaii that hy 
whioli PoUux anil lloroulos oliuiln\l to the 
othorial towors; and that lio must bo 0(Ui- 
tont with "purplini^- his lips'" with Knrj^iintiy 
on oarlh, as ho lias vory littK> olianoo ot do- 
iiiii so with noolar anionjj tho <iods. 

Tho utmost tliat can seriously bo mailo 
of this pass;»i;o is, that it is a wish for a 
n\an's death. I repeat, that I ilo not eontend 
lor the deeouoy ot pnMiely ileelarinj; such 
wislies, or oven lor the propiiety of entor- 
laininii them. Hut tho disianeo between 
suoh a wish and a persuasive to n\nriior, is 
immense. Sneh a wish lor a man's death is 
viMV ot"ten little more than a stronij. though 
! admit not a vory doeont, way of o.xpressini; 
detestation of his eharaetor. 

Hut without pursniiiii- this arjiumenl any 
t'artlier. I think myself entitled to apply to 
lhosi> Versos the same reason iniiwiiieh 1 have 
aheadv applied to the tirst supposed libel on 
Huonajxute. If they be the real eomposi- 
tionof a pretenvied "Puteh Talriot, Mr. I'el- 
lier mav republish tliem innoeentlv : if they 
beasatneou sneh pretended Outeh jwtriots, 
iheyarenot a libel on Hnonaparle. CJranting, 
tor tho sake of arenment, that they did con- 
tain a serious exhortation to ass;»ssinato, is 
there any thiiii; in such an exhortation in- 
eonsisleut with the character of those pre- 
tended patriots? They wlio were disatVectoil 
to the milil and tolerant L;t>vi«rnn\ont of their 
tlonrisliini;- country, because it did not ox- 
HCtlv square with all their tlieoretical whim- 
sies" — who revolted from tliat administration 
as tvi-annical, which made Holland one of 
the wonders of tho world for protoctoil in- 
dustry, for liberty of action and opinion, and 
for a prosperity which 1 may vtMituro to call 
the i-roati'st victory of man over hostile olo- 
meuts, — who servt>d in tho armies of Kobt"- 
spierro, under the impudent pretext of iriviiiii 
liDcrty to their own country, anil who have, 
fmallv, buried in the s:ime «;rave its hborty, 
us independence, and perhaps its national ex- 
istiMice, — such men are not entitlt\l to much 
tenderness from a political satirist ; and ho 
will scarcely violate ilran\atic ]Mopriety it hi> 
iniputeto then\ any lanijuap'. howi'vor crimi- 
nal and detestable. Thev who could not 
brook thi' authority of then tild, la/.y, ^ood- 
naturod iiovornn\ent, art> not likely to endure 
with patience tlvt> yoke of that stern ilomina- 
tion which thi'y have broujiht \\\xm them- 
holvos, and which, as far as relates to them, 
is onlc tho just punishment of thtMr crimes. 

I know nothing more odious than their 

* Horace, lib. iii. ode 5. — Ed. 



ohamctor, nnlosa it bo that of those who 
invoked the aid of the oppres.'^orsol Swil/er- 
laiul to be the ilelivortMs of Ireland ! The 
latter gudt has, indeed, peculiar ag^^iavatioiis. 
In the name o\ libiMty they wtMO willing to 
surrendi'r their country into tho l>,uuls of 
tyrants, tho most lawless, faiihless, and 
mori'ilcss that ev»M- si-ourgtul Kuropo, — who, 
at tlu< very moment of the negotiation, were 
c»)vered wiih the blood of tlu' unhappy 
Swiss, tho martyrs of r«'id indepoiulenct> and 
o( real liberty. Their succi-ss would havo 
boon tiio ilestruction of tlie only free com- 
munity reinaining in Knrojn', — of Kngland, 
the only bulwark of the remains of Kuro- 
peaii indepondeiico. Their means were the 
l>;issions Of an ignorant and l>«rbari>us p>'n- 
sanlry, aiui a civil war, which could not tail 
to piodueo all tho horrible crimes and horri- 
ble retaliations of the last calamity that can 
befall society. — a servile revolt. 'I"ht>y sought 
tho worst of ends by the most abominable 
o( nroans. Tht^y lal>our»>d lor the subjuga- 
tion of tho world at tho expense of crimes 
ami miseries which men oi humanity and 
conscienco would have thought too great a 
price for its deliverance. 

The last ol these supposed libels, (Jentlo- 
men, is the Tarody on the Spei"ch of I.opi- 
du.s in the Fragments of S;dinst. It is 
certainly a very ingonio\is and liaj>py j>arody 
of an original, attiMuled with some historical 
obscurity and ilillicnlty, whicii it is no part 
of oui present busim-ss to «>xamine. This 
Parody is ^aid to have been clandestinely 
placed among tho papeis of one of the most 
an\iable and resi>ectablo men in France, 
M. Ciunillo .leurdan, in order to furnish a 
pretext for involving that excellent nerson in 
a charge of conspiracy. This is said to have 
boon done by a spy of Fonche. Now, (Jen- 
tlomen, I take this to be a .'satire of Fouch6, 
— on ids maimlacture of plots, — on his con- 
trivance tor the ilestruction of iniuiciMit and 
virtuous #nen ; and 1 should admit it to be a 
libtd on Foiicho, if it were possible to libel 
him. lown that I should like to see Fouch6 
appear as a plaintitl", seeking reparation for 
his injured character, before any tribunal, 
safe from his fangs, — where he hail not the 

ixiwor of fionding tho judges to (Juiana or 
Vladag^iscar. It happens that wo know 
something of tho history of M. Fouch^, 
from a very credible witness against him, — 
from himself. Vou w ill perhajis <'xcuse me 
for reading to you si>mo jM>s.<ages of Ids let- 
tt>rs in the year 17J>;i, from which von will 
judge whether any satire can W so severe as 
tho portrait he draws of himself: — '-Convin- 
ccil that lht>re are no innocent nuMi in tiiisin- 
faimius city," (the unhappy city of Lyons), 
''but those who are oppressed and loailen 
with irons by tho a.ss;»8.sins of tho people," 
(he means the murderers w lio wore con- 
denmed to death for their crimes) " wo are 
on onr guard ag-.iinst the (tars of rrventanee! 
nothing can disarm our severity. Tiioy have 
not yet dared to solicit the rojioal of your 
first decree for the annihilation of the city 



DEFENCE OF JEAN PELTIER. 



497 



of Lyons! but scirocly anything; has yf't 
been (loiKJ lo cany il into cxcculio!!." (I'a- 
llictic!) "The (IcrnolilioriK nut too now. 
More ra[)i(l rncaiis art; iicriis.siiy to republi- 
can irripaticiKie. The f^xplosioii of the mine, 
and tli(j (h;vouiiii;; activity of the fLinien, can 
alone adecjuatijly iifprcBeiit the on'mipotence 
of ihf! j)eo[)lc!." ^Uiihaj»[)y j)0|)ula(;(!, alwa^H 
the pretext, the nistrument, and ihi; victim 
of political crirni.'H!) "Their will cannot be 
checked like thai of lyrant.s — it ou^ht to 
have the effects of thuudi-r!''* The next 
snecitnen of this worthy f,'enth'man which 1 
Bnail give, i8 in a Kpfe(;h to the Jacobin Club 
of Paris, on the 21ht of December. 179.'^, by 
his worthy colleague in the mission to Ly- 
ons, Collot d'llerbois: — "We are accused" 
fyon, (Jentlernen, will soon see how un- 
lustly) "of beiiif^ cannibals, men of blood; 
but it is in counter-revolutionary petitions, 
hawked about for si;rnalure by aristocrats, 
that this char;^e is made against us. They 
examine with the most scrupulous atten- 
tion how the co<inter-r<!volutionists are put 
to death, and th(;y affect to say, that they 
are not killed at one stroke." (He speaks 
for himself and his colleague Fouche, and 
one would supjjose that tie was going lo 
deny the fact, — but nothing like it.) '^Ah, 
Jacobins, did Clialier die at the first stroke ?" 
(This Chalier was the Marat of Lyons.) "A 
drop of blood poured from generous V(;ins 
goes to my hr;art" (humane; creature ! ) ; " but 
I have no pity for conspirators." (He how- 
ever proceeds to state a most undeniable 
1)roof of his compassion.) " We caused two 
mndred to be shot at once, and it ischarg(!d 
upon us as a crime!" (Astonishing! tliat 
such an act of humanity shoidd be called a 
crime ! ) " Thoy do not know that it is a proof 
of our sensibility ! When twenty criminals 
arc guillotined, the last of them dies twenty 
deaths: but tho.se two hundred conspirators 
perished at once. They speak of sensibility; 
U'C also are full of sensibility! The Jacobins 
have all the virtues ! They are compassionate, 
humane, generous !'' (This is somewhat hard 
to be understood, but it is perfectly explained 
by what follows;) "but they reserve these 
sentiments for the patriots who arc their 
brethren, which the aristocrats never will 
be."t 

The only remaining document with which 
I shall trouble you, is a letter from Fouche 
to his amiable colleague Collot d'llerbois, 
which, as might be expected in a confiden- 
tial communication, breathes all the native 
tenderness of his soul : — '• Let u.s be It^rribli!, 
that we may run no risk of b(!irig feeble or 
cruel. Let us ainiihilatt; in our wrath, at a 
single blew, all n.-bel.-*, all conspirators, all 
traitors," (comprehensive wortls in his voca- 
bulary) "to Sparc ourselves the pain, the 
long jLgony, of punishing like kings !" (No- 
thing but [ihilanthropy in this worthy man's 
heart.) "Let us exercise justice after the 



• Monitrur, 24th November, 1793. 
t Moniteur, 24(h December. 
63 



example of nature; let us avenge ourselves 
like ;i pco[;le ; h;t US Strike like the thunder- 
bolt; und lot even the ashes of our enemies 
disapi)ear fiom the s<;il of liberty ! Let the 
perfidious and ferocious Kngli.'-h be fillacked 
irom every side; let the whole rej ublic 
form a volcano to pour devouring lava upon 
them; may the infamous island which juo 
duced these monsters, who no longer belong 
lo humanity, be for ever buried under the 
waves of the ocean ! Far<;well. rny l'rier:d ! 
Tears of joy stream from my eyes" (wo 
shall soon see for what); '• tliey di-luge my 
soul."* Then follows a little postscript, 
which exjjlains the cause of this excessive 
joy, so hypfnbolical in its language, and 
which fully justifies the indignation of the 
humane writer against the '•' ferocious Eng- 
lish," who are .so stupid and wj cruel as never 
to liavi; thought of a benevolent massacre, 
by way of sj)aring themsfdves the pain of 
punishing individual criminals. ." VVe have 
only one way of celebrating victory. Wo 
send this evening two hundred and thirteen 
rebels to be shot!" t/^ 

Such, Centh.'men, is M. Fouche, who is 
said to have jjrocurrxl this Parody to be mix- 
ed with the papers of my excellent friend 
Camille Jourdan, to serve as a pretext for his 
destruction. Fabricated plots are among the 
most usual means of such tyrants for such 
purposes; and if Mr. Peltier intended to 
libid — shall I say 1 — Fouche by this compo- 
sition, I can easily understand both the Pa- 
rody and the history of its origin. But if it 
be directed against Buonaparte to serve 
Royalist purposes, I must confess myself 
wholly unable to conceive why Mr. Pi-llier 
should hav(! stigmatised his work, and de- 
l)rived it of all authority and power of per- 
suasion, by prefixing to it the infamous name 
of Fouche. 

On the same principle I think one of the 
observations of my Learned Friend, on the 
title of this publication, may be retorted on 
him. He has called your attention lo the 
title, — "L'Ambigu, ou Varietes atroces et 
amu.santes." Now, Gentlemen, I must ask 
whether, had these been Mr. Peltier's own in- 
vectives against Buonaparte, he would him- 
self have branded them as "atrocious'?" 
But if they be specimens of the oj)inion8 and 
invectives of a French faction, the title is 
very natural, and the epithets are perfectly 
intelligible. Indeed I scarce know a more 
appropriate title for the whole tragi-comr-dy 
of the Il(!Volulion ihan that of " atrocioua 
and amusing varieties." 

My Learned Friend has made some ubsei 
vations on other jiarts of this publication, to 
show the spirit which animati'S the author; 
but they do not seem to be very material to 
the (juestion betwe<!n us. It is no i^a:l of my 
case that Mr. Peltier has not spoken wita 
some uniK)litenes.s, — with some flij)pancy, — 
with more severity than my Learned Friend 
may approve, of factions and of adminin- 

* Monheur, 25ih December. 
2a2 



498 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



trations in France. Mr. Peltier cannot love 
the Revolntion, or any government that has 
grown out of it anci maintains it. The Re- 
volutionists have destroyed his family ; they 
have seized his inheritance: they have beg- 
gared, exiled, and proscribed himself. If he 
did not detest ihem he would be unworthy 
of living; he would be a base hypocrite if he 
were to conceal his sentiments. But I must 
again remind you, that this is not an Informa- 
tion for not sufRciently honouriimthe French 
Revolution, — for not showing suliicient reve- 
rence for the Consular government. These 
are no crimes among us. England is not 
yet reduced to such an ignominious depend- 
ence. Our hearts and consciences are not 
yet in the bonds of so wretched a slavery. 
This is an Information for a libel on Buona- 
parte, and if you believe the principal inten- 
tion of JNIr. Peltier to have been to republish 
the writings or to satirise the character of 
other individuals, you mu^ acquit him of a 
libel on the First Consul. J) 

Here, Gentlemen. I thiiiTc I might stop, if I 
had only to consider the defence of INlr. Pel- 
tier. I trust that you are already convinced 
of his iimocence. I fear I have exhausted 
your patience, as I am sure I have very nearly 
exhausteit my own strength. But so much 
eeems to me to depend on your verdict, that I 
cannot forbear from laying before you some 
consi.leralions of a more general nature. 

Believing as I do that we are on the eve 
of a great struggle, — that this is only the first 
battle between reason and power, — that you 
have now in your hands, committed to your 
trust, the only remains of free discussion in 
Europe, now confined to this kingdom ; ad- 
dressing you, therefore, as the guardians of 
the most important interests of mankind ; 
convinced that the unfettered exercise of 
reason depends more on your present verdict 
than on any other that was ever delivered 
by a jury, I cannot conclude without bring- 
ing before you the sentiments and examples 
of our ancestors in some of those awful and 
perilous situations by which Divine Provi- 
dence has in former ages tried the virtue of 
the English nation. We are fallen upon 
times in which it behoves us to strengthen 
our spirits by the contemplation of great ex- 
amples of constancy. Let us seek for them 
in the annals of our forefathers. 

The reign of Queen Elizabeth may be 
considered as the opening of the modern 
history of England, especially in its connec- 
tion with the modern system of Europe, 
which began about that time to assume the 
form that it preserved till the French Revo- 
lution. It was a very memorable period, 
the maxims of which ought to be engraven 
on the head and heart of every Englishman. 
Philip II., at the head of the greatest empire 
then in the world, was operdy aiming at uni- 
versal domination ; and his project was so 
far from being thought chimerical by the 
wisest of his contemporaries, that in the opi- 
nion of the great Due de Sully he must have 
b«.*en successful, " if, by a most singular 



combination of circumstances, he had not fit 
the same time been resisted by two such 
strong heads as those of Henry IV. and 
Queen Elizabeth." To the most extensive 
and opulent dominions, the most numerous 
and disciplined armies, the most renowned 
captains, the greatest revenue, he adiied also 
the most formidable power over opinion. 
He was the chief of a religious faction, ani- 
mated by the most atrocious fanaticism, and 
preparetl to second his ambition by rebellion, 
anarchy and regicide, in every Protestant 
state. Elizabeth was among the lirst ob- 
jects of his hostility. That wise and mag- 
nanimous Princess placed herself in the front 
of the battle for the liberties of Europe. 
Though she had to contend at home with 
his fanatical faction, which almost occupied 
Ireland, which divided Scotland, and was 
not of contemptible strength in England, she 
aided the oppressed inhabitants of the Ne- 
therlands in their just and glorious resistance 
to his tyranny ; she aided Henry the Great in 
suppressing the abominable rebellion which 
anarchical principles had exciledand Spanish 
arms had supported in France ; and after a 
long reign of various fortune, in \\ hich she pre- 
served her unconquered spirit through great 
calamities, and still greater dangers, she at 
length broke the strength of the enemy, and 
reduced his power within such limits as to 
be compatible with the safety of England, 
and of all Europe. Her only eflectual ally 
was the spirit of her people : and her policy 
flowed from that magnanimous nature which 
in the hour of peril teaches belter lessons 
than those of cold reason. Her great heart 
inspired her with the higher and a nobler 
wisdom, which disdained to appeal to the 
low anil sordid passions of her people even 
for the protection of their low and sordid 
interests ; becaus^, she knew, or rather she 
felt, that these arefeffeminate. creeping, cow- 
ardly, short-sighted passions, A\hich shrink 
from conflict oven in defence of their own 
mean objects. In a righteous Cause she 
roused those generous aflTectionsof her people 
which alone teach boldness, constancy, and 
foresight, and which are therefore the only 
safe guardians of the lowest as well as the 
highest interests of a nation. In her me- 
morable address to her army, when the in- 
vasion of the kingdom was threatened by 
Spain, this woman of heroic spirit disdained 
to speak to them of their case and their 
commerce, and their wealth and their safety. 
No ! She touched another chord ; — .she spoke 
of their national honour, of their dignity as 
Englishmen, of "the foul scorn that Parma 
or Spain should dare to invade the bor- 
ders of her realms!" She breathed into 
them those grand and powerful sentiments ^ 
which exalt vulgar men into heroes, — which 
led them into the battle of their country 
armed with holy and irresistible enthusiasm, 
which even cover with their shield all the 
ignoble interests that Ijase calculation and 
cowarilly selfishness tremble to hazard, but 
shrink from defending. A sort of prophetic 



DEFENCE OF JEAN PELTIER. 



499 



instinct, —if I may so speak, — seems to have 
revf^aleil to her the importance of that great 
insliiimerit fur rousing and guidmg the miiuis 
of men, of the effects of which she had had 
no experience, — which, since her time, has 
changed the condition of the world, — but 
which few modern statesmen have tho- 
roughly understood or wisely employed, — 
which is no doubt connected with many 
ridiculous and degrading details, — which has 
produced, and which may again produce, 
terrible mischiefs, — but the influence of 
which must after all be considered as the 
most certain effect and the most efRcacious 
cause of civilization, — and which, whether it 
be a blessing or a curse, is the most power- 
ful engine that a politician can move : — I 
mean the press. It is a curious fact, that, 
irr the year of the Armada, Queen Elizabeth 
caused to be printed the first Gazettes that 
ever appeared in England ; and I own, when 
I consider that this mode of rousing a na- 
tional spirit was then absolutely unexam- 
pled; — that she could have no assurance of 
its efficacy from the precedents of former 
times, — I am disposed to regard her having 
recourse to it as one of the most sagacious 
experiments, — one of the greatest discove- 
ries of political genius. — one of the most 
striking anticipations of future experience, 
that we find in history. I mention it to you, 
to justify the opinion that I have ventured to 
state, of the close connection of our national 
spirit with our press, and even our periodi- 
cal press. I cannot quit the reign ol Eliza- 
beth without laying before you the maxims 
of her policy, in the language of the greatest 
and wisest of men. Lonl Bacon, in one part 
of his discourse on her reign, speaks thus of 
her support of Holland: — -'But let me rest 
upon the honourable and continual aid and 
relief she hath given to the distressed and 
desolate people of the Low Countries ; a 
people recommended unto her by ancient 
confederacy and daily intercourse, by their 
cause so innocent, and their fortune so la- 
mentable !" — In another passage of the same 
discourse, he thus speaks of the general 
system of her foreign policy, as the protector 
of Europe, in words too remarkable to re- 
quire any commentary: — "Then it is her 
government, and her government alone, that 
hath been the sconce and fort of all Europe, 
which hath lett this prond nation from over- 
running all. If any state be yet free from 
his factions erected in the bowels thereof; if 
there be any state wherein this faction is 
erected that is not yet fired with civil trou- 
bles; if there be any state under his pro- 
tection that enjoyeth moderate liberty, upon 
whom he tyrannizeth not; it is the mercy 
of this renowned Queen that standeth be- 
tween them and their misfortunes !" 

The next great conspirator against the 
righis of men and nations, against the secu- 
rity and independence of all European states, 
against every kind and degree of civil and 
religious liberty, was Louis XIV. In his 
time the character of the English nation was 



the more remarkably displayed, because it 
was counteracted by an ajxjstate and perfi- 
dious government. During great part of his 
reign, you know that the throne ol England 
was filled by princes Vho deserted the 
cause of their country and of Europe. — 
who were the accomplices and the tools of 
the oppressor of the vvorlil, — \\ ho were 
even so unmanl}', so unprincely, so base, as 
to have sold themselves to his ambition. — 
who were content that he should enslave 
the Continent, if he enabled them to enslave 
Great Britain. These princes, traitors to their 
own royal dignity and to the feelings of the 
generous people whom they ruled, preferred 
the condition of the first slave of Louis XIV. 
to the dignity of the first freeman of Eng- 
land. Yet, even under these princes, the 
feelings of the people of this kingdom were 
displayed on a most memorable occasion to- 
wards foreign suffiirers and foreign oppres- 
sors. The R(.'vocation of the Edict of Nantes, 
threw fifty thousand French Protestants on 
our shores. They were received, as I trust 
the victims of tyranny ever will be in this 
land, which seems chosen by Providence to 
be the home of the exile, — the refuge of the 
oppressed. They were w elcomed by a people 
high-spirited as well as humane, who did 
not insult them by clandestine charily, — 
who did not give alms in secret lest their 
charity should be detected by neighbouring 
tyrants! No! they were publicly and na- 
tionally welcomed and relieved. They were 
bid to raise their voice against their oppres- 
sor, and to proclaim their wrongs to all man- 
kind. They did so. They were joined in 
the cry of just indignation by every English- 
man worthy of the name. It was a fruitful 
indignation, which soon produced the suc- 
cessful resistance of all Europe to the com- 
mon enemy. Even then, when Jeffreys 
disgraced the Bench which his Lordship* 
now adorns, no refugee was deterred by 
prosecution for libel from giving vent to his 
feelings, — from arraigning the oppressor in 
the face of all Europe. 

During this ignominious period of our his- 
tory, a war arose on the Continent, which 
cannot but present itself to the mind on 
such an occasion as this, — the only war that 
was ever made on the avowed ground of at- 
tacking a free press. I speak of the invasion 
of Holland by Louis XIV. The liberties 
which the Dutch gazettes had taken in dis- 
cussing his conduct M'ere the sole cm-se of 
this very extraordinary and memorable war, 
which w-as of short duration, unprecedented 
in its avowed principle, and most glorious in 
its event for the liberties of mankind. That 
republic, at all times so interesting lo Eng- 
lishmen, — in the worst times of both coun- 
tries our brave enemies, — in their best times 
our most faithful and valuable friends, — was 
then charged with the defence of a free press 
against the oppressor of Europe, as a sacred 
trust for the benefit of all generations. Thej 



• Lord EUenborough. — Ed. 



5D) 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



felt ihe sacredness of the deposit, they felt 
the Jigtiity of the station in which they were 
placed : and though deserted by the un- 
English Government of England, they as- 
serted their own ancient character, and drove 
out the great armies and great captains of 
the oppressor with defeat and disgrace. Such 
was the result of the only war hitherto avow- 
edly undertaken to oppress a free country 
because she allowed the free and public ex- 
ercise of reason : — and may the God of Jus- 
tice and Liberty grant that such may ever 
be the result of wars made by tyrants against 
the rights of mankind, especially of those 
against that right which is the guardian of 
every other. 

This war. Gentlemen, had the effect of 
raising up from obscurity the great Prince 
of Orange, afterwards King William IIL — 
the deliverer of Holland, the deliverer of 
England, the deliverer of Europe, — the only 
hero who was distinguished by such a happy 
union of fortune and virtue that the objects 
of his ambition were always the same with 
the interests of humanity, — perhaps, the only 
man who devoted the whole of his life ex- 
clusively to the service of mankind. This 
most illustrious benefactor of -Europe, — this 
"hero without vanity or passion," as he has 
been justly and beautifully called by a vene- 
rable prelate,* who never made a step to- 
wards greatness without securing or advan- 
cing liberty, who had been made Stadtholder 
of Holland for the salvation of his own coun- 
try, was soon after made King of England 
for the deliverance of ours. When the peo- 
ple of Great Britain had once more a govern- 
ment worthy of them, they returned to the 
feelings and principles of their ancestors, 
and resumed their former station and their 
former duties as protectors of the indepen- 
dence of nations. The people of England, de- 
livered from a government which disgraced, 
oppressed, and betrayed them, fought under 
AVilliam as their forefathers had fought under 
Elizabeth, and after an almost uninterrupted 
struggle of more than twenty years, in which 
they were often abandoned by fortune, but 
never by their own constancy and magna- 
nimity, they at length once more defeated 
those projects of guilty ambition, boundless 
aggrandisement, and universal domination, 
which had a second time threatened to over- 
whelm the whole civilized world. They 
rescued Europe from being swallowed up in 
the gulf of extensive empire, which the ex- 
perience of all times points out as the grave 
of civilization, — where men are driven by 
violent conquest and military oppression into 
lethargy and slavishness of heart, — where, 
after their arts have perished with the men- 
tal vigour from which they spring, they are 
plunged by the combined power of effemi- 
nacy and ferocity into irreclaimable and 
hopeless barbarism. Our ancestors esta- 
blished the safety of their own country by 
providing for that of others, and rebuilt the 

* Dr. Shipley, Bishop of St. Asaph. 



European system upon such firm founda- 
tions, that nothing less than the tempest of the 
French Revolution could have shaken it. 

This arduous struggle was suspended for 
a short time by the Peace of Ryswick. The 
interval between that Treaty and the War 
of the Succession enables us to judge how 
our ancestors acted in a very peculiar situa- 
tion which requires maxims of poLcy very 
different from those which usually govern 
states. The treaty which they had con- 
cluded was in truth and substance only a 
truce. The ambition and the power of the 
enemy were such as to render real peace 
impossible ; and it was perfectly obvious that 
the disputed succession of the Spanish mon- 
archy would soon render it no longer practica- 
ble to preserve even the appearance of amity. 
It was desirable, however, not to provoke 
the enemy by unseasonable hostility; but it 
was still more desirable, — it was absolutely 
necessary, to keep up the national jealousy 
and indignation against him who was soon 
to be their open enemy. It might naturally 
have been apprehended that the press might 
have driven into premature war a prince 
who not long before had been violently ex- 
asperated by the press of another free coun- 
try. I have looked over the political publi- 
cations of that time with some care, and I 
can venture to say, that at no period were 
the s)stem and projects of Louis XIV ani- 
madverted on with more freedom and bold- 
ness than during that interval. Our ances- 
tors, and the heroic Prince who governed 
them, did not deem it wise policy to disarm 
the national mind for the sake of prolonging 
a truce: — they were both too proud and too 
wise to pay so great a price for so small a 
benefit. 

In the course of the eighteenth century, a 
great change took place in the state of pohti- 
cal discussion in this country: — I speak of 
the multiplication of newspapers. I know 
that newspapers are not very popular in this 
place, which is. indeed, not very surprising, 
because they are known here only by their 
faults. Their publishers come here only to 
receive the chastisement due to their of- 
fences. With all their faults, I own, I can- 
not help feeling some respect for whatevei 
is a proof of the increased curiosity and in- 
creased knowledge of mankind ; and I can- 
not help thinking, that if somewhat more 
indulgence and consideration were shown 
for the difficulties of their situation, it might 
prove one of the best correctives of their 
faults, by teaching them that self-respect 
which is the best security for liberal conduct 
towards others. But however that may be, 
it is very certain that the multiplication of 
these channels of popular information has 
produced a great change in the state of our 
domestic and foreign politics. At home, it 
has, in truth, produced a gradual revolution 
in our government. By increasing the num- 
ber of those who exercise soitje sort of judg- 
ment on public affairs, it ha? created a sub- 
stantial democracy, infi/iitely mQre important 



DEFENCE OF JE.\N PELTIER. 



50. 



than those democrat ical forms which have 
been the subject of so much contest. So 
that I may venture to say, England has not 
only in its forms the most democralical gov- 
ernment that ever existed in a great country, 
but, in substance, has the most democralical 
government that ever existed in any country; 
— if the most substantial democracy be that 
state in which the greatest imraber of men 
feel an interest and express an opinion upon 
political questions, and in which the greatest 
number of judgments and wills concur in in- 
fluencing public measures. 

The same circumstance gave great addi- 
tional importance to our discussion of conti- 
nental politics. That discussion was no 
longer, as in the preceding century, confined 
lo a few pamphlets, wrilien and read only 
by men of education and ratdc, which reach- 
ed the multitude very slowly and rarely. 
In newspapers an almost daily appeal was 
made, directly or indirectly, to the judgment 
and passions of almost every individual in the 
kingdom upon the measures and principles 
not only of his own country, but of every 
state in Europe. Under such circumstances, 
the tone of these publications in speaking of 
foreign governments became a matter of im- 
portance. You will excuse me, therefore, 
jf, before I conclude, I remind you of the 
general nature of their language on one or two 
very remarkable occasions, and of the bold- 
ness with which they arraigned the crimes 
of powerful sovereigns, without any check 
from the laws and magistrates of their own 
country. This toleration, or rather this pro- 
tection, was too long and uniform to be acci- 
dental. I am, indeed, very much mistaken 
if it be not founded upon a policy which this 
country cannot abandon without sacrificing 
her liberty and endangering her national 
existence. //^ 

The first remarkable instance which I 
shall choose to state of the unpunished and 
protected boldness of the English press, — of 
the freedom with which they animadverted 
on I he policy of powerful sovereigns, is on 
the Partition of Poland in 1772, — an act not 
perhaps so horrible in its means, nor so de- 
plorable in its immediate effects, as some 
other atrocious invasions of national inde- 
pendence which have followed it, but the 
most abominable in its general tendency 
and ultimate consequences of any political 
crime recorded in history, because it was the 
first practical breach in the system of Eu- 
rope. — the first example of atrocious robbery 
perpetrated on unoffending countries, which 
has been since so liberally followed, and 
which has broken down all the barriers of 
habit and principle that guarded defence- 
less states. The perpetrators of this atro- 
cious crime were the most powerful sove- 
reigns of the Continent, whose hostility it 
certainly was not the interest of Great Britain 
wantonly to incur. They were the most 
illustrious princes of their age ; and some of 
them were doubtless entitled to the highest 
praise for their domestic administration, as 



well as for the brilliant qualities which dis- 
tinguished their character. But none of 
these circumstances, — no dread of their re- 
sentment, — no admiration of their talents, — 
no consideration for their rank, — silenced the 
animadversion of the English press. Some 
of you remember, — all of you know, that a 
loud and unanimous cry of reprobation and 
execration broke outaguinst them from every 
part of this kingdom. It was perfectly un- 
influenced by any considerations of onr own 
mere national interest, which might perhaps 
be supposed to be rather favourably afiected 
by that partition. It was not, as in some 
other countries, the indignation of rival rob- 
bers, who were excluded from their share of 
the prey:, it was the moral anger of disinte- 
rested spectators against atrocious crimes, — 
the gravest and the most dignified moral 
principle which the God of Justice has im- 
planted in the human heart, — that one, the 
dread of which is the only restraint on the 
actions of powerful criminals, and the pro- 
mulgation of which is the only punishment 
that can be inflicted on them. It is a re- 
straint which ought not to be weakened : it 
is a punishment which no good man can de- 
sire to mitigate. That great crime was 
spoken of as it deserved in England. Rob- 
bery was not described by any courtly cir- 
cumlocutions : rapine was not called "poli- 
cy:" nor was the oppression of an innocent 
people termed a " mediation " in their do- 
mestic difl'e'-ences. No prosecutions, — no 
Criminal Iniormations followed the liberty 
and the boldness of the language then em- 
ployed. No complaints even appear to .have 
been made from abroad ; — much less any 
insolent menaces against the free constitu- 
tion which protected the English press. — 
The people of England were too long known 
throughout Europe for the proudest poten- 
tate to expect to silence our press by such 
means. 

I pass over the second partition of Poland 
in 1792 ()'0u all remember what passed on 
that occasion — the universal abhorrence ex- 
pressed by every man and every writer of 
every party, — the succours that were pub- 
licly preparing by large bodies of individuals 
of all parties for the oppressed Poles); I 
hasten to the final dismemberment of that 
unhappy kingdom, which seems to me the 
most striking example in our history of the 
habitual, principled, and deeply-rooted for- 
bearance of those who administer the law 
towards political writers. We were engaged 
in, the most extensive, bloody, and dangerous 
war that this country ever knew; and the 
parties to the dismemberment of Poland 
were our allies, and our only powerful and 
effective allies. We had every motive of 
poUcy to court their friendslip: every reason 
of state seemed to require that we should 
not permit them to be abused and vilified 
by English writers. What was the fact? 
Did any Englishman consider himself at 
I liberty, on account of temporary interests, 
[however urgent, to silence those feelings of 



502 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



humanity and justice which guard the cer- 
tain and pernnaneiit interests of all coun- 
tries? You all remember that every voice, 
and every pen, and every press in England 
were unceasingly employed to brand that 
abominable robbery. You remember that 
this was not confined to private writers, but 
that the same abhorrence was expressed by 
every member of both Houses of Parliament 
who was not under the restraints of ministe- 
rial reserve. No minister dared even to 
blame the language of honest indignation 
which' might be very inconvenient to his 
most important political projects; and I 
hope I may venture lo say, that no English 
assembly would have endured such a sacri- 
fice of eternal justice to any miserable in- 
terest of an hour. Did the Law-officers of 
the Crown venture to ccme into a court of 
justice to complain of the boldest of the 
publications of that time? They did not. 
I do not say that they felt any disposition to 
do so; — I believe that they could not. But 
I do say, that if they had, — if they had 
spoken of the necessity of confining our 
political writers to cold narrative and un- 
feehng argument, — if they had informed a 
jury, that they did not prosecute history, but 
invective, — that if private writers beat liberty 
at all to blame great princes, it must be with 
moderation and decorum. — the sound heads 
and honest hearts of an English jury would 
have confounded such sophistry, and would 
have declared, by their verdict, that mode- 
ration of language is a relative term, which 
varies with the subject to which it is ap- 
plied, — that atrocious crimes are not to be 
related as calmly and coolly as indifferent or 
trilling events, — that if there be a decorum 
due to exalted rank and authority, there is 
also a much more sacred decorum due to 
virtue and to human nature, which would be 
outraged and trampled under foot, by speak- 
ing of guilt in a lukewarm language, falsely 
called moderate. 

Soon after, Gentlemen, there followed an 
act, in comparison with which all the deeds 
of rapine and blood perpetrated in the w^orld 
are innocence itself, — the invasion and de- 
struction of Switzerland, — that unparalleled 
scene of guilt and enormity, — that unpro- 
voked aggression agtiinst an innocent coun- 
try, which had been the sanctuary of peace 
and liberty for three centuries, — respected 
as a sort of sacred territory by the fiercest 
ambhion, — raised, like its own mountains, 
beyond the region of the storms which raged 
around on every side, — the only warlike 
people that never sent forth armies to dis- 
turb their neighbours, — the only government 
that ever accumulated treasures without 
imposing taxes, — an innocent treasure, un- 
stained by the tears of the poor, the inviolate 
ixilrimony of the commonwealth, which at- 
tested the virtue of a long series of magis- 
trates, but which at length caught the eye 
of the spoiler, and became the fatal occasion 
of their ruin! Gentlemen, the destruction 
of such a country, — " its cause so innocent, 



and its fortune so lamentable!" — made a 
deep impression on the people of England. 
I will ask my Learned Friend, if we luul 
then been at peace with the French republic, 
whether we must have been silent specta- 
tors of the foulest crimes that ever bJolled 
the name of humanity 1 — whether we must, 
like cowards and slaves, have repressed the 
compassion and indignation with which that 
horrible scene of tyranny had filled our 
hearts'? Let me suppose, Gentlemen, that 
Aloys Reding, Avho has displayed in our 
times the simplicity, mag-nanimity, and piety 
of ancient heroes, had, after his glorious 
struggle, honoured this kingdom by choosing 
it as his refuge, — that, after perfoimiug pro- 
digies of valour at the head of his handful 
of heroic peasants on the iield of Morgarten 
(where his ancestor, the Landamman Reding, 
had, five hundred years before, defeated the 
first oppressors of Switzerland), he had se- 
lected this country to be his residence, as 
the chosen abode of liberty, as the ancient 
and inviolable asylum of the oppressed, 
would my Learned Friend have had the 
boldness lo have said to this hero, " that he 
must hide his tears" (the tears shed by a 
hero over the ruins of his country!) "lest 
they might provoke the resentment of Reu- 
bell or Rapinat. — that he must smother the 
sorrow and the anger with which his heart 
was loaded, — that he must breathe his mur- 
murs low, lest they might be overheard by 
the oppressor !" Would this have been the 
language of my Learned Friend 1 I know 
that it would not. I know, that by such a 
supposition, I have done wrong to his honour- 
able feelincs — to his honest English heart. 
I am sure that he knows as well as I do, that 
a nation which should thus receive the op- 
pressed of other countries, would be prepa- 
ring its own neck for the yoke. He knows 
the slavery which such a nation would de- 
serve, and must speedily incur. He knows, 
that sympathy with the unmerited sufferings 
of others, and disinterested anger against 
their oppressors, are, if I may so speak, the 
masters which are appointed by Providence 
to teach us fortitude in the defence of our 
own rights, — that selfishness is a dastardly 
principle, which betrays its charge and flies 
from its post, — and that those only can de- 
fend themselves with valour, who are ani- 
mated by the moral approbation with which 
they can survey their sentiments towards 
others, — who are ennobled in their own eyes 
by a consciousness that they are fighting for 
justice as well as interest, — a consciousness 
which none can feel, but those who have 
felt for the wrongs-of their brethren. These 
are the sentiments which my Learned Friend 
would have felt. He would have told the 
hero: — "Your confidence is not deceived: 
this is still that England, of which the his- 
tory may, perhaps, have contributed to fill 
your heart with tne heroism of liberty. — 
Every other country of Europe is crouching 
under the bloody tyrants who destroyed your 
country : we are unchanged. We are still 



DEFENCE OF JEAN PELTIER. 



603 



the same people which received with open 
arms the victims of the tyranny of Philip II. 
and Louis XIV. We shall not exercise a 
cowardly and clandestine humanity. Here 
we are not so dastardly as to rob you of 
vour greatest consolation ; — here, protected 
by a free, brave, and high-minded people, 
you may give vent to your indignation, — you 
may proclaim :he crimes of your tyrants, — 
you may devote them to the execration of 
mankind. There is still one spot upon earth 
in which Ihey are abhorred, without being 
dreaded !" 

I am a\Vare, Gentlemen, that I have al- 
ready abused your indulgence ] but I must 
entreat you to bear with me for a short time 
longer, to allow me to suppose a case which 
might have occurred, iu which you will see 
'the horrible consequences of enforcing rigor- 
ously principles of law, which I cannot con- 
^test, against political writers. We might 
have been at peace with France during the 
whole of that terrible period which elapsed 
between August 1792 and 1794, which has 
been usually called the " reign of Robes- 
pierre !-' — the only series of crimes, perhaps, 
in history, which, in spite of the common 
disposition to exaggerate extraordinary facts, 
has been beyond measure under-rated in 
public opinion. I say this. Gentlemen, after 
an investigation, which I think entitles me 
to affirm it with confidence. Men's minds 
were oppressed by the atrocity and the mul- 
titude of crimes; their humanity and their 
indolence took refuge in scepticism from 
such an overwhelm.ing mass of guilt: and 
the consequence was, that all these unparal- 
leled enormities, though proved, not only 
with the fu'lest historical, but with the strict- 
est judicial evidence, were at the time only 
half-believed, and are now scarcely half-re- 
membered. When these atrocities, — of which 
the greatest part are as little known to the 
public in general as the campaigns of Gen- 
ghis Khan, but are still protected from the 
scrutiny of men by the immensity of those 
voluminous records of guilt in which they 
are related, and under the mass of which 
they will lie buried, till some historian be 
found with patience and courage enough to 
drag them forth into light, for the shame, in- 
deed, but for the instruction of mankind, — 
which had the peculiar malignity, through 
the pretexts with which they were covered. 
of making the noblest objects of human pur- 
suit seem odious and detestable, — which had 
almost made the names of liberty, reforma- 
tion, and humanity, synonymous with anar- 
chy, robber}'^, and murder, — which thus 
feireatened not only to extinguish every prin- 
ciple of improvement, to arrest the progress 
of civilized society, and to disinherit future 
generations of that rich succession to be ex- 
pected from the knowledge and wisdom of 
the present, but to destroy the civilization 
of Europe (which never gave such a proof 
of its vigour and robustness, as in being able 
to resist their destructive power), — when all 
these horrors were acting in the greatest eni- 



pire of the Continent, I will ask my Learned 
Friend, if we had then been at peace with 
France, how English writers were to relate 
them so as to escape the charge of libelling 
a friendly government 1 

When Robespierre, in the debates in the 
National Convention on the mode of mur- 
dering their blameless sovereign, objected to 
the formal and tedious mode of murder 
called a "trial," aiul proposed to jut him 
immediately to death wiltiout trial, ^'- on the 
principles ofiusurreclion,''^ — because to doubt 
the guilt of the King would be to doubt of 
the innocence of the Convention, and if the 
King were not a trailor, the Convention must 
be rebels, — would my Learned Friend have 
had an English writer state all this with 
•'decorum and moderation?" Would he 
have had an Enalish writer stale, that though 
this reasoning was not perfectly agreeable to 
our national laws, or peihaps to our national 
prejudices, jet it was not for him to make 
any observations on the judicial pioceedings 
of foreign states? When Marat, in the same 
Convention, called for two hundred and se- 
venty thousand heads, must our English 
writers have said, that the remedy did, in- 
deed, seem to their weak judgment rather 
severe ; but that it was not for ihem to judge 
the conduct of so illustrious an assembly as 
the National Convention, or the suggestions 
of so enlightened a statesman as M. Marat ? 
When that Convention resounded with ap- 
plause at the news of several hundred aged 
priests being thrown into the Loire, and par- 
ticularly at the exclamation of Carrier, who 
communicated the intelligence: — ^■IVIiat a 
revolutionary torrent is the Loire P' — when 
these suggestions and narratives of murder, 
which have hitherto been only hinted and 
whispered in the most secret cabals, in the 
darkest caverns of banditti, were triumphant- 
ly uttered, patiently endured, and even loud- 
ly applauded by an assembly of seven hun- 
dred men, acting in the sight of all Europe, 
would my Learned Friend have wished that 
there had been found in England a single 
writer so base as to deliberate upon ihe most 
safe, decorous, and polite manner of relating 
all these things to his countrymen? When 
Carrier ordered five hundred children under 
fourteen years to be shot, the greater part of 
whom escaped the fire from their size, — 
when the poor victims ran for protection to 
the soldiers, and were bayoneted clinging 
round their knees, would my Friend — But I 
cannot pursue the strain of interrogation; it 
is too much! It would be a violence which 
I carmot practise on my own feelings; it 
would be an outrage to my Friend ; it would 
be an affront to you ; it would be an insult to 
humanity. 

No ! better, — ten thousand times better, 
would it be that every press in the world 
were burnt, — that the very use of letters 
were abolished, — that we were returned to 
the honest ignorance of the rudest limes, 
than ':at the results of civilization should be 
madt subservient to the purposes of barbar- 



504 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



ism ;-— than thatliteratiire should bo emploved 
to teach a toleration for cruelty, — to weaken 
moral hatred for guilt, — to deprave and 
brutalise the human mind. I know thai I 
speak my Friends feelings as well as my 
own, when I s;iv, CJod forbid that the dread 
of any punishment should ever make any 
Englishman an accomplice in so corrupting 
his eouiitrvmen, — a public teacher ol de- 
pravity and barbarity ! 

^lortitying and horrible as the idea is, I 
must remind you, (ientlemen, that even at 
that tune, even under the reign of liobes- 
pierre, my Learned Friend, if lie had then 
been Attorney-General, might have been 
compelled by some most deplorable necessi- 
ty, to have come into this Court to ask your 
verdict ag-ainst the libellers of Barrere and 
Collot dUerbois. Mv. Peltier then employed 
his talents against the enemies of the human 
race, as he has unitorndy and bravely ilone. 
I do not believe that any peace, any political 
considerations, any fearof punishment, wouiil 
have silenced him. He has shown too much 
honour and constancy, and intrepidity, to be 
shaken by such circumstances as these. My 
Learned Friend might then have been com- 
pelled to have tiled a Criminal Information 
against J\lr. Peltier, for '■ wickedly and ma- 
liciously intending to vilify and degrade 
Maximilian Robespierre, President of the 
Committee of Public S;ifety of the Frencli 
Republic!" He might have been reduced 
to the sad necessitv of appearing before you 
to belie his own Letter feelings by prose- 
cuting Mr. Peltier for publishing those sen- 
timents which my Friend himself hail a thou- 
sand times felt, and a thousjuul times ex- 
pressed. He might have been obliged even 
to call for pnnishnient upon Mr. Peltier, for 
language which he aiul all maiikiml would 
for ever despise Mr. Peltier, if he were not 
to employ. . Then indeeil. Gentlemen, we 
should have seen the last humiliation fall on 
England ; — the tribunals, the spotless and 
venerable tribunals of this free country, re- 
duced to be the ministers of the vengeance 
of Robespierre ! What could have reseutnl 
us from this last disgrace ? — the honesty and 
courage of a jury. They wouUl have tie- 
livered the judges of their country from the 
■ dire necessity of inilicting punishment on a 
brave and virtuous man, because he spoke 
truth of a monster. They would have de- 
spised the threats of a foreign tyrant as their 
ancestors braved the power of oppressors at 
home. 

In the court where we are now met, Crom- 
well twice sent a siUirist on his tyrainiy to 
"je convicted and punisheil as a libeller, and 
n this court, — almost in sight of the scaffold 
jtreaming with the blooil of his Sovereign. — 
B-ithin hearing of the clash of his bayonets 
which drove out Parliaments with scorn and 
tontumely, — a jury twice rescued the intrepid 



satirist* from his fangs, and sent out with 
defeat and disgrace the Usurper's Attorney 
Genend from what he had the iinpudenceto 
call his court ! Even then. Gentlemen, when 
all law and libertv were trampled under the 
feet of a military banditti, — w hen those great 
crimes were perpetrated in a high place and 
with a high hauil against those who were th« 
objects of public veneration, wliiwh more 
than any thing else upon earth overwhelm 
the minds of men. break their spirit.-^, and 
confound their moral senlinients, obliteiate 
the distinctions between rii:lit ami wrong irj 
their understanding, and leach the multitude 
to feel no longer any reverence for that jus- 
tice wliich they thus see trinmjihanlly diag- 
ged at the chariot wheels of a tyrant, — even 
then, when this unhappy countrv, triumphant 
indeed abroad, but enslaved at home, had no 
prospect but tliat of a long suecei^siou of 
tvrants "wading thnnigh slaughter to a 
tlirone,-' — even then, 1 say. when all seemed 
lost, tht> uneonijuerable spirit of English 
hberty snrviveil in the hearts of F.rglish 
jurors. That spirit is, I trust in God, not 
extinct : and if any modern tyrant were, in 
the pk^tude of his insolence, to hope to 
overawe an English jury, I trust and 1 believe 
that they would teli him: — '-Our ancestors 
braved the b.ayonets of Cromwell ; — we bit! 
dt>liance to yours. Conteni)isi Catiliua* yla- 
dios ; — non pertiniescam tuos !"' 

What could be such a tyrant's moans of 
overaw ing a jury I As long as their country 
exists, they are girl round with imiienetiable 
armour. Till the ileslruction of their country, 
no danger can fall upon them for the per- 
formance of their duty. And I ilo tru.st that 
there is no Englishman so unworthy of lite 
as to desire to outlive England. But if any 
of us are condemned to the cruel punishment 
of .surviving our country, — if in the inscruta- 
ble counsels of Providence, this favoured 
seat of justice ami liberty, — this noblest 
work of human wisdom and virtue, be des- 
tined to destruction (whicli I shall nol be 
charged with national prejudice for saying 
would be the nmst ilangerous wound ever 
inllicted on civilization), at least let us carry 
with us into our sad exile the consolation 
that xve ourselves have not violated the 
rights of hospitality to exiles, — that we have 
not lorn from the altar the suppliant who 
claimed protection as the voluntary victim 
of loyalty and conscience. 

Gentlemen, I now leave this unfortunate 
gentleman in your hands. His character and 
his situation might interest your humanity; 
but, on his behalf, I only ask justice from 
you. I only ask a favourable constrnctiou of 
what cannot be said to be more than ambigu- 
ous language ; and this you will soon be told 
from the highest authority is a part of justico. 

* Lilburne. 



A CHARGE TO THE GRAND JURY OF BOMBAY. 



SOS 



A CHARGE, 

DKIJVKUKU 

TO THE GRAND JURY OF 'i'lfl-: ISLAND OF BOMBAY, 

OiN TflE 20TII OI" JULY, 1^11. 



j'iKNTLKMEN OF THE GuAN.T JuilY, 

'i"fi(? picK(!iit calendar jh iniloitTiMatcIy n;- 
maikablo (or tlii; iiumb(;r and ciiortnity of 
critfir-H. To what cauHfj wt; aio to impute 
l]v very iiiicorritnoii depravity wliich has, in 
various forrriSj duriii;^ the last twi'l vi; rrioiilh.s, 
aj)|)<:ai(;(I before ihiH Couit, it it* dit/iciill, and 
j)erha|)s irripoHrtiljl(!, lo determine. IJul the 
length of tliis cal(;ndar may probaliy be, in a 
l^^rt^it meaHur*;, ascribed to tlie lattj corn- 
rnrindable diHusf! of irref^ilar jjiuiishment at 
the Ollice of Police: so that there may bo 
not HO much an increuHe of crimes as of re^^u- 
Jar trials. 

To framr; and maintain a Kyftftm of [)o!ic(j, 
warranted by law, vij^orons enon^^h f(jr jtro- 
teclion, and with sufiicient l(!;^al nr.strainlH to 
afford a security aj^ainst oi)i)reHsion. must be 
owned to brj a matter of considerabli; diffi- 
culty in the crowd«;d, mixed, and hhiltinj^ 
population of a i^reat Indian Hra-iwrt. It is 
no wonder, then, tfiat tliere Khoui(( be defect« 
in oiir fiystiTn, both in lh(! fjfiicacy of its 
re;,'ulatioris and in the h^^ality of its princi- 
ples. And this may be mentioned with 
more liberty, because these (lidects have 
orii^inateri lon^ lieforr; the timrt of any one 
now in autliority; and Iwvf! rather, indeed, 
arisen from the operatioti of time and chance 
on liumrui inslilntiouH. Ifian from the fault 
of any individual. 'I'Ik; subject has of late 
occupied much of my attention. Gov(;rn- 
ment have berui pieaseil to permit me to lay 
my thoui^hts before them, — a j)ermission of 
wliicli I shall in a fesv days avail myself; 
and [ liope that my diligent inquiry and lonj( 
reflection may contribute somewhat to ai(l 
tlKfir judirment in the establishment of a 
polici! whicli may be legal, vigorous, and un- 
oppressive. 

In reviewing the administration of law in 
this place since I have presided hero, two 
circurnstancfis present themselves, which 
appear to deserve a public explanation. 

Tlifj first relatrrs to the j)rinci[)leH ado[)ied 
by the Court in cases of commercial insol- 
vency. 

In India, no law compels the equal distri- 
bution of the goods of an insolvent merchant : 
we have no system of bankrupt laws. The 
conscfpience is too well known. Every mer- 
cantile failure has produced a disreputable 
Bcrarnble, in which no individual could be 
64 



blamed ; because, if he were to forego bin 
rights, tliey would iK)t b(; sjicrificed tof;f)uita- 
ble division, but to the claims of a competitor 
no better entitled than himself. A fmv have 
rrrcoveied all, and tbn rfjsl have lo.tl all. Nor 
was tliis llifj worst. Ojiulcnt commercial 
houses, eilh(rr pres(Mit, or wi.dl served by 
vigdaiit agents, almost always foresaw in- 
HOJvencty in such timr; as to w.'cure them- 
selves. But old ofli(;ers, widows, and or()lianB 
ill P'urop(;, could know nothing of the decay- 
ing credit of their Iiulian bankers, and th(!y 
liad no agents but tho.se bank<:rs themselves: 
thfjy, thenjfore, wore the victims of «:vt:ry 
failure. The rich generally saved what wuh 
of little consefpieiice to them, and the [loor 
almost coiistanlly lost their all. 'i'h'se.scr-nes 
have fr(!(pi(!iilly becin wiliiessf.-il in various 
parts of India: they have formerly occurred 
Iiere. On the death of one unfortunatf; gen- 
tlirman, since I have been here, the evil was 
rather dn;aded than felt. 

Soon alter my arrival, I laid bi-fore the 
British merchants of this island a plan for tho 
(jqiial distribution of ins(jlveiit estates, of 
which accident then prevented the adoj)lion. 
Sinc(! that time, the j)rincij)Ie of the plan has 
b(!en adopted in sev(;ral cases of actual or of 
a[)prelienil(.*d insolvency, by a conveyance of 
tlir; whole estate to trustees, for the efjual 
benefit of all the creditors. S<ime disposition 
to adopt similar arrangernentrfaj)pearsof late 
to manifest itself in Europe. And certainly 
nothing can be belter ada{)ted lo tiie prr'sent 
dark and unquiet condition of the commer- 
cial world. Wherever they are adopted 
early, ihr;y are likely to prevent bankruptcy. 
A very intelligent merchant justly ob-served 
to m(!, that, under such a system, the early 
disclosure of «'rnbarrassrrierit would not be 
attended with that shame aiul daiigr;r which 
usually i)roduce concealment and final ruin. 
In all cases, and at every pr;riod, such ar- 
rangements would limit the evils of bank- 
ruptcy to the least possible amount. It 
cannot, therefore, be matter of wonder that 
a court of justice should protect such a 8y» 
tern with all the w(;ight of lh(;:r 0|»inion, and 
to the utmost extent of their legal j)ower. 

I by no means presume to blame those 
creditors who, on the first pro[)os;il of thiu 
experiment, withheld their consent, and pre- 
ferred the assertion of their legal riyiils. 
2S 



toe 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



They had, I dare say, been ill used by their 
debtors, who might personally be entitled to 
no indulgence I'rom them. It is too much to 
require of men. that, under the influence of 
cruel disappointment and very just resent- 
ment, they should estimate a plan of public 
utility in the same manner with a dispassion- 
ate and disinterested spectator. But experi- 
ence and reflection will in time teach them, 
that, in seeking to gratify a just resentment 
against a culpable insolvent, they, in fact, 
direct their hostility against the unoffending 
and helpless part of their fellow-creditors. 

One defect in this voluntary system of 
bankrupt laws must be owned to be consi- 
derable: it is protected by no penalties against 
the fraudulent concealment of property. — 
There is no substitute for such penalties, but 
the determined and vigilant integrity of trus- 
tees. I have, therefore, with pleasure, seen 
that duty undertaken by European gentle- 
men of character and station. Besides the 
great considerations of justice and humanity 
to the creditors, I will confess that I am gra- 
tified by the interference of English gentle- 
men to prevent the fall of eminent or ancient 
commercial families among the natives of 
India.* 

The second circumstance which I think 
myself now bound to explain, relates to the 
dispensation of penal law. 

Since my arrival here, in May, 1804, the 
punishment of death has not been inflicted 
by this Court. Now, the population subject 
to our jurisdiction, either locally or person- 
ally, cannot be estimated at less than two 
hunched thousand persons. Whether any 
evil conse(]nence has yet arisen from so unu- 
sual, — and in the British dominions unexam- 
pled, — a circumstance as the disuse of capi- 
tal punishment, for so long a period as seven 
years, among a population so considerable, is 
a question which you are entitled to ask, and 
to which I have the means of afi"ording you 
a satisfactory answer. 

The criminal records go back to the yea,r 
1756. From May, 1756, to May, 1763, the 
capital convictions amounted to one hundred 
and forty-one : and the executions were 
forty-seven. The annual average of persons 
who suffered death was almost seven ; and 
the annual average of capital crimes ascer- 
tained to have been perpetrated was nearly 
twenty. From May, 1804, to May, 1811, 
there have been one hundred and nine capi- 

*..."! nm persuaded ihat your feeliii2;s would 
have entirt'ly accorded with mine ; convinced that, 
both as jurors and as private genlleinen, you will 
always consider yourselves as intrusied, in this re- 
mote rejrion of the earth, with the honour of that 
beloved couniry, which, I trust, becomes more 
dear to you, as I am sure it does to me, durinj; 
every i>.)w moment of absence; that, in your in- 
tercourse with each other ae well as with the na- 
tives of India, you will keep unspotted tlie ancient 
character of the British nation, — renowned in every 
age, and in no age more than the present, for va- 
lour, for justice, for humanity, and generosity, — 
for every virtue which supports, as well as for 
every talent and accompiisiiment which adorns 
huaiQU society." — Charge, 21st July, 1805. — Ed. 



tal convictions. The annual average, there- 
fore, of capital crimes, legally proved to have 
been perpetrated during that period, is be- 
tween fifteen and sixteen. During this period 
there has been no capital execution. But as 
the population of this island has much more 
than doubled during the last fifty years, the 
animal average of capital convictions during 
the last seven years ought to have been forty, 
in order to show the same proportion of cri- 
minality with that of the first seven years. 
Betw^een 1756 and 1763, the military force 
was comparatively small : a few factories or 
small ports only depended on this govern- 
ment. Between 1804 and 1811, five hundred 
European officers, and probably four thousand 
European soldiers, were scattered over ex- 
tensive territories. Though honour and mo- 
rality be powerful aids of law with respect 
to the first class, and military discipline with 
respect to the second, yet it might have been 
expected, as experience has proved, that the 
more violent enormities would be perpetrated 
by the European soldiery — uneducated and 
sometimes depraved as many of them must 
originally be, — often in a slate of mischiev- 
ous idleness, — commanding, in spite of all 
care, the means of intoxication, and corrupt- 
ed by contempt for the feelings and rights 
of the natives of this country. If these cir- 
cmustatices be considered, it will appear that 
the capital crimes committed during the last 
seven years, with no capital execution, have, 
in proportion to the population, not been 
much more than a third of those committed 
in the first seven years, notwithstanding the 
infliction of death on forty-seven persons. 
The intermediate periods lead to the same 
results. The number of capital crimes in 
any one of these periods does not appear to 
be diininished either by the capital execu- 
tions of the same period, or of that imme- 
diately preceding: they bear no assignable 
proportion to each other. 

In the seven years immediately preceding 
the last, which were chiefly in the presidency 
of my learned predecessor. Sir William Syer, 
there was a remarkable diminution of capital 
punishments. The average fell from about 
four in each year, which was that of the 
seven years before Sir William Syer, to some- 
what less than two in each year. Yet the 
capital convictions were diminished about 
one-third. 

"The punishment of death is principally 
intended to prevent the more violent and 
atrocious crimes. From May, 1797, there 
were eighteen convictions for murder, of 
which i omit two, as of a very particular 
kind. In that period there were twelve 
capital executions. From May, 1804, to 
May, 1811, there were six convictions for 
murder,* omitting one which was considered 



* . . , " The truth seems to be, as I observed 
to you on a former occasion, that the natives of 
India, though incapable of the crimes which arise 
from violent passions, are, beyond every other 
people of the earth, addicted to those vices which 
proceed from the weakness of natural feeling, and 



CHARGE TO THE GRAND JURY OF BOMBA V. 



507 



(ly th(3 jury as in substance a case of man- 
8lau;:hl(.'r with some a;.';:^iavatioti. The rnui- 
cler3 ill the former period were, therefore, 
very nearly as throe to one to those in the 
latter, in wfiich no capital punishment was 
infhcleci. From the number of convictions, 
I of course exclude those cases where ihe 
prisoner escaped ; wliether hf! owed his 
safety to defective proof of his iruiit, or to a 
legal objection. This cannot affect the just- 
ness of a comparative estimate, because the 
pro[)ortion of criminals who escape on leiG^al 
objf.'ctions before courts of the same law. 
must, in any long period, be nearly the same. 
Hut if the two cases, — one where; a formal 
verdict of murder, with a recommendation 
to mercy, was intended to represent an ag- 
gravated manslaughter; and the other of a 
man who escaped by a re[)utrnancy in the 
indictment, where, however, the facts were 
more near manslaughter than murder, — be 
added, tluMi the murders of llu; last seven 
years will be eight, while those of the former 
seven years will be sixteen. 

"This small experiment has. therefore, 
been made without any diminution of the 
security of the lives and properties of men. 
Two hundred thousand men have been 
governed for seven years without a capital 
j>unishment, and without any increase of 
crimes. If any experience has been acquired, 
it has been safely and innocently gained. It 
was, indeed, impossible that the trial could 
ever have done harm. It was made on no 
avowed principle of impunity or even lenity. 
It was in its nature gradual, subject to cau- 
tious reconsideration in evc;ry new iiistancf, 
and easily capable of being altogether dianged 
on the least appearance of danger. Though 
the general result be rather remarkable, yet 
the usual maxims which regulate judicial 
discretion have in a very great majority of 
cases been pursued. The instances of de- 



tlie almost total ahaence of mornl restraint. Tliis 
ohservaiioii may, in a great measiirf, aroount for 
that niosi aggravated species of ciiild- murder wliiili 
prevails among them. They are hoi aeiivclv 
cruel; but ihcy are utterly in.sensiliie. Tliey have 
less feroeity, perhaps, than most other nations ; 
but they have still less compassion Anions ihem, 
therefore, infancy has lost lis natural shield. The 
paltry temptation of gelling pr)ssp8fiion of ihe few 
gold and silver ornaments, widi which parents in 
this country load their infants, seems snfricienl to 
lead these timid and mild beings to destroy a child 
without pity, without nnger, without fear, without 
remorse, with liille apprehension of punishmeni, 
and with no apparent shame on deteciioii." — 
Charge, 19ih April, 180C.— Ed. 



viation from those maxtms scarcely amount 
to a twentieth of the whole convictions. 

I have no doubt of Ihe right of society to 
inflict the punishment of death on enoinioua 
crimes, wlierever an inferior punif-htnent is 
not sudicienf. I consider it as a mere modi- 
ficaiion of the right of f^elf-deftnce. which 
may as justly be exercised in deltnrif.g from 
attack, as in repelling it. I abstain from the 
discussions in which benevolent and enlight- 
ened men liave, on more sober j)tinciple.s, 
endeavoured to show the wi.'^dom of, at least, 
confining the punishment of death to the 
highest class oi' crimes. I do not even pie- 
sume in this place to give an opinion regard- 
ing the attempt which has been made by 
one* whom I consider as among the wisest 
and most virtuous men of the present age, to 
render the letter of our penal law more con- 
formable to its practice. My only object is 
to show that no evil has hilh(;rto resulted 
fifim the exercise of judicial discretion in 
this Court. I speak with the less reserve, 
because the present sessions are likely to 
afford a test which will determine whether I 
have been actuated by weakness or by firm- 
ness, — by fantastic scriij)Ie8 and iriational 
feelings, or by a calm and steady view to 
what afipeared to me the highest interests 
of society. f 

I have been induced to make these ex- 
planations by the probability of this being 
th(! last tirnr; of my addressing a gtand jury 
ftom this place. H's Majesty h;is been gra- 
ciously pli.'ased to approve of my return to 
Great Britain, which the state ol my health 
has for some time rendered very desirable. 
It is therefore probable, though not certain, 
that I may begin my voyage before the no^' 
sessions. 

In that case. Gentlemen, I now have l.ie 
honour to take my leave of you, with thoi?e 
serious thoughts that naturally arise at the 
close of every great division of human life, 
— with th<! most ardent and unmixed wishes 
for the welfare of tlie community with which 
I h;ive been for so many years cotniected by 
an hofionrable tie, — and with thanks to you, 
Gentlemen, for the assistance which many 
of you have often afforded me in the dis- 
charge of duties, which are necessary, in- 
deed, and sacred, but which, 1o a single 
judge, in a recent court, and small society, 
are peculiarly arduou.s, invidious, and painful. 

* .Sir Samuel Romilly. — En. 

t Alluding lo the impending trial of a native ar- 
lillery-man for murder, who was eventually cx« 
cuied. — Ed. 



M8 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



SPEECH 



THE ANNEXATION OF GENOA TO THE KINGDOM OF SARD1NL\. 

DELIVERED IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS ON THE 27tii OF APniL, 1815.« 



JMr. Speaker, — I now ii«e, pursuant to 
my not.ci*, to discharjie tne most arduous, 
and coitaiuly the most painful, public duty 
which I have ever felt myself called upon to 
perform. I have to brinp; before the House, 
probabl}' for its final consideration, t ,e case 
of Genoa, which, in various forms of pro- 
ceedings and stages of progress, iias already 
occupied a considerable degree of our at- 
teutiou. All these previous discussions of 
this great ijuestion of faith and justice, have 
been hitherto of necessity almost confined to 
one side. When my Honourable Friendj 
moved for papers on this subjec^, ihc reason- 
ing was only on this side of the House. The 
gentlemen on the opposite side professedly 
abstained from discussion of thi^ merits of 
the case, because they alleged that discus- 
fioti was then premature, anil that a disclo- 
sure of the documents necessary to form a 
right judgment, would at that period have 
been injurious to the public interest. In 
what that danger consisted, or how such a 
disclosure wouKl have been more inconve- 
nient on the 22d of February tlian on the 
27lh of April, they will doubtless this day 



* On the general reversf-s that befoll the arms 
of France in the spring of 1814. and the conse- 
quent withdrawal of her troops from Italy, Lord 
William Beniinck was instructed to occupy ilie 
territories of the republic of <?eiioa, " without 
committing liis Court or the Allies with respect 
to their uliiinate disposition." Of the proclama- 
tion which he issued upon the oc<'asion of carrvinir 
these orders into eflect, dated March 14ih, Lord 
Castlereagh had liimself observed, tliat " an ex- 
pression or two, taken separately, might create an 
impression that his views of Italian liberation went 
to the form of the government, as well as to the 
expulsion of the French." On the success of the 
military movement, the General reported that lie 
had, "in consequence of the unanimous desire of 
the Genoese to return to their ancient state, "pro- 
claimed the old form of government. Tliat this 
desire was u'nustly thwarted, and that these ex- 
pectations, fairly raised by Lord William Ben- 
tinck's proclamation, had been wrona;fully disap- 
pointed bv the final territorial settlement of the 
Allies at Paris, it was the scope of this speech to 
prove. P'or tiie papers referred to, see Hansard's 
Parliamentary Debates, vol. xxx. p. 387 ; and for 
liie Resolutions moved, ibid., p. 932. — En. 

t Mr. [iambton (afterwards Karl of Durham) 
had on the 22d of t'ebruary made a motion for 
papers connected with ;he case of Genoa, on 
which occasion Sir James Mackintosh had s.ip- 
ported him. — Er . 



explain. I have in vain c.vamined the papers 
foi an explanation of it. It was a serious as- 
sertion, made on their Ministerial responsi- 
bility, and absolutely requires to be satisfac- 
torily established. After the return of the 
Noble Lord* from Vienna, the discussion 
was again confined to one side, by the singu- 
lar course wliich he thouglit lit to adopt. 
When my Honourable Friendt gave notice 
of a motion for all papers respecting those 
arrangements at Vienna, which had been 
substantially completed, the Noble Lord did 
not iiitimat'- any intention of acceding to the 
motion. He sufiered it to proceed as if it 
were to be adversely debated, atid instead 
of granting the papers, so that they might be 
in the possession of every member a sulH- 
cieiit time for ctireful perusal and attentive 
consideration, he brought out upon us in the 
middle of his speech a number of documents, 
which had been familiar to him for si.\ 
months, but of which tio private member of 
the House could have known the existence. 
It was impossible for us to discuss a great 
mass of papers, of which we had lieard e.\- 
tractsouce read in the heat and hurry of de- 
bate. For the moment we were silenced by 
this ingenious stralagem: the House was 
taken by surprise. They were betrayiHl into 
premature applause of that of which it was 
absolutely impossible that they should be 
competent judges. It might be thought to 
imply a very unreasonable distrust in the 
Noble Lord of his own talents, if it were 
not much more naturally imputable to his 
well-grounded doubts of the justice of his 
cause. 

I have felt. Sir, great impatience to bring the 
question to a final hearing, as soon as every 
member possessed that full information in 
which alone 1 well knew that my strength 
must consist. The production of the papers 
has occasioned some delay ; but it has been 
attended also with some advantage to me, 
which I ought to confess. It has given me 
an opportunity of hearing in atiother place 
a most perspicuous and forcible statement 
of the defence of Ministers,t — a slatemcnt 
which, without disparagement to the talents 
of the Noble Lord, I may venture to consider 



* Viscount Castlereasrh. — Ed. 

t Mr. Whitbread.— Ed. 

i By Earl Bailiurst.in the Ilouseof Lords.— iEo. 



ON THE ANNEXATION OF GENOA. 



509 



as coritainii)g the whole strength of their 
case. After listening to that able statement, 
— after mueh reflection for two months, — 
after the most anxious examination of the 
papers before us, I feel myself compelled to 
adhere to my orif.'inal opinion, and to bring 
b';fore the Mouse the forcible traijsfer of the 
Genoese territory to the foreign master whom 
the Genoese people most hate, — a transfer 
stipulated for by British ministers, and exe- 
cuted by British troops, — as an act by wh ch 
the pledged faith of this nation has been 
forfeited, the rules of justice have been vio- 
lated, the fundamental principles of Euro- 
pean policy have been shaken, and the odious 
claims of conquest stretched to an extent 
unwarranted by a single precedent in the 
good times of Europe. On the examination 
of these charges, I entreat gentlemen to enter 
with a disposition which becomes a sol(;mn 
and judicial determination of a question which 
affects the honour of their country, — certain- 
ly without forgetting that justice which is 
due to the King's Ministers, whose cliaracter 
it does most deeply import. 

I shall not introduce into. this discus.sion 
any of the practical questions which have 
arisen out of recent and terrible events.* 
They may, like other events in history, sii^ 
ply argument or illustration; but I shall in 
6ub.sfance argue the case, as if I were again 
speaking on the 22d of February, without 
any other change than a tone probably more 
sutjdued than would have been natural dur- 
ing that short moment of secure and almost 
triumphant tranquillity. 

For this transaction, and for our share in 
all the great measures of the Congress of 
Vienna, the Noble Lord has told that he is 
'■pre-eminently responsible." I know not 
in v/hat foreign school he may have learnt 
such principles or phrases; but however 
much his colleagues may have resigned their 
di.scretion to him, I trust that Parliament will 
not suffer him to relieve them from any part 
of their responsibility. I shall not now in- 
quire on what principle of constitutional law 
the whole late conduct of Continental nego- 
tiations by the Noble Lord could be ju.stified. 
A Secretary of State has travelled over Europe 
with the crown and sceptre of Great Britain, 
e.vercising the royal prerogatives without the 
possibility of access to the Crown, to give 
advice, and to receive commands, and con- 
cluding his country by.irrevocable acts, with- 
out communication with the other responsi- 
ble advisers of the King. I shall not now ex- 
amine into the nature of what our ancestors 
would have termed an ''accroachment" of 
royal power, — an ofTence described indeed 
with dangerous laxity in ancient times, but, 
as an e.xercise of supreme power in another 
mo le than by (he forms, and under the re- 
sponsibility prescribed by law, undoubtedly 
tending to the subversion of the fundamental 
principles of the Briti.sh monarchy. 

In all the preliminary discussions of this sub- 

* Napoleon's return from Elba. — Ed. 



ject, the Noble Lord lias naturally laboured 
to excite prejudice against his oj)poneiit3. 
He has made a liberal use of the common- 
places of every Administration, against r;vr.'ry 
Ojjposition ; anil he has assailed us chiefly 
through my Honourable Friend (Mr. Whit- 
bread) wilh language more acrimonious and 
contumelious than is very consistent wilh 
his recommendations of decorum and mode- 
ration. He speaks of our "foul calumnies;" 
though calumniators do not call out as we did 
for inquiry and for trial. He tells us "that 
our discussions inflame nations more than 
they correct governments ;" — a pleasant anti- 
thesis, which I have no doubt contains the 
opinion entertained of all popular discus- 
sion by the sovereigns and ministers of abso- 
lute monarchies, under whom he has lately 
studied constitutional principles. Indeed, 
Sir, I do not wonder that, on his return to 
this House, he should have been provoked 
into some forgetfulncss of his u.«ual modera- 
tion : — after long familiarity with the f-mooth 
and soft manners of diplomatists, it is natural 
that he should recoil from the turbulent free- 
dom of a fjopular assemblj'. But let him re- 
member, that to the uucourtly and fearless 
turbulence of this House Great Britain owes a 
greatness aod power so much above her natu- 
ral resources, and that rank among nations 
which gave him ascendency and authority 
in the deliberations of as.sembled Europe : — 
"Sic fortis Etruria crevit ! " By that plain- 
ness and roughnessof speech w hich wounded 
the nerves of^courtiers, this House has forced 
kings and ministers to respect public liberty 
at home and to observe public faith abroad. 
He complains that this should be the first 
place where the faith of this country is im- 
pugned : — I rejoice that it is. It is because 
the first approaches towards breach of faith 
are sure of being attacked here, that there is 
so little ground for specious attack on our 
faith in other places. It is the nalune and 
essence of the House of Commons to be jeal- 
ous and suspicious, even to excess, of^ the 
manner in which the conduct of the Execu- 
tive Government may affect that dearest of 
national interests — the character of the nation 
for justice and faith. What is destroyed by 
the slightest speck of corruption can never 
be sincerely regarded unless it be watched 
with jealous vigilance. 

In questions of policy, where inconveni- 
ence is the worst consefj[uence of error, and 
where much deference may be reasonably 
paid to superior information, there is much 
room for confidence beforehand and for in- 
dulgence afterwards : but confidence respect- 
ing a point of honour is a disregard of honour. 
Never, certainly, was there an 'occasion when 
these principles became of more urgent ap- 
phcation than during the deliberations of tne 
Congress of Vienna. Disposing, as they did, 
of rights and interests more momentous than 
were ever before placed at the disposal of a 
human assembly, is it fit that no channel 
should be left open^by which they may leara 
the opinion of the public respecting theii 
2s2 



510 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



councils and the feelings which their mea- 
sures have excited from Norway to Anda- 
lusia? Were these princes and ministers 
really desirous, in a situation of tremendous 
responsibility, to bereave themselves of the 
guidance, and release their judgments from 
the control, which would arise from some 
knowledge of the general sentiments of man- 
knul 1 Were they so infatuated by absolute 
power as to wish they might never hear the 
public judgments till their system was un- 
alterably established, and ihe knowledge 
could no longer be useful? It seems so. 
There was oidy one assembly in Europe 
from whose free discussions they might have 
learnt the opinions of independent men, — 
only one in which the grievances of men 
and nations might have been published with 
any effect. The House of Commons was 
the only body which represented in some 
sort the public opinions of Europe ; and the 
discussions which might have conveyed that 
opinion to the Sovereigns at Vienna, seem, 
from Ihe language of the Noble Lord, to have 
been odious and alarming to them. Even in 
that case we have one consolation : — those 
who hate advice most, alwaj^s need it most. 
If our language was odious, it must in the 
very same proportion have been necessary ) 
and notwithstanding ail the abuse thrown 
upon it may have been partly efTectnal. De- 
nial at least proves nothing; — we are very 
sure that if we had prevented any evil, we 
should only have been the more abused. 

Sir, I do not regret the obloquy with which 
we have been loaded during the present ses- 
sion : — it is a proof that we are following, 
though with unequal steps, the great men 
who have filled the same benches before us. 
It was their lot to devote themselves to a 
life of toilsome, thankless, and often unpopu- 
lar opposition, with no stronger allurement 
to ambition than a chance of a few months 
of office in half a centur}-, and with no other 
inducement to virtue than the faint hope of 
limiting and mitigating evil, — always certain 
that the merit would never be acknowledged, 
and generally obliged to seek for the best 
proof of their services in the scurrility with 
which they were reviled. To represent 
them as partisans of a foreign nation, for 
whom they demanded justice, was always 
one of the most effectual modes of exciting 
a vulgar prejudice against them. When Mr. 
Burke and Mr. Fox exhorted Great Britain 
to be wise in relation to America, and just 
towards Ireland, they were called Ameri- 
cans and Irishmen. But they considered it 
as the greatest of all human calamities to be 
unjust ; — they thought it worse to inflict than 
to suffer wrong: and they rightly thought 
themselves then most truly Englishmen, 
when they most laboured to dissuade England 
from tyraimy. Afterwards, when Mr. Burke, 
with equal disinterestedness as I firmly be- 
lieve, and certainly with sufficient zeal, sup- 
ported the administration of Mr. Pitt, and 
the war against the Revolution, he did not 
•eptrain the freedom which belonged to his 



generous character. Speaking of that very 
alliance on which all his hopes were found- 
ed, he s4:)oke of it. as I might speak (if I had 
his power of language) of the Congress at 
Vienna: — "There can be no tie of honour 
in a society for pillage." He was perhaps 
blamed for indecorum : but no one ever 
made any other conclusion from his language, 
than that it proved the ardour of his attach- 
ment to that cause which he could not en- 
dure to see dishonoured. 

The Noble Lord has charged us. Sir, with 
a more than unusual interference in the 
functions of the monarchy and with the 
course of foreign negotiations. He has not 
indeed denied the right of this House to in- 
terfere : — he will not venture to deny " that 
this House is not only an accuser of compe- 
tence to criminate, but a council of weight 
and wisdom to advise."* He incautiously, 
indeed, "said that there was a necessary 
collision between the powers of this House 
and the prerogatives of the Crown." It 
would have been more constitutional to have 
said that there was a liability to collision, 
and that the deference of each for the other 
has produced mutual concession, compro- 
mise, and co-operation, instead of collision. 
It has been, in fact, by the exercise of the 
great Parliamentary function of counsel, that 
in the best times of our history the House of 
Commons has suspended the exercise of its 
extreme powers. Respect for its opinion 
has rendered the exertion of its authority 
needless. It is not true that the interpo- 
sition of its advice respecting the conduct of 
negotiations, the conduct of war, or the terms 
of peace, has been more frequent of late 
than in former times: — the contrary is the 
truth. From the earliest period.^, and during 
the most glorious reigns in our history, its 
counsel has been proffered and accepted on 
the highest questions of peace and war. The 
interposition was necessarily even more fie- 
quent and more rough in these early limes, — 
when the boundaries of its authority were 
undefined, — when its principal occupation 
was a struirgle to assert and fortify its righ'.s, 
and when it was sometimes as important to 
establish the legality of a power by exercise 
as to exercise it well. — than in these more 
fortunate periods of defined and acknowletlg- 
ed right, when a mild aud indirect intimation 
of its opinion ought to preclude the necessity 
of resorting to those awful powers witli 
which it is wisely armed. But though the.se 
interpositions of Parliament were more fre- 
quent in ancient times, — partly from the ne- 
cessity of asserting contested rights, — and 
more rare in recent periods, — partly from 
the more submissive character of the Hou.se, 
— they are wanting at no time in number 
enough to establish the grand principle of 
the constitution, that Parliament is the first 
council of the King in war as well as in 
peace. This great principle has been acted 

* Burke, A Representation to His Majesty, 
&.C. — Ed. 



ON THE ANNEXATION OF GENOA. 



511 



on by Parliament in the best times: — it ha* 
been reverenced by the Crown in the worst. 
A short time before the Revolution it marked 
a struggle for the establishment of liberty: 
— a short time after the Revolution it proved 
the secure enjoyment of liberty. The House 
of Commons did not suffer Charles H. to be- 
tray his honour and his country, without 
constitutional warning to choose a better 
course;* its first aid to William HI. was by 
counsels relating to vvar.t When, under the 
influence of other feelings, the House rather 
thwarted than aided their great Deliverer, 
even the party in it most hostile to liberty 
carried the rights of Parliament as a political 
council to the utmost constitutional limit, 
when they censured the treaty of Partition 
as having been passed under the Great Seal 
during the session of Parliament, and " with- 
out the advice of the same."l: During the 
War of the Succession, both Houses repeat- 
edly counselled the Crown on the conduct 
of the war,§ — on negotiation with our allies, 
— and even on the terms of peace with the 
enemy. But what neeils any further enume- 
rations ? Did not the vote of this House put 
an end to the American War 1 

Even, Sir, if the right of ParliamentVo ad- 
vise had not been as clearly established as 
the prerogative of the Crown to make war 
or peace, — if it had not been thus constantly 
exercised; — if the wisest and best men had 
not been the first to call it forth into action, 
we might reasonably have been more for- 
ward than our ancestors to exercise this 
great right, because we contemplate a sys- 
tem of political negotiation, such as our an- 
cestors never saw. All former Congresses 
were assemblies of the ministers of bellige- 
rent Powers to terminate their diflVrences by 
treaty, — to define the rights and decide on 
the pretensions which had given rise to war, 
or to make compensation for the injuries 
which had been suffered in the course of it. 
The firm and secure system of Europe ad- 
mitted no rapid, and few great changes of 
power and possession. A few fortresses m 
Flanders, a province on the frontiers of 
France and Germany, were generally the ut- 
most cessions earned by the most victorious 
wars, and recovered by the most important 
treaties. Those who have lately compared 
the transactions at Vienna with the Treaty 
of Westphalia, — which formed the coile of 
the Empire, and an era in diplomatic history, 
— which terminated the civil wars of re- 
ligion, not only in Germany, but throughout 
Christendom, and which removed all that 
danger with which, for more than a century, 
the power of the House of Austria had threat- 
ened the liberties of Europe, — will perhaps 

* Commons' Addresses, IStli of Mnrch, 1627; 
29th of March, 1677; 25ih of May, 1677; 30ih 
of December, 1680. 

t 24di of April, 1C89, (advising a declaration of 
war). 

t 21st of March, 1701. 

^ 27ih of Novemher. 1705 ; 22d of December, 
1707 3d of March. 1709; 18th of February, J710. 



feel some surprise when they are reminded 
that, except secularising a few Ecclesiastical 
principalities, that renowned and memorable 
treaty ceded only Alsace to France and part 
of Pomerania to Sweden, — that its stipula- 
tions did not change the political condition of 
half a million of men, — that it afiected no pre- 
tension to dispose of any territory but that of 
those who were partitas to it, — and that not 
an acre of land was ceded without the express 
and formal consent of its legal sovereign.* 
Far other were the pretensions, anil indeed 
the performances, of the ministers assembled 
in congress at Vienna. They met under the 
modest pretence of carrying into effect the 
thirty-seconil article of the Treaty of Paris :t 
but under colour of this humble language, they 
arrogated the power of doing that, in com- 
parison with which the whole Treaty of Paris 
was a trivial convention, and which made the 
Treaty of Westphalia appear no more than 
an adjustment of parish boundaries. They 
claimed the absolute disposal of every terri- 
tory which had been occupied by France and 
her vassals, from Flanders to Livonia, and 
from the Baltic to the Po. Over these, the 
finest countries in the world, inhabited by 
twelve millions of mankind, — under pretence 
of delivering whom from a conqueror they 
had taken up arms, — they arrogated to them- 
selves the harshest rights of conquest. It is 
true that of this vast territory they restored, 
or rather granted, a great part to its ancient 
sovereigns. But these sovereigns were always 
reminded by some new title, or by the dis- 
posal of some similarly circumstanced neigh- 
bouring territory, that they owed their resto- 
ration to the generosity, or at most to the 
prudence of the Congress, and that they 
were not entitled to require it from its jus- 
tice. They came in by a new tenure : — they 
were the feudatories of the new corporation 
of kings erected at Vienna, exercising joint 
power in efTect over all Europe, consisting in 
form of eight or ten princes, but in substance 
of three great military Poweis, — the spoilers 
of Poland, the original invaders of the Eu- 
ropean constitution, — sanctioned by the sup- 
port of England, and checked, however 
feebly, by France alone. On these three 
Powers, whose reverence for national inde- 
pendence and title to public confidence were 
so firmly established by the partition of Po- 
land, the dictatorship of Europe has fallen. 
They agree that Germany shall have a fede- 
ral constitution, — that Switzerland shall go- 
vern herself, — that unhappy Italy shall, as 
they say, be composed of sovereign states : — 

* This is certainly true respeciinof Pomerania 
and Alsace : whether the Ecdosiasiical principali- 
ties were treated wiili so much cpremony may be 
more doiibiful, and it would require more research 
to ascertain il than can now be applied to the ob- 
ject. 

t " All the Powers engaged on either side in 
the present war, shall, within the space of two 
months, send plenipotentiaries to Vienna for the 
purpose of regulating in general congress the ar 
rann;ements which are to complete the provisioni 
of the present treaty." 



6J2 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



but it is all by grant from these lords para- 
mount. Their will is the sole title to domi- 
nion, — the universal tenure of sovereignty. 
A single acre granted on such a principle is, 
in truth, the signal of a monstrous revolu- 
tion in the system of Europe. Is the House 
of Commons to remain silent, \vhen such a 
principle is applied in practice to a large part 
of the Continent, and proclaimed in right 
over the whole? Is it to remain silent when 
it has heard the King of Sardinia, at the mo- 
ment when he received possession of Genoa 
from a British garrison, and when the British 
co.mmander slated himself to have made the 
transfer in consequence of the decision at 
Vienna, proclaim to the Genoese, that he took 
possession of their territory ''in concurrence 
with the wishes of the principal Powers of 
Europe V 

It is to this particular act of the Con- 
gress, Sir, that I now desire to call the atten- 
tion of the House, not only on account of its 
own atrocity, but because it seems to repre- 
sent in miniature the whole system of that 
body, — to be a perfect specimen of their 
new public law, and to exemplify every prin- 
ciple of that code of partition which they 
are about to establish on the ruins of that 
ancient system of national independence and 
balanced power, which gradually raised the 
nations of Europe to the first rank of the 
human race. I contend that all the parties 
to this violent transfer,, and more especially 
the British Government, have been guilty of 
perfidy, — have been guilty of injustice ; and I 
shall also contend, that the danger of these 
violations of faith and justice is much increas- 
ed, when they are considered as examples of 
those principles by which the Congress of 
Vienna arrogate to themselves the right of 
regulating a considerable portion of Europe. 

To establish the breach of faith, I must 
first ask. — What did Lord William Bentinck 
promise, as commander-in-chief of His Ma- 
jesty's troops in Italy, by his Proclamations 
of the 14lh of March and 26th of April, 
1814 "? The first is addressed to the people 
of Italy. It offers them the assistance of 
Great Britain to rescue them from the iron 
yoke of Buonaparte. It holds out the e.\- 
ample of Spain, enabled, by the aid of Great 
Britain, to rescue ''her independence," — of 
the neighbouring Sicily, "which hastens to 
resume her ancient splendour among inde- 
pendent nations. . . Holland is about to obtain 
the same object. . . Warriors of Italy, you 
are invited to vindicate your own rights, and 
to be free ! Italy, by our united eflbrts, shall 
become what she was in her most prosperous 
periods, and what Spain now is!" 

Now, Sir, I do contend that all the powers 
of human ingenuity cannot give two senses 
to this Proclamation : I defy the wit of man 
In explain it away. Whether Lord William 
Dentinck had the power to promise is an al'ter 
([uestioii ; — what he did promise, can be no 
question at all. He promised the aid of Eng- 
land to obtain Italian independence. He 
promised to assist the Italians in throwing off 



a yoke, — in escaping from thraldom, — in es- 
tablishing liberty, — in asserting rights. — in 
obtaining independence. Every term of 
emancipation known in liuman language is 
exhausted to impress his purpose on the heart 
of Italy. I do not now inquire whether the 
generous warmth of this language may not 
require in justice some understood limita- 
tion : — perhaps it may. But can independ- 
ence mean a transfer to the yoke of the 
most hated of foreign masters 1 Were the 
Genoese invited to spill their blood, not 
merely for a choice of tyrants, but to earn 
the right of wearing the chains of the rival 
and the enemy of two centuries? Are the 
references to Spain, to Sicily, and to Holland 
mere frauds on the Italians, — " words full of 
sound and fury, signifying nothing?" If not, 
can they mean less than this, — that those 
countries of Italy which were independent 
before the war, shall be independent again ? 
These words, therefore, were at least ad- 
dressed to the Genoese ; — suppose them to 
be limited, as to any other Italians ; — suppose 
the Lombards, or, at that time, the Neapoli- 
tans, to be tacitly excluded. Addiesseil to 
the Genoese, they either had no meaning, or 
they meant their ancient independence. 

Did the Genoese act upon these promises? 
What did they do in consequence of that 
first Proclamation of the 14th of March, from 
Leghorn, addressed to all the Italians, but 
apphcable at least to the Genoese, and ne- 
cessarily understood by that people as com- 
prehending them? I admit that the pro- 
mises were conditional; and to render them 
conclusive, it was necessary for the Genoese 
to fulfil the condition : — I contend that they 
did. I shall not attempt again to describe 
the march of Lord William Bentinck from 
Leghorn to Genoa, which has already been 
painted by my Honourable and Learned 
Friend* with all the chaste beauties of his 
moral and philosophical eloquence : my duty 
confines me to the dry discussion of mere 
facts. The force with which Lord William 
Bentinck left Leghorn consisted of about 
three thousand English, supported by a mot- 
ley band of perhaps five thousand Sicilians, 
Italians, and Greeks, the greater part of whom 
had scarcely ever seen a shot fired. At the 
head of this force, he undertook a long march 
through one of the mo.«it defensible countries 
of Europe, against a citj- garrisoned or de- 
fended by seven thousand French veterans, 
and which it would have required twenty- 
five thousand men to invest, according to the 
common rules of military prudence. Now, 
Sir, I assert, without fear of contradiction, 
that such an expedition would have been 
an act of frenzy, unless Lord William Ben- 
tinck had the fullest assurance of the good- 
will and active aid of the Genoese people. 
The fact sufficiently speaks for itself. I can- 
not here name th^ high military authority on 
which my assertion rests; but I defy the 
Right Honourable Gentlemen, with all their 



♦ Mr. Horner. — Ea. 



ON THE ANNEXATION OF GENOA. 



513 



means of commanding military information, 
to contradict me. I know they will not ven- 
ture. In the first place, then, I a^-sume; that 
the British general would not have begun his 
advance without assurance of the friendship 
of the Genoese, and that he owes his secure 
and unmolested march to the influence of 
the same friendship — supplying his army, 
and deterring his enemies from attack. He 
therefore, in truth, owed his being before 
the walls of Genoa to Genoese co-operation. 
The city of Genoa, which, in 1799, had been 
defended by Massena for three months, fell 
to Lord William Bentinck in two days. In 
two days seven thousand French veterans 
laid down their arms to three thousand Bri- 
tish soldiers, encumbered rather than aided 
by the auxiliary rabble whom I have de- 
scribed. Does any man in his senses be- 
lieve, that the French garrison could have 
been driven to such a surrender by any 
cause but their fear of the Genoese people ? 
I have inquired, from the best military au- 
thorities accessible to me, what would be 
the smallest force with, which the expedi- 
tion might probably have been successful, 
if the population had been — I do not say 
enthusiastically, — but commonly hostile to 
the invaders :: — I have been assured, that it 
could not have been less than twenty-five 
thousand men. Here, again, I venture to 
challenge contradiction. If none can be 
given, must I not conclude that the known 
friendship of the Genoese towards the British, 
manifested after the issue of the Proclama- 
tion, and in no part created by it, was equiva- 
lent to an auxiliary force of seventeen thou- 
sand men 1 Were not the known wishes of 
the people, acting on the hopes of the British, 
and on the fears of the French, the chief 
cause of the expulsion of the French from 
the Genoese territory?' Can Lord William 
Bentinck's little army be considered as more 
than auxiliaries to the popular sentiment ? If 
a body of four thousand Genoese had joined 
Lord William, on the declared ground of his 
Proclamation, all" mankind would have ex- 
claimed that the condition was fulfilled, and 
the contract indissoluble. Is it not the height 
of absurdity to maintain that a manifesta- 
tion of public sentiment, which produced as 
much benefit to him as four times that force, 
is not to have the same efTect. A ship which 
is in sight of a capture is entitled to her 
share of the prize, though she neither had 
nor could have fired a shot, upon the plain 
principle that apprehen.sion of her approach 
probably contributed to produce the surren- 
der. If apprehension of Genoese hostility 
influenced the French garrison, — if assu- 
rance of Genoese friendship encouraged the 
British army, on what principle do you de- 
fraud the Genoese of their national inde- 
pendence, — the prize which you promised 
them, and which they thus helped to wrest 
from the enemy? 

In fact, I am well informed, Sir, that there 
was a revolt in the city, which produced the 
surrender, — that Buonapatte's statue had 
65 



been overthrown with every mark of indig- 
nity, — and that the French garrison was on 
the point of being e.vpelled, even if the be- 
siegers had not appeared. But I am not 
obliged to risk the case upon the accuracy 
of that information. Be it that the Genoese 
complied with Lord Wellesley's wise instruc- 
tion, to avoid premature revolt : I affirm that 
Lord William Bentinck's advance is positive 
evidence of an understanding with the Geno- 
ese leaders; that there would have been 
such evidence in the advance of any judi- 
cious officer, but most peculiarly in his, who 
had been for three years negotiating in Upper 
Italy, and was well acquainted with the pre- 
valent impatience of the French yoke. I 
conceive it to be self-evident, that if the 
Genoese had believed the English army to 
be advancing in order to sell them to Sar- 
dinia, they would not have favoured the ad- 
vance. I think it demonstrable, that to their 
favourable disposition the expedition owed 
its success. And it needs no proof that they 
favoured the English, because the English 
promised them the restoration of independ- 
ence. The English have, therefore, broken 
faith with them : the English have defrauded 
them of solemnly-promised independence: 
the English have requited their co-operation, 
by forcibly subjecting them to the pow-er of ^ 
the most odious of foreign masters. On the 
whole, I shall close this part of the question 
with challenging all the powers of human 
ingenuity to interpret the Proclamation as 
any thing but a promise of independence to 
such Italian nations as were formerly inde- 
pendent, and would now co-operate for the 
recovery of their rights. I leave to the Gen- 
tlemen on the other side the task of convin- 
cing the House that the conduct of the Ge- 
noese did not co-operate towards success, 
though without it success was impossible. 

But we have been told that Lord William 
Bentinck was not authorised to make such a 
promise. It is needless for me to repeat my 
assent to a truth so trivial, as that no political 
negotiation is naturally within the province 
of a military commander, and that for such 
negotiations he must have special authority. 
At the same time I must observe, that Lord 
William Bentinck was not solely a military 
commander, and could not be considered by 
the Italians in that light. In Sicily his po- 
litical functions had been more important " 
than his military command. From 1811 to 
1814 he had, w^ith the approbation of his 
Government, performed the highest acts of 
political authority in that island ; and he had, 
during the same period, carried on the secret 
negotiations of the British Government with 
all Italians disaffected to France. To the 
Italians, then, he appeared as a picnipoten 
tiary; and they had a right to expect thai 
his Government would ratify his acts and 
fulfil his engagements. In fact, his special 
authority was full and explicit. Lord Wei- 
lesley's Instructions of the 21st of October 
and 27th of December, 1811, speak with the 
manly finaness which distinguishes thai 



614 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



great statesman as much as his commanding 
character and splendid talents. His mean- 
ing is always piecisely expressed : — he leaves 
himself no retreat from his engagements in 
the ambignity and perplexity of an unintel- 
ligible style. The principal object of these 
masterly despatches is to instruct Lord Wil- 
liam Bentinck respecting his support of any 
eventual effort of the Italian states to rescue 
Italy. They remind him of the desire of the 
Prince Regent to aftbrd every practicable as- 
sistance to the people of Italy in any such 
effort. They convey so large a discretion, 
that it is thought necessary to say, — "In all 
arrangements respecting the expulsion of the 
enemy, your Lordship will not fail to give 
due consideration to our engagements with 
the courts of Sicily and Sardinia." Lord Wil- 
liam Bentinck had therefore powers which 
would have extended to Naples and Pied- 
mont, unless they had been specially ex- 
cepted. On the 19th of May, 1812, Lord 
Castlereagh virtually confirms the same ex- 
tensive and confidential powers. On the 4th 
of March precedina, Lord Liverpool had, 
indeed, instructed Lord William Bentinck 
to employ a part of his force in a diversion 
in favour of Lord Wellington, by a descent 
on the eastern coast of Spain. This diver- 
sion doubtless suspended the negotiations 
with the patriotic Italians, and precluded for 
a time the possibility of affording them aid. 
But so Air from withdrawing Lord William 
Bentinck's political power, in Italy, they ex- 
pressly contemplate their revival : — " This 
operation would leave the question respect- 
ing Italy open for further consideration, if 
circumstances should subsequently render 
the prospect there more inviting." The 
despatches of Lord Bathurst, from March 
1812 to December 1813, treat Lord William 
Bentinck as still in possession of those ex- 
tensive powers originally vested in him by 
the despatch of Lord Wellesley. Every 
question of policy is discussed in these des- 
patches, not as with a mere general, — not 
even as with a mere ambassador, but as 
with a confidential minister for the Italian 
Department. The last despatch is that which 
closes with the remarkable sentence, which 
is, in my opinion, decisive of this whole 
question : — " Provided it be clearly with the 
entire concurrence of the inhabitants, you 
may take possession of Genoa in the name 
of His Sardinian Majesty." Now this is, in 
effect, tantamount to an instruction not to 
transfer Genoa to Sardinia without the con- 
currence of the inhabitants. It is a virtual in- 
struction to consider the washes of the people 
of Genoa as the rule and measure of his con- 
duct: it is more — it is a declaration that he 
had no need of any instruction to re-establish 
Genoa, if the Genoese desired it. That re- 
establishment was provided for by his origi- 
nal instructions : only the new project of a 
transfer to a foreign sovereign required new 
ones. Under his original instructions, then, 
thus ratified by a long series of succeeding 
despatches from a succession of minieters, 



did Lord Wilham Bentinck issue the Procla- 
mation of the 14th of March. 

Limitations there were in the original in- 
structions: — Sicily and Sardinia were ex- 
cepted. New exceptions undoubtedly arose, 
in the course of events, so plainly within the 
principle of the original exceptions as to re- 
quire no specification. Every Italian pro- 
vince of a sovereign with whom Great Britain 
had subsequently contracted an alliance was^ 
doubtless, as much to be excepted out of^ 
general projects of revolt for Italian inde- 
pendence as those which had been subject 
to the Allied Sovereigns in 1811. A British 
minister needed no express instructions to 
comprehend that he was to aid no revolt 
against the Austrian Government in their 
former province of Lombardy. The change 
of circumstances sufficiently instructed him. 
But in what respect were circumstances 
changed respecting Genoa? The circum- 
stances of Genoa were the same as at the 
time of Lord Wellesley's instructions. The 
very last despatches (those of Lord Bathurst, 
of the 28th of December, 1813,) had pointed 
to tlie Genoese territory as the scene of mili- 
tary operations, without any intimation that 
the original project was not still applicable 
there, unless the Genoese nation should 
agree to submit to the King of Sardinia. I 
contend, therefore, that the original instruc- 
tion of Lord Wellesley, which authorised the 
promise of independence to every part of the 
Italian peninsula except Naples and Pied- 
mont, was still in force, wherever it was not 
manifestly limited by subsequent engage- 
ments with the sovereigns of other countries, 
similar to our eng^agements with the sove- 
reigns of Naples and Piedmont, — that no 
such engagement existed respecting the Ge- 
noese authority, — and that to the Genoese 
people the instruction of Lord Wellesley was 
as applicable as on the day when that in- 
struction was issued. 

The Noble Lord may then talk as ht 
pleases of "disentangling from the presem 
question the question of Italy," to which or. 
a former occasion he applied a phraseology 
so singular. He cannot " disentangle these 
questions :"-^they are inseparably blended 
The Instructions of 1811 authorised the pro- 
mise of independence to all Italians, except 
the people of Naples and Piedmont. The 
Proclamation of the 14th of March 1814 pro- 
mised independence to all Italians, with the 
manifestly implied exception of those who 
had been the subjects of Powers who were 
now become the alhes of Great Britain. A 
British general, fully authorised, promised 
mdependence to those Italians who, like the 
Genoese, had not been previously the sub- 
jects of an ally of Britain, and by that pro- 
mise, so authorised, his Government is in- 
violably bound. 

But these direct instructions were not all. 
He was indirectly authorised by the acts and 
language of his own Government and of the 
other great Powers of Europe. He was au- 
thorised to re-establish the repubhc of Ge- 



ON THE ANNEXATION OF GENC A. 



515 



noa, because the British Government in the 
Treaty of Amiens had refused to acknow- 
ledge its destruction. He was authorised to 
believe that Austria desired the re-establish- 
ment of a republic whose destruction that 
Government in 1808 had represented as a 
cause of war. He was surely authorised to 
consider that re-establishment as conform- 
able to the sentiments of the Emperor Alex- 
ander, who at the same time had, on account 
of the annexation of Genoa to France, re- 
fused even at the request of Great Britain to 
continue his mediation between her and a 
Power capable of such an outrage on the 
rights of independent nations. Where was 
Lord William Bentinck to learn the latest 
opinions of the Allied Powers? If he read 
the celebrated Declaration of Frankfort, he 
there found an alliance announced of which 
the object was the restoration of Europe. 
Did restoration mean destruction 1 Perhaps 
before the 14th of March, — certainly before 
the 26th of April, — he had seen the first ar- 
ticle of the Treaty of Chaumont, concluded 
on the 1st of March, — 

" Dum curae ambiguae, dum spes incerta futuri,"* 

in which he found the object of the war de- 
clared by the assembled majesty of confe- 
derated Europe to be " a general peace under 
which the rights and liberties of all nations 
may be secured" — words eternally honour- 
able to their authors if they were to be ob- 
served — more memorable still if they were 
to be openly and perpetually violated ! Be- 
fore the 26th of April he had certainly pe- 
rused these words, which no time will efface 
from the records of history : for he evidently 
adverts to them in the preamble of his Pro- 
clamation, and justly considers them as a 
sufficient authority, if he had no other, to 
warrant its provisions. " Considering," says 
he, " that the general desire of the Genoese 
nation seems to be, to return to their ancient 
government, and considering that the desire 
seems to be conformable to the principles 
recognised by the High Allied Powers of re- 
storing to all their ancient rights and privi- 
leges." In the work of my celebrated friend, 
Mr. Gentz, of whom I can never speak with- 
out regard and admiration, On the Balance 
of Power, he would have found the incor- 
poration of Genoa justly reprobated as one 
of the most unprincipled acts of French 
tyranny; and he would have most reason- 
ably believed the sentiments of the Allied 
Powers to have been spoken by that emi- 
nent person — now, if I am not misinformed, 
the Secretary of that Congress, on whose 
measures his writings are the most severe 
censure. 

But that Lord William Bentinck did be- 
lieve himself to have offered independence 
to the Genoese, — that he thought himself 
directly and indirectly authorised to make 
such an offer, — and that he was satisfied 
that the Genoese had by their co-operation 



* iEneid. lib. viii. — Ed. 



performed their part of the compact, are 
facts which rest upon the positive and pre- 
cise testimony of Lord William Bentinck 
himself. I call upon him as the best inter- 
preter of his own language, and the most 
unexceptionable witness to prove the co- 
operation of the Genoese. Let this Procla- 
mation of the 26th of April be examined : — 
it is the clearest commentary on that of the 
14th of March. It is the most decisive testi- 
mony to the active aid of the Genoese people. 
On the 26th of April he bestows on the peo- 
ple of Genoa that independence which he 
had promised to all the nations of Italy (with 
the implied exception, already often enough 
mentioned), on condition of their aiding to 
expel tlie oppressor. He, therefore, under- 
stood his own Proclamation to be such a 
promise of independence : he could not doubt 
but that he was authorised to make it: and 
he believed that the Genoese were entitled 
to claim the benefit of it by their performance 
of its condition, • 

This brings me to the consideration of 
this Proclamation, on which I should have 
thought all observatiftn unnecessary, unless 
I had heard some attempts made by the 
Noble Lord to explain it awaj'', and to repre- 
sent it as nothing but the establishment of a 
provisional government. I call on any mem- 
ber of the House to read that Proclamation, 
and to say whether he can in common hon- 
our assent to such an interpretation. The 
Proclamation, beyond all doubt, provides for 
two perfectly distinct objects: — the establish- 
ment of a provisional government till the 1st 
of January 1815, and the re-establishment 
of the ancient constitution of the republic, 
with certain reforms and modifications, from 
and after that period. Three-fourths of the 
Proclamation have no reference whatever to 
a provisional government ; — thg first sentence 
of the preamble, and the third and fourth ar- 
ticles only, refer to that object : but the larger 
paragraph of the preamble, and four articles 
of the enacting part, relate to the re-esta- 
blishment of the ancient constitution alone. 
" The desire of the Genoese nation was to 
return to their ancient government, under 
which they had enjoyed independence:" — 
was this relating to a provisional govern- 
ment'? Did " the principles recognised by the 
High Allied Powers" contemplate only the 
establishment of provisional governments? 
Did provisional governments imply '-'resto- 
ring to all their ancient rights and privi- 
leges?" Why should the ancient constitu- 
tion be re-established — the very constitution 
given by Andrew Doria when he delivered 
his country from a foreign yoke, — if nothing 
was meant but a provisional government, 
preparatory to foreign slavery ? Why was 
the government to be modified according to 
the general wish, the public good, and the 
spirit of Doria's constitution, if nothing was 
meant beyond a temporary administration, 
till the Allied Powers could decide on what 
vassal they were to bestow Genoa ? But I 
may have been at first mistaken, and time 



516 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



may have rende:ed my mistake incorrigible. 
Let every gentleman, before he votes on this 

Suestion, calmly peruse the Proclamation of 
le 26tli of April, and determine for himself 
whether it admits of any but one construc- 
tion. Does it not provid.e for a provisional 
govornment immediately, and for the esta- 
blishment of the ancient constitution here- 
after; — the provisional government till the 
1st of January, 1815, the constitution from 
the 1st of January, 1815? The provisional 
government is in its nature temporary, and a 
limit is fixed to it. The constitution of the 
republic is permanent, and no term or limit 
is prescribed beyond which it is not to en- 
dure. It is not the object of the Proclama- 
tion to establish the ancient constitution as 
a provisional government. On the contrary, 
the ancient constitution is not to be esta- 
blished till the provisional government ceases 
to exist. So distinct are they, that the mode 
of appointment to the supreme powers most 
materially differs. Lfird William Bentinck 
nominates the two colleges, who compose 
the provisional government. The two col- 
leges who are afterwards to compose the 
permanent government of the republic, are 
to be nominated agreeably to the ancient con- 
stitution. Can it be maintained that the in- 
tention was to establish two successive pro- 
visional governments 1 For what conceivable 
reason ? Even in that case, why engage in 
the laborious and arduous task of reforming 
an ancient constitution for the sake of a 
second provisional government which might 
not last three weeks 1 And what constitu- 
tion was more unfit for a provisional govern- 
ment, — what was more likely to indispose 
the people to all farther change, and above 
all, to a sacrifice of their independence, than 
the ancient constitution of the republic, which 
revived all their feelings of national dignity, 
and seemed to be a pledge that they were 
once more to be Genoese ? In short, Sir, I 
am rather fearful that I shall be thought to 
have overlaboured a point so extremely clear. 
But if I have dwelt too long upon this Pro- 
clamation, and examined it too minutely, it 
is not because I think it difficult, but because 
I consider it is decisive of the whole ques- 
tion. If Lord William Bentinck in that Pro- 
clamation bestowed on the people of Genoa 
their place among nations, and the govern- 
ment of their forefathers, it must have been 
because he deemed himself authorised to 
make that establishment by the repeated 
instructions of the British Government, and 
by the avowed principles and solemn acts of 
the Allied Powers, and because he felt bound 
to make it by his own Proclamation of the 
14th of March, combined with the acts done 
by the Genoese nation, in consequence of 
that Proclamation. I think I have proved that 
he did so, — ^that he believed himself to have 
done so, and that the people of Genoa be- 
lieved it hkewise. 

Perhaps, however, if Lord William Ben- 
tinck had mistaken his instructions, and had 
acted without authority, he might have been 



disavowed, and his acfs might have been 
aiuiulled ? I doubt whether, in such a case, 
any disavowal would have been sufficient, 
wherever another people, in consequence 
of the acts of our agent whom they had good 
reason to trust, have done acts which they 
cannot recall. I do not conceive the possibility 
of a just disavowal of such an agent's acts. 
Where one party has innocently and reason- 
ably advanced too far to recede, justice cuts 
off the other also from retreat. But, at all 
events, the disavowal, to be effectual, must 
have been prompt, clear, and public. Where 
is the disavowal here 1 Where is the public 
notice to the Genoese, that they were de- 
ceived ? Did their mistake deserve no cor- 
rection, even on the ground of compassion? 
I look in vain through these Papers for any 
such act. The Noble Lord's letter of the 30th 
of March was the first intimation which Lord 
William Bentinck received of any change 
of system beyond Lombardy. It contains 
only a caution as to future conduct ; and it 
does not hint an intention to cancel any act 
done on the faith of the Proclamation of the 
14th of March. The allusion to the same 
subject in the letter of the 3d of April, is 
liable to the very same observation, and 
being inserted at the instance of the Duke 
of Campochiaro, was evidently intended only 
to prevent the prevalence of such ideas of 
Italian liberty as were inconsistent with the 
accession then proposed to the territory of 
Naples. It certainly could not have been 
supposed by Lord William Bentinck to apply 
to Genoa ; for Genoa was in his possession 
on the 26th, when he issued the Proclama- 
tion, which he never could have published 
if he had understood the despatch in that 
sense. 

The Noble Lord's despatch of the 6th of 
May is, Sir, in my opinion, fatal to his argu- 
ment. It evidently betrays a feeling that 
acts had been done, to create in the Genoese 
a hope of independence : yet it does not direct 
these acts to be disavowed; — it contains no 
order speedily to undeceive the people. It 
implies that a deception had been practised ; 
and instead of an attempt to repair it, there 
is only an injunction not to repeat the fault. 
No expressions are to be used which may pre- 
judge the fate of Genoa. Even then that fate 
remained doubtful. So far from disavowal, 
the Noble Lord proposes the re-establishment 
of Genoa, though with .some curtailment of 
territory, to M. Pareto, who maintained the 
interests of his country with an ability and 
dignity worthy of happier success. 

And the Treaty of Paris itself, far from a 
disavowal, is, on every principle of rational 
construction, a ratification and adoption of 
the act of Lord William Bentinck. The 6th 
article of that Treaty provides that <• Italy, 
beyond the limits of the country which is to 
revert to Austria, shall be composed of sove- 
reign states." Now, Sir, I desfre to know 
the meaning of this provision. I can conceive 
only three possible constructions. Either 
that every country shall have some sove- 



ON THE ANNEXATION OF GENOA. 



617 



reign, or, m other words, some government : 
— it will not be said that so trivial a propo- 
sition required a solemn stipulation. Or that 
there is to be more than one sovereign ; — 
that was absolutely unnecessary: Naples, the 
Slates of the Church, and Tuscany, already 
existed. Or, thirdly, that the ancient sove- 
reign states shall be re-established, except 
the country which reverts to Austria : — this, 
and this only, was an intelligible and import- 
ant object of stipulation. It is the most 
reasonable of the only three possible con- 
structions of these words. The phrase "seve- 
re gn states" seems to have been preferred 
to that of "sovereigns," because it compre- 
hended i-epublics as well as monarcJiies. 
According to this article, thus understood, 
the Powers of Europe had by the Treaty of 
Paris (to speak cautiously) given new hopes 
to the Genoese that they were again to be a 
nation. 

But, according to every principle of jus- 
tice, it is unnecessary to carry the argument 
60 far. The act of an agent, if not disavowed 
in reasonable time, becomes the act of the 
principal. When a pledge is made to a pefo- 
ple — such as was contained in the Procla- 
mations of the 14th of March and 26th of 
April — it can be recalled only by a disavowal 
equally public. 

On the policy of annexing Genoa to Pied- 
mont, Sir, I have very little to say. That it 
was a compulsory, and therefore an unjust 
union, is, in my view of the subject, the cir- 
cumstance which renders it most impolitic. 
It seems a bad means of securing Italy 
against France, to render a considerable part 
of the garrison of the Alps so dissatisfied 
with their condition, that they must consider, 
every invader as a deliverer. But even if 
the annexation had been just, I should have 
doubted whether it was desirable. Informer 
times, the House of Savoy might have been 
the guardians of the Alps: — at present, to 
treat them as such, seems to be putting the 
keys of Italy into hands too weak to hold 
them. Formerly, the conquest of Genoa and 
Piedmont were two distinct operations: — 
Genoa did not necessarily follow the fate of 
Turin. In the state of things created by the 
Congress, a French army has no need of 
eeparately acting against the Genoese terri- 
tory : — it must fall with Piedmont. And, 
what is still more strange, it is bound to the 
destinies of Piedmont by the same Congress 
which has wantonly stripped Piedmont of its 
natural defences. The House of Sardinia is 
stripped of great part of its ancient patri- 
mony : — a part of Savoy is, for no conceivable 
reason, given to France. The French are 
put in possession of the approaches and out- 

{x)sts of the passes of Mont Cenis : they are 
rought a campaign nearer to Italy. At this 
very moment they have assembled an army 
at C hambery, which, unless Savoy had been 
wantonly thrown to them, they must have 
assembled at Lyons. You impose on the 
Hjase of Savoy the defence of a longer line 
of Alps with one hand, and you weaken the 



defence of that part of the line which covers 
their capital with the other. But it is per- 
fectly sufficient for rfle, in the present case, 
if the policy is only doubtful, or the interests 
only slight. The laxest moralist will not, 
pubhcly at least, deny, that more advantage 
is lost by the loss of a character for good 
faith than can be gained by a small improve- 
ment in the distribution of territory. Pernaps, 
indeed, this annexation of Genoa is the only 
instance recorded in history of great Powers 
having (to say no more) brought their faith 
and honour into question without any of the 
higher temptations of ambition, — with no 
better inducement than a doubtful advantage 
in distributing territory more conveniently, 
— unless, indeed, it can be supposed that 
they are allured by the pleasures of a tri- 
umph over the ancient principles of justice, 
and of a parade of the new maxims of con- 
venience which are to regulate Europe in 
their stead. 

I have hitherto argued this case as if the 
immorahty of the annexation had arisen 
solely from the pledge made to the Genoese 
nation. I have argued it as if the Proclama- 
tion of Lord William Bentinck had been ad- 
dressed to a French province, on which there 
could be no obligation to confer independence, 
if there were no promise to do so. For the 
sake of distinctness, I have hitherto kept out 
of view that important circumstance, which 
would, as I contend, without any promise, 
have of its'elf rendered a compulsory annexa- 
tion unjust. Anterior to all promise, inde- 
pendent of all pledged faith, I conceive that 
Great Britain could not morally treat the 
Genoese territory as a mere conquest, which 
vshe might hold as a province, or cede to 
another power, at her pleasure. In the year 
1797, when Genoa was conquered by France 
(then at war with England), under pretence 
of being revolutionised, the Genoese republic 
was at peace with Great Britain ; and conse- 
quently, in the language of the law of nations, 
they were " friendly states." Neither the 
substantial conquest in 1797, nor the formal 
union of 1805, had ever been recognised by 
this kingdom. When the British commander, 
therefore, entered the Genoese territory in 
1814, he entered the territory of a friend in 
the possession of an enemy. Supposing him, 
by his own unaided force, to have conquered 
it from the enemy, can it be inferred that he 
conquered it from the Genoese people 1 He 
had rights of conquest against the French : 
— but what right of conquest would accrue 
from their expulsion, against the Genoese? 
How could we be at war with the Genoese ? 
— not as with the ancient republic of Genoa, 
which fell when in a state of amity with us, 
— not as subjects of France, because we had 
never legally and formally acknowledged 
their subjection to that Power. There could 
be no right of conquest against them, be- 
cause there was neither the state of war, 
nor the right of war. Perhaps the Powers 
of the Continent, which had either expressly 
or tacitly recognised the annexation of Genoa 
2T 



518 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



in their treaties with France, might consist- 
ently treat these Genoese people as mere 
French subjects, and consequently the Ge- 
noese territory as a French province, con- 
quered from the French government, which 
as regarded them had become the sovereign 
of Genoa. But England stood in no such 
position : — in her eye the republic of Genoa 
Btill of right subsisted. She had done no act 
which implied the legal destruction of a 
commonwealth, with which she had had no 
war, nor cause of war. Genoa ought to have 
been regarded by England as a friendly 
state, oppressed ibr a time by the common 
enemy, and entitled to re-assume the exer- 
cise of her sovereign rights as soon as that 
enemy was driven from her territory by a 
friendly force. Voluntary, much more cheer- 
ful, union, — zealous co-operation, — even long 
submission, — might have altered the state 
of belligerent rights : — none of these are here 
pretended. In such a case, I contend, that, 
according to the law of nations, anterior to 
all promises, and independent of all pledged 
faith, the republic of Genoa was restored to 
the exercise of her sovereignty, which, in 
our eyes, she had never lost, by the expul- 
sion of the French from her soil. 

These, Sir, are no reasonings of mine : I 
read them in the most accredited works on 
public law, delivered long before any events 
of our time were in contemplation, and yet 
as applicable to this transaction, as if they 
had been contrived for it. Vattel, in the 
thirteenth and fourteenth chapters of his 
third book, has stated fully and clearly 
those principles respecting the application 
of the jits postliminii to the case of states, 
which he had taken from his eminent prede- 
cessors, or rather which they and he had 
discovered to be agreeable to the plainest 
dictates of reason, and which they have 
transcribed from the usage of civilized na- 
tions. I shall not trouble the. House with 
the passages,* unless I see some attempt to 

* " When a nation, a people, a slate, has been 
entirely sulijugaied. whether a revolution can give 
it the right o( Postliminium ? To which we an- 
swer, that if the conquered state has not assented 
to the new subjection, if it did not yield volun- 
tarily, if it only ceased to resist from inability, if 
the conqueror has not yet sheathed the sword to 
wield the sceptre of a pacific sovereign, — such a 
state is only conquered and oppressed, and Vifhen 
the arms of an ally deliver it, returns without 
doubt to its first state. Its ally cannot become its 
conqueror ; he is a deliverer, who can have a right 
only to compensation for his services.". ..." It 
the last conqueror, not being an ally of the state, 
claims a right to retain it under his authority as the 
prize of victory, he puts himself in the place of 
the conqueror, and becomes the enemy of the op- 
pressed state. That state may legitimately resist 
him, and avail herself of a favourable occasion to 
recover her liberty. A state unjustly oppressed 
ought 10 be re-established in her rights by the 
conqueror who delivers her from the oppressor." 
Whoever carefully considers the above passage 
will observe, that it is intended to be applicable to 
two very distinct cases; — that of deliverance by 
an ally, where the duty of restoration is strict and 
precise, — and that of deliverance by a state unal- 



reconcile them with the annexation of Genoa, 
I venture to predict no such attempts will be 
hazarded. It is not my disposition to over- 
rate the authority of this class of writers, or 
to consider authority in any case as a subsli- 
tule for reason. But these eminent writers 
were at least necessarily impartial. Their 
weight, as bearing testimony to general sen- 
timent and civilized usage, receives a new 
accession from every statesman who appeals 
to their writings, and from every year in 
which no contrary practice is established or 
hostile principles avowed. Their works are 
thus attested by successive generations to be 
records of the customs of the best times, and 
depositories of the deliberate and permanent 
judgments of the more enlightened part of 
mankind. Add to this, that their authority 
is usually invoked by the feeble, and despised 
by those who are strong enough to need no 
aid from moral sentiment, and to bid defiance 
to justice. I have never heard their princi- 
ples questioned, but by those whose flagitious 
policy they had by anticipation condemned. 

Here, Sir, let me for a moment lower the 
clainns of my argument, and abandon some 
part of the ground which I think it practica- 
ble to maintain. If I were to admit that the 
pledge here is not so strong, nor the duty of 
re-establishing a rescued friend so imperious 
as I have represented, still it must be ad- 
mitted to me, that it was a promise, though 
perhaps not utiequivocal, to perform that 
which was moral and right, whether wilhin 
the sphere of strict duty or not. Either the 
doubtful promise, or the imperfect duty, 
might singly have been insufficient : but, 
combined, they reciprocally strengthen each 
other. The slightest promise to do what was 
before a duty, becomes as binding as much 
stronger words to do an indifferent act : — 
stronc assurances that a man will do what it 
is right for him to do are not required. A 
slight declaration to such an effect is believed 
by those to whom it is addressed, and there- 
fore obligatory on those by whom it is uttered. 
Was it not natural and reasonable for the 
people of Genoa to believe, on the slenderest 
pledges, that such a country as England, 
with which they had never had a difference, 
would avail herself of a victory, due at least 
in part to their fi'iendly sentiments, in order 
to restore them to that independence of 
which they had been robbed by her enemy 
and theirs, — by the general oppressor of 
Europe. 

I shall not presume to define on invariable 
principles the limits of the right of conquest. 



lied, but not hostile, where in the opinion of the 
writer the re-establishment of the oppressed nation 
is at least the moral duty of the conqueror, though 
arising only from our common humanity, and 
from the amicable relation which subsists between 
all men and all communities, till dissolved by 
wrongful oppression. It is to the latter case that 
the strong language in the second part of the 
above quotation is applied. It seems very difficulty 
and it has not hitherto been attempted, to resist tlia 
application to the case of Genoa. 



ON THE ANNEXATION OF GENOA. 



519 



It is founded, like every right of war, on a 
regard to security, — the object of all just 
war. The modes in which national safety 
may be provided for, — by reparation for in- 
sult, — by compensation for injury, — by ces- 
sions and by indemnifications, — vary in such 
important respectS; according to the circum- 
stances of various cases, that it is perhaps 
impossible to limit them by an universal 
principle. In the case of Norway,* I did 
not pretend to argue the question upon 
grounds so high as those which were taken 
by some writers on public law. These wri- 
ters, who for two centuries have been quoted 
as authorities in all the controversies of Eu- 
rope, with the moderate and pacific Grotius 
at their head, have all concurred in treating 
it as a fundamental principle, that a defeated 
sovereign may indeed cede part of his do- 
minions to the conqueror, but that he there- 
by only abdicates his own sovereignty over 
the ceded dominion. — that the consent of the 
people is necessary to make them morally 
subject to the authority of the conqueror. 
Without renouncing this limitation of the 
rights of conquest, founded on principles so 
generous, and so agreeable to the dignity of 
human nature, I was content to argue the 
cession of Norway, — as I am content to argue 
the cession of Genoa, — on lower and hum- 
bler, but perhaps safer grounds. Let me 
waive the odious term '• rights," — let me 
waive the necessity of any consent of a peo- 
ple, express or implied, to legitimate the 
cession of their territory: at least this will 
not be denied, — that to unite a people by 
force to a nation against whom they enter- 
tain a strong antipathy, is the most probable 
means of rendering the community unhappy, 
— of making the people discontented, and 
the sovereign tyrannical. But there can be 
no right in any governor, whether he derives 
his power from conquest, or from any other 
source, to make the governed unhappy; — all 
the rights of all governors exist only to make 
the governed happy. It may be disputed 
among some, whether the rights of govern- 
ment be from the people ; but no man can 
doubt that they are for the people. Such a 
forcible union is an immoral and cruel exer- 
cise of ihe conqueror's power; and as soon 
as that concession is made, it is not worth 
while to discuss whether it be within his 
right, — in other words, whether he be forbid- 
den by any law to make it. 

But if every cession of a territory against 
the deliberate and manifest sense of its in- 
habitants be a harsh and reprehensible abuse 
of conquest, it is most of all culpable, — it be- 
comes altogether atrocious and inhuman, 
where the antipathy was not the feeling of 
the momert, or the prejudice of the day, but 
a profound sentiment of hereditary repug- 
nance and aversion, which has descended 
from generation to generation, — has mingled 



* On Mr. Charles Wynn's motion (May 12ih, 
1814,) condemnatory of its forced annexation to 
Sweden. — Ed. 



with every part of thought and action, — and 
has become part of patriotism itself. Such 
is the repugnance of the Genoese to a union 
with Piedmont : and such is commonly the 
peculiar horror which high-minded nations 
feel of the yoke of their immediate neigh- 
bours. The feelings of Norway towards 
Sweden, — of Portugal towards Spain, — and 
in former and less happy times of Scotland 
towards England. — are a few out of innu- 
merable examples. There is nothing either 
unreasonable or unnatural in this state of 
national feelings. With neighbours there 
are most occasions of quarrel; with them 
there have been most wars ; from them there 
has been most suffering : — of them there is 
most fear. The resentment of wrongs, and 
the remembrance of victory, strengthen our 
repugnance to those \\ho are most usually 
our enemies. It is not from illiberal preju- 
dice, but from the constitution of human 
nature, that an Englishman animates his pa- 
triotic affections, and supports his national 
pride, by now looking back on victories over 
Frenchmen, — on Cressy and Agincourt, on 
Blenheim and Minden, — as our posterity will 
one day look back on Salamanca and Vitto- 
ria. The defensive principle ought to be the 
strongest where the danger is likely most 
frequently to arise. What, then, will the 
House decide concerning the morality of 
compelling Genoa to submit to the yoke of 
Piedmont, — a state which the Genoese have 
constantly dreaded and hated, and against 
which their hatred w-as sharpened by con- 
tinual apprehensions for their independence ? 
Whatever construction may be attempted of 
Lord William Bentinck's Proclamations, — 
whatever sophistry may be used successful- 
ly, to persuade you that Genoa was disposa- 
ble as a conquered territory, will you affirm 
that the disposal of it to Piedmont was a just 
and humane exercise of your power as a 
conqueror? 

It is for this reason, amon^ others, that I 
detest and execrate the modern doctrine of 
rounding territory, and following natural 
boundaries, and melting down small states 
into masses, and substituting lines of defence, 
and right and left flanks, instead of justice 
and the law of nations, and ancient posses- 
sion and national feeling, — the system of 
Louis XIV. and Napoleon, of the spoilers of 
Poland, and of the spoilers of Norway and 
Genoa, — the system which the Noble Lord, 
when newly arrived from the Congress, ana 
deeply imbued with its doctrines, in the 
course of his ample and elaborate invective 
against the memory and principles of ancient 
Europe, defined in two phrases so character- 
istic of his reverence for the rights of nations, 
and his tenderness for their feelings, that 
they ought not easily to be forgotten, — when 
he told us, speaking of this very antipathy 
of Genoa to Piedmont, '-that great questions 
are not to be influenced bv popular imj^;ies- 
sions," nnd ''that a people may be happy 
without independence." The principal fea 
ture of this new system is the hicorporation 



520 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



of neighbouring, and therefore hostile com- 
munities. The system of justice reverenced 
the union of men who had long been mem- 
bers of the same commonweaUh, because 
they had all the attachments and antipathies 
which grow out' of that fellowship : — the sys- 
tem of rapine tears asunder those whom na- 
ture has joined, and compels those to unite 
whom the contests of ages liave rendered ir- 
reconcilable. 

And if all this had been less evident, would 
no aggravation of this act have arisen from 
the peculiar nature of the general war of 
Europe against France? It was a war in 
which not only the Italians, but every peo- 
ple in Europe, were called by their sove- 
reigns to rise for the recovery of their inde- 
pendence. It was a revolt of the people 
against Napoleon. It owed its success to the 
spirit of popular insurrection. The principle 
of a war for the restoration of independence, 
was a pledge that each people was to be re- 
stored to its ancient territory. The nations 
of Europe accepted the pledge, and shook 
off the French yoke. But was it for a change 
of masters? Was it that three Foreign Min- 
isters at Paris might dispose of the Genoese 
territory 1 — was it for this that the youth of 
Europe had risen in arms from Moscow to 
the Rhine ? 

Ergo pari voto gessisti bella jiiventus? 

'i'u quoque pro domiiiis et Ponipelana fuisti 

Non Romaiia manus !* 

The people of Europe were, it seems, 
roused to war, not to overthrow tyranny, but 
to shift it into new hands, — not to re-esta- 
blish the independence and restore the an- 
cient institutions of nations, but to strengthen 
the right flank of one great military power, 
and to cover the left flank of another. This, 
at least, was not the war for the success of 
which I offered my most ardent prayers. I 
prayed for the deliverance of Europe, not 
for its transfer to other lords, — for the resto- 
ration of Europe, by which all men must 
have understood at least the re-establish- 
ment of that ancient system, and of those 
wise principles, under which it had become 
great and prosperous. I expected the re- 
establishment of every people in those terri- 
tories, of which the sovereignty had been 
lost b}' recent usurpation, — of every people 
who had been an ancient member of the 
family of Europe, — of every people who had 
preserved the spirit and feelings which con- 
stitute a nation, — and, above all, of every 
people who had lost their territory or their 
mdependence under the tyranny which the 
Allies had taken up anns to overthrow. I 
expected a reverence for ancient bounda- 
ries, — a respect for ancient institutions, — 
certainly without excluding a prudent regard 
to the new interests and opinions which had 
taken so deep a root that they could not be 
torn up without ^curring the guilt and the 
mischief of the most violent innovation. 

♦ Pharsalia, lib. ix. — Ed. 



The very same reasons, indeed, both of 
morality and policy (since I must comply so 
far with vulgar usage as to distinguish what 
cannot be separated) bound the Allied Sove- 
reigns to respect the ancient institutions, and 
to regard the new opinions and interests of 
nations. The art of all government, not 
tyrannical, whatever may be its form, is to 
conduct mankind by their feelings. It is 
immoral to disregard the feelings of the go- 
verned, because it renders them miserable. 
It is, and it ought to be, dangerous to disre- 
gard these feelings, because bold and hitelli- 
gent men will always consider it as a mere 
question of prudence, whether they ought to 
obey governments which counteract the only 
purpose for which they all exist. The feel- 
ings of men are most generally wounded by 
any violence to those ancient institutions 
under which these feelings have been 
formed, the national character has been 
moulded, and to which all the habits and 
expectations of life are adapted. It was 
well said by Mr. Fox, that as ancient institu- 
tions have been sanctioned by a far greater 
concurrence of human judgments than mo- 
dern laws can be, they are, upon democratic 
principles, more respectable. But new opin- 
ions and new interests, and a new arrange- 
ment of society, which has given rise to other 
habits and hopes, also excite the strongest 
feelings, which, in proportion to iheir force 
and extent, claim the regard of all moral 
policy. 

As it was doubtless the policy of the Allies 
to consider the claims of ancient possession 
as sacred, as far as the irrevocable changes 
of the political system would allow, the con- 
siderate part of mankind did, I believe, hope 
that they would hail the long-continued and 
recently-lost sovereignty of a territory as 
generally an inviolable right, and that, as 
they could not be supposed wanting in zeal 
for restoring the sovereignty of ancient reign- 
ing families, so they would guard that re- 
establishment, and render it respectable in 
the eyes of the world, by the impartiality 
with which they re-established also those 
ancient and legitimate governments of a re- 
publican form, which had fallen in the gene- 
ral slavery of nations. We remembered that 
republics and monarchies were alike called 
to join in the war against the French Revo- 
lution, not for foraas of government, but for 
the existence of social order. \Ye hoped 
that Austria — to select a striking example — 
would not pollute her title to her ancient do- 
minion of Lombardy, by blending it with th6 
faithless and lawless seizure of Venice. So 
little republican territory was to be restored, 
that the act of justice was to be performed, 
and the character of impartiality gained, at 
little expense ; — even if such expense be 
measured by the meanest calculations of 
the most vulgar politics. Other vacant terri- 
tory remained at the disposal of the Con- 
gress to satisfy the demands of policy. The 
sovereignhy of the Ecclesiastical territories 
might be fairly considered as lapsed: no 



ON THE ANNEXATION OF GENOA. 



521 



reigning family could have any interest in 
it 3 — no people could be attached to such a 
rule of nomination to supreme power. And 
in fact, these Principalities had lost all pride 
of independence and all consciousness of 
national existence. Several other territories 
of Europe had been reduced to a like condi- 
tion. Ceded, perhaps, at first questionably, 
they had been transferred so often froni 
master to master, — they had been so long 
in a state of provincial degradation, that no 
violence could be offered to their feelings 
by any new transfer or partition. They 
were, as it were, a sort of splinters thrown 
off from nations in the shocks of warfare 
during two-centuries; aiid they lay like stakes 
on the board, to be played for at the terrible 
game which had detached them, and to 
satisfy the exchanges and cessions by which 
it is usually closed. 

Perhaps the existence of such detached 
members is necessary to the European sys- 
tem ; but they are in themselves great evils. 
They are amputated and lifeless members, 
which, as soon as they lose the vital princi- 
ple of national spirit, no longer contribute 
aught to the vigour and safety of the whole 
living system. From them is to be expected 
no struggle ag-ainst invasion, — no resistance 
to the designs of ambition, — no defence of 
their country. Individuals, but no longer a 
nation, they are the ready prey of every 
candidate for universal monarchy, who soon 
compels their passive inhabitants to fight for 
his ambition, as they would not fight against 
it, and to employ in enslaving other nations, 
that courage which they had no noble in- 
terest to exert in defence of their own. — 
Why should I seek examples of this truth in 
former times? What opened Europe to the 
first inroads of the French armies ? — not, I 
will venture to say, the mere smallness of 
the neighbouring states) for if every one of 
them had displayed as much national spirit 
in 1794, as the smallest states of Switzerland 
did in 1798, no French army could ever have 
left the territory of France, — but the unhappy 
course of events, which had deprived Flan- 
ders, and the Electorates, and Lombardy, of 
all national spirit. Extinguished as this spirit 
was by the form of government in some of 
these countries, and crushed by a foreign 
yoke in others, — without the pride of liberty, 
which bestows the highest national spirit on 
the smallest nations, or the pride of power, 
which sometimes supplies its place in mighty 
empires, or the consciousness of self-depend- 
ence, without which there is no nationality, 
— they first became the prey of France, and 
afterwards supplied the arms with which she 
almost conquered the world. To enlarge this 
dead part of Europe, — to enrich it by the 
accession of countries renowned for their 
public feelings, — to throw Genoa into the 
same grave with Poland, with Venice, with 
Finland, and with Norway. — is not the policy 
of those who would be the preservers or re- 
storers of the European commonwealth. 

It is not the principle of the Balance of 
66 



Power, but one precisely opposite. Th6' 
systetn of preserving some equilibrium of 
power, — of preventing any state from he- 
coming too great for her neighbours, is a 
system purely defensive, and directed to- 
wards the object of universal preservation. 
It is a system which provides for the secu- 
rity of all states by balancing the force and 
opposing the interests of great ones. The 
independence of nations is the end, the ba- 
lance of power is only the means. To 
destroy independent nations, in order to 
strengthen the balance of power, is a most 
extravagant sacrifice of the end to the means. 
This inversion of all the principles of the 
ancient and beautiful system of Europe, is 
the fundamental maxim of what the Noble 
Lord, enriching our language with foreign 
phrases as well as doctrines, calls "a repar- 
tition of power.'' In the new system, small 
states are annihilated by a combination of 
great ones: — in the old, small states were 
secured by the mutual jealousy of the great. 

The Noble Lord very consistently treats 
the re-establishment of small states as an 
absurdity. This single tenet betrays the 
school in which he has studied". Undoubt- 
edly, small communities are an absurdity, 
or rather their permanent existence is an im- 
possibility, on his new system. They could 
have had no existence in the continual con- 
quests of Asia; — tbey were soon destroyed 
amidst the tuuhulence of the Grecian con- 
federacy : — they must be sacrificed on the 
system of rapine established at Vienna. — 
Nations powerful enough to defend them- 
selves, may subsist securely in most tolera- 
ble conditions of society: but states too 
small to be safe by their own strength, can 
exist only where they are guarded by the 
equilibrium of force, and the vigilance which 
watches over its preservation. When the 
Noble Lord represents small states as inca- 
pable of self-defence, he in truth avows that 
he is returned in triumph from the destruc- 
tion of that system of the Balance of Power, 
of which indeed great empires were the 
guardians, but of which the perfect action was 
indicated by the security of feebler common- 
wealths, tinder this system, no great viola- 
tion of national independence had occurred 
from the first civilization of the European 
states till the partition of Poland. The safety 
of the feeblest states, under the authority of 
justice, was .so great, that there seemed little 
exaggeration in calling such a society the 
"commonwealth" of Europe. Principles, 
which stood in the stead of laws and riiagis- 
trates, provided for the security of defence- 
less communities, as perfectly as the safety 
of the humblest individual is maintained in a 
well-ordered commonwealth. Europe can 
no longer be called a commonwealth, M'hen 
her members have no safety but in their 
strength. 

In truth, the Balancing system is itself 
only a secondary guard of national indepen- 
dence. The paramount principle — the mov- 
ing power, without which all.such machinery 
2 T 2 



622 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



would be perfi'Ctly inort, is national spirit. 
The love of couiitiv. the attaehnu'iit to laws 
and government, ami even to soil anil scene- 
ry; the feeliiiiis of national j;;lory in anus and 
arts, the renienibranees of common triiimpli 
and common sullerini:', with the mitigated 
but not obliterated recollection of common 
enmity, ami the jealousy of dani:i'rous neiiih- 
bours, — all are iiistrmnents employed by na- 
ture to draw more closely the bamlsof ali'ec- 
tion that bind us to our country ami to each 
other. This is the only principle by which 
sovereigns can, in the hour of danger, rouse 
the minds of their subjects: — without it the 
^wlicy of the Balancing system woukl be 
impotent. 

The Congress of Vienna seems, indeed, to 
have adoptetl every part of the French sys- 
tem, except that they have transferred the 
dictatorship of Europe from an individual to 
a triumvirate. C^ne of the grand and parent 
errors of the French Kevolution was the fatal 
opinion that it was possible fur human skill 
to make a govermnent. It was an error too 
generally prevalent, not to be excusable. — 
The Americati Kevolution had given it a fal- 
lacious semblance of support ; though no 
event in history more clearly showed its 
falsL'hood. The system of laws, and the 
frame of society in North America, remain- 
ed after the Revolution, and remain to this 
day, fundamentally the same as they ever 
were. The change in America, like the 
change in 1688, was made in defence of 
legal right, not in pursuit of political improve- 
ment ; and it was limited by the necessity 
of self-defence which proiluced it. The 
whole internal order remained, which Iku! 
always been essentially republican. The 
somewhat slender tie which loosely joined 
these republics to a monarchy, was easily 
and without violence ilivided. But the error 
of the French Revolutionists was, in 1789, 
the error of Europe. From that error we 
have been long reclaiuKHl by fatal experi- 
ence. We know, or rather we have seen 
and felt, that a government is not, like a 
machine or a building, the work of man ; 
that it IS the work of nature, like the nobler 
productions of the vegetable and animal 
world, which man may improve, and damage. 
ami even destroy, but which he cannot cre- 
ate. We have long learneil to despise the 
ignorance or the hypocrisy of those who 
speak of giving a free constitution to a peo- 
ple, and to exclaim with a great living poet — 

" A "ifi of ihat whicii never can be given 

By all llic blended powers of earth and heaven !" 

We have, perhaps, — as usual, — gone too 
near to the opposite error, and we do not 
make sudicient allowances for those dread- 
ful cases — though we must not call them 
desperate, — where, in long enslaved coun- 
tries, we must either humbly and cautiously 
labour to lay some foundations from which 
the fabric of liberty may slowly rise, or ac- 
quiesce in the doom of p(>rp(>tual bomiage. 

But though we no longer dream of making 



governments, the confederacy of kings seem 
to feel no doubt of their own power to make 
nations. Yet the only reason why it is im- 
possible to make a government is, because 
it is impossible to make a nation. A gov(>rn- 
ment cannot be made, because its whole 
spirit and principles arise from the chaiacter 
of the nation. There would be no dilliculty 
in framing a government, if the habits of a 
peojile could be changed by a la\\givi>r; — if 
he couKl oblilerale their recollections, trans- 
fer their attachment ami ri'vcreiice, extin- 
guish tlu'ir animosities, and cornx-t those 
sentiments whii'h, being at variance with his 
opinions of jiubiic interest, ho calls l>reju- 
dices. Now, this is precisely the power 
which our statesmen at Vienna have arro- 
gat(>d to themselves. They not only form 
nations, but they compose them of elements 
apparently the most irreconcilable. They 
inadeoiu> nation out of Norway ami Sweilen: 
they trieil to maki> another out of Prussia 
and ISaxony. 'J'hey have, in the ])resent 
case, forced together I'ledniont and tJenoa 
to form a nation which is to guard the ave- 
nues of Italy, and to be one of tin; main 
securities of Europe against, universal mo- 
narchy. 

It was not the pretension of the ancient 
system to form states, — to divide territory 
according to speculations of military conve- 
nience, — and to unite and dissolve nations 
better than the couiS'e of events had done 
before. It was owned to be still moi(> tlilii- 
cult to give a new constitution to Eurojie, 
than to term a new constitution tor a single 
state. The great statesmen of fornuM- times 
dill not sjieak of their measures as the Noble 
Lord did about the incorporation of Belgium 
with Holland (against which I say nothing), 
'•as a great imi)rovemeiit in the system of 
Europe.'' That is the language only of 
those who revolutionise that system by a 
partition like that of I'olamI, by the eslablish- 
ment of the Federation of the Rhine at Paris, 
or by the creation of new stales at ViiMina. 
The ancient priiici|>le was to jireservt^ all 
those states whii-h had bci'ii lonmlcd by 
time and nature, — which were animated by 
national spirit, and distinguished by the di- 
veisity of character which gave scope to 
every variety of talent and virtue, — whose 
character had been often pri'served, and 
whose nationality had been evi>n created, by 
those very irregularities of frontier and in- 
equalities of strength, of which a shallow 
policy complains ; -—to preservi? all those 
states, down to tlie smallest, first, by their 
own national spirit, and, secondly, by that 
mutual jealousy which made every great 
power the opponent of the dangeious ambi- 
tion of every other. Its object was to pre- 
serve nations, as living bodies produced by 
the hand of nature — not to form artificial dead 
machines, called "states," by the words and 
parchment of a diplomatic act. Under this 
ancient system, which secured the weak by 
the jealousy of the strong, provision was made 
alike for the permanency of civil institutions, 



ON THE ANNEXATION OF GENOA. 



623 



thfi Htabilily of govemmRnts, tlio progressive 
lororrriutioii of laws and coiiHlilutioriH. — for 
C(nii\)iu\tii> th'j general fjuict wilh tho high- 
est aclivity aniJ energy of the human rnitid, 
— for uniting the br-nofits both of rivalbhip 
ami of fri(!n(i.shij) betwo(;n nations, — for cul- 
tivating the moral H'nitirnentrfof men, by the 
noble fipectacle of l)ie long triumph of juH- 
tice in th(! security of the defenceless, — and. 
finally, for maintaining uniform civilization 
by the struggle as well an union of all the 
moral and intellectual combinations which 
compose tfiat vast ancJ various mans. It 
effected these noble purj)osr's. not merely by 
Becuring Europe against one master, but by 
securing her a^'ainst any union or conspiracy 
of s(jvereignty. which, as long as it lasts, is 
in no respect better than the domination of 
an individual. The object of the new sys- 
tem is to crush the weak by the comljination 
of the strong. — to subject Europe, in the fiisl 
place^ to an oligarchy of sovereigns, andjjlti- 
mately to swallow it up in the gulf of uni- 
versal monarchy, in which civilization has 
always perished, with fre<;dom of thought, 
with controlled power, wilh national cha- 
racter and spirit, with patriotism and emu- 
lation, — in a word, with all its characteristic 
attributes, and with all its guanlian pri/ici- 
ples. 

I am content. Sir, that these observations 
should be thought wholly nnreasfjnable by 
those new masters of civil wisdom, who t<-ll 
us that the whole policy of Europe consists 
in stnjngthfMiing the right flank of Prus.sia, 
and the left flank of Austria, — who see in 
that wise and v(;nerable system, lontr the 
boast and the safeguard of Europe, only the 
millions of souls to be given to one Power, 
or the thousands of square miles to be given 
to another, — who consider the frontier of a 
river as a better protef;tion for a country than 
the love of its inhabitants, — and who pro- 
vide lor the safely of their stat(;s by wounrl- 
iug the pride and mortifying the patriotic af- 
fection of a people, in order to fortify a line 
of military posts. To such statesmen I will 
apply the words of the great [ihilosophical 
orator, who so long vainly laboured to incul- 
cate wis<lom in this House: — ''Ail this, I 
know well enough, will sound wild and chi- 
merical to the {)rofane herd of those vulgar 
and mechanical politicians who Iviva no place 
among us; a sfjrt of people who think ihat 
nothing exists but what is gross and material; 
and who. therefore, far from be-in;; qualified 
to be directors of the great movement of em- 
pire, are not fit to turn a whee-l in the ma- 
chine. Bui to men truly initiatr;d and right- 
ly taught, these ruling and master principles, 
which, ill the opinion of such men as I have 
mentioiifxl, have no substantial existence, 
are in truth every thing, and all in all." 
This great man, in the latter part of his life, 
and when his opinions were less popular, 
was oft(;n justly celebrated for that spirit of 
philosophical prophecy which enabled him 
early to discern in their causes all the mis- 
fortunes which the leaders of the French 



Revolution were to bring on the world by 
their erroneous principles of reformation,^ 
"quod ille pene solus Homanoiurn animo 
vidit, ingenio com{ilexus est, eloquentia illu- 
minavit:'' but it has been remembered, lliat 
his forohight was not limited to one paity or 
to one sfjurce of evil. In one of Ins immortal 
writings.* — fd which he has Bomi!V\hat con- 
cealed ihefluiable instruction by the tempo- 
rary title, — he clearly enough points out the 
first scene of partition and rapine — the in- 
demnifications granted out of the spoils of 
Germany in 1802: — "I see, indeed, a fund 
from whence equivalents will be ]jroposed. 
It opens another Iliad of woes to Euiope." 

The policy of a conqueror is to demolish, 
to erect on new foundations, to bestow new 
nam(!S on authority, and to render every 
power around him as new as his ov. n. Tlie 
policy of a restorer is to re-establish, to 
strengthen, cautiously to improve, and to 
seem to recognise and confiirn even that 
which necessity compels him to establish 
anew. But, in our times, the policy of the 
avowed conqueror has been adoptecf by the 
pretended restorers. The most minute par- 
ticulars of the system of Napoleon are re- 
vived in the acts of those who overthrew his 
power. Even English officers, when they 
are compelled to carry such orders into exe- 
cution, become infected by the sjiiiit of the 
system of which they are doomed to be the 
ministers. I cannot read without pain and 
shame the lang^uage of Sir .lohn iJafrymple's 
Desjiatch, — language which I lament as in- 
consistent with the feelings of a British offi- 
cer, and with the natural prejudices of a 
Scotch gentleman. I wish tbil he had not 
adopted the very technical larig^ua(.'e of Jaco- 
bin conquest, — "the downfall of the aristo- 
cracy," ami "the irritation of the priests." 
I do not think it very decent to talk with 
levity of the destruction of a sovertignty ex- 
erc!S«;d for six centuries by one of the most 
ancient and illustrious bodies of nobility in 
Europe. 

Italy is, perhaps, of all civilized countries, 
that which affords the most signal example 
of the debasing power of provincial depend- 
ence, and of a foreign yoke. With independ- 
etice, and with national spirit, they have lost, 
if not talent, at least the moral and dignified 
use of tah.'nt, which constitutes its only 
worth. Italy alone seemed to derive some 
hope of independence from those convul- 
sions whicfi had destroyed that of other 
nations. The restoration of Europe annihi- 
lated the hopes of Italy: — the emancipation 
of other countries announced her bondage. 
Stern necessity compelled us to suffer the 
re-establishment of foreign masters in the 
greater part of that renowned and humiliated 
country. Hut as to Genoa, our hands were 
unfettered ; we were at liberty to be just, or, 
if you will, to be generous. We had in our 
hands the destiny of the last of thai great 
body of republics which united the anciec 

• Second Letter on a Regicide Peace. — Eo. 



524 



MACKINTOSH'S IVnSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



and tho modem world, — the children and 
heirs of Roman civilisation, who spread com- 
merce, and with it refinement, liberty, and 
humanity over Western Europe, and whose 
history has lately been rescued from obli- 
vion, and disclosed to our times, by the 
greatest of living historians.* I hope I shall 
not be thought fanciful when I say that 
Genoa, whose greatness was founded on na- 
val power, and which, in the earliest ages, 
gave the almost solitary example of a com- 
mercial gentry, — Genoa, the remnant of 
Italian liberty, and the only remaining hope 
of Italian independence, had peculiar claims 
— to say no more — on the generosity of the 
British nation. How have these claims been 
satisfied ? She has been sacrificed to a fri- 
volous, a doubtful, pel haps an imaginary, 
speculation of convenience. The most odi- 
ous of foreign yokes has been imposed upon 
her by a free state, — by a people whom she 
never injured, — after she had been mocked 
by the re-appearance of her ancient govern- 
ment, and by all the ensigns and badges of 
her past glory. And after all this, she has 
been told to be grateful for the interest which 
the Government of England has taken in her 
fate. By this confiscation of the only Italian 
territory which was at the disposal of justice, 
the doors of hope have been barred on Italy 
forever. No English general can ever again 
deceive Italians. 

Will the House decide that all this is right ? 
— That is the question which you have now 
to decide. To-vote with me, it is not neces- 
sary to adopt my opinions in their full extent. 
All who think that the national faith has 
been brought into question, — ail who think 
that there has been an unprecedented ex- 
tension, or an ungenerous exercise of the 
rights of conquest, — are, I humbly conceive, 

* Sismondi. 



bound to express their disapprobation by 
their votes. We are on the eve of a new 
war, — perhaps only the first of a long series, 
— in which there must be conquests and ces- 
sions, and there may be hard and doubtful 
exertions of rights in their best state suffix 
ciently odious: — I call upon the House to 
interpose their council for the future in the 
form of an opinion regarding the past. I 
hope that I do not yield to any illusive feel- 
ings of national vanity, when I say that 
this House is qualified to speak the senti- 
ments of mankind, and to convey them with 
authority to cabinets and thrones. Single 
among representative assemblies, this House 
is now in the seventh century of its recorded 
existence. It appeared with the first dawn 
of legal government. It exercised its high- 
est powers under the most glorious princes. 
It survived the change of a religion, and the 
extinction of a nobility, — the fall of Rojal 
Houi^s, and an age of civil war. Depressed 
for a moment by the tyrannical power which 
is the usual growth of civil confusions, it 
revived with the first glimpse of tranquilHty, 
— gathered strength from the intrepidity of 
religious reformation, — grew with the know- 
ledge, and flourished with the progressive 
wealth of the people. After having expe- 
rienced the excesses of the spirit of liberty 
during the Civil War, and of the spirit of loy- 
alty at the Restoration, it was at length finally 
established at the glorious era of the Revolu- 
tion; and although since that immortal event 
it has experienced little change in its formal 
constitution, and perhaps no accession of le- 
gal power, it has gradually cast its roots deep 
and wide, blending itself with every branch 
of the government, and every institution of 
society, and has, at length, become the grand- 
est example ever seen among men of a solid 
and durable representation of the people of 
a mighty empire. 



SPEECH 

ON MOVING FOR A COMMITTEE TO INQUIRE INTO 

THE STATE OF THE CRIMINAL LAW, 

DELIVERED IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS, ON THE 20 MARCH, 1819.* 



Mr. Speaker, — I now rise, in pursuance of 
the notice which I gave, to bring before the 

* This speech marks an epoch in the progress 
of ihe reformaiioii of the Criininnl Law, inasmuch 
as the motion with whii^h it concluded, though op- 
posed by Lord Casilereagh, with all the force of 
the Government, under cover of a professed en- 
largement of its principle, was carried by a ma» 
jority of nineteen in a House of two hundred and 
seventy five members. — Ed. 



House a motion for the appointment of a Se- 
lect Committee " to consider of so much of the 
Criminal Laws as relates to Capital Punish- 
ment in Felonies, and to report their obser- 
vations and opinions thereon to the House." 
And I should have immediately proceeded 
to explain the grounds and objects of such 
a motion, which is almost verbatim the same 
as a resolution entered on the Journals in the 
year 1770, when authority was delegated to 



ON THE STATE OF THE CRIMINAL LAW. 



526 



a commitiee for the same purpose, — I should 
have proceeded, I say, to state at once why 
I think such an inquiry necessary, had it 
not been for some concessions made by the 
Noble Lord* last night, which tend much to 
narrow the grounds of difference between 
us, and to simplify the question before the 
House. If I considered the only subject of 
discussioti to be that which exists between 
the Noble Lord and myself, it would be re- 
duced to this narrow compass; — namely, 
whether the Noble Lord's proposal or mine 
be the more convenient for the conduct of 
the same inquiry; but as every member 
in this House is a party to the question, I 
must make an observation or two on the 
Noble Lord's statements. 

If I understood him rightly, he confesses 
that the growth of crime, and the state of 
the Criminal Law in this country, call for in- 
vestigation, and proposes that these subjects 
shall be investigated by a Select Committee; 
— this I also admit to be the most expedient 
course. He expressly asserts also his dispo- 
sition to make the inquiry as extensive as I 
wish it to be. As far, therefore, as he is 
concerned, I am relieved from the necessity 
of proving that an inquiry is necessary, that 
the appointment of a Select Committee is 
the proper course of proceeding in it, and that 
such inquiry ought to be extensive. I am 
thus brought to the narrower question. Whe- 
ther the committee of the Noble Lord, or 
that which I propose, be the more conve- 
nient instrument for conducting an inquiry 
into the special subject to which my motion 
refers"? I shall endeavour briefly to show, 
that the mode of proceeding proposed by 
him, although embracing another and very 
fit subject of inquiry, must be considered as 
precluding an inquiry into that part of the 
Criminal Law which forms the subject of 
my motion, for two reasons. 

In the first place. Sir, it is physically im- 
possible ; and, having stated that, I may per- 
haps dispense with the necessity of adding 
more. We have heard from an Honourable 
Friend of mine,t whose authority is the 
highest that can be resorted to on this sub- 
ject, that an inquiry into the state of two or 
three jails occupied a committee during a 
.whole session. My Honourable Friend,t a 
magistrate of the city, has stated that an in- 
quiry into the state of the prisons of the 
Metropolis, occupied during a whole session 
the assiduous committee over which he pre- 
sided. When, therefore, the Noble Lord 
refers to one committee not only the state of 
the Criminal Law, but that of the jails, of 
transportation, and of that little adjunct the 
hulks, he refers to it an inquiry which it can 
never conduct to an end ; — he proposes, as 
my Honourable Friend^ has said, to institute 
an investigation which must outlive a Parlia- 
ment. The Noble Lord has in fact acknow- 

* Viscount Castlereagh. — Ed. 

t The Honourable Henry Grey Bennet.- — Ed. 

t Alderman Waithman. — Ed. 

i Mr. Bennet.— Ed. 



ledged, by his proposed subdivision, that it 
would be impossible for one committee to 
inquire into all the subjects which he would 
refer to it. And this impossibility he would 
evade by an unconstitutional violation of the 
usages of the House; as you," Sir, with the 
authority due to your opinions, have declared 
the proposition for subdividing a committee 
to be. I, on the other hand, in accordance 
with ancient usage, propose that the House 
shall itself nominate these separate commit- 
tees. 

My second objection is, Sir, that the Noble 
Lord's notice, and the order made by the 
House yesterday upon it, do not embrace the 
purpose which I have in view. .To prove 
this, I might content myself witha^reference 
to the very words of the instruction under 
which his proposed committee is to proceed. 
It is directed " to inquire into the state and 
description of jails, and other places of con- 
finement, and into the best method of pro- 
viding for the reformation, as well as for the 
safe custody and punishment of ofTenders." 
Now, what is the plain meaning of those ex- 
pressions? Are they not the same offenders, 
whose punishment as well as whose refor- 
mation and safe custody is contemplated ? 
And does not the instruction thus directly 
exclude the subject of Capital Punishment. 
The matter is too plain to be insisted on ; 
but must not the meaning, in any fair and 
liberal construction, be taken to be that the 
committee is to consider the reformation and 
safe custod)' of those offenders of whom im- 
prisonment forms the whole or the greatest 
part of the punishment ? It would be absurd 
to suppose that the question of Capital Pun- 
ishment should be made an inferior branch 
of the secondary question of imprisonments, 
and that the great subject of Criminal Law 
should skulk into the committee under the 
cover of one vague and equivocal word. On 
these grounds. Sir, I have a right to say that 
there is no comparison as to the convenience 
or the efficacy of the two modes of proceed- 
ing- 
Let us now see whether my proposition 
casts a_ greater censure on the existing laws 
than his. Every motion for inquiry assumes 
that inquiry is necessary, — that some evil 
exists, which may be remedied. The mo- 
tion of the Noble' Lord assumes thus muchj 
mine assumes no more ; it casts no reflection 
on the law, or on the magistrates by whom 
it is administered. 

With respect to the question whether Se- 
condary Punishments should be inquired 
into before we dispose of the Primary, I 
have to say, that in proposing the Present 
investigation, I have not been guided by my 
own feelings, nor have I trusted entirely to 
my own judgment. My steps have been 
directed and assured by former examples. 

The first of these is the notable one in 
1750, when, in consequence of the alarm 
created by the increase of some species of 
crimes, a committee was appointed " to ex- 
amine into and consider the state of the law* 



526 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



relating to felonies, and to report to the House 
their opinion as to the defects of those laws, 
and as to the propriety of amending or re- 
pealing them." What does the Noble Lord 
say to this large reference, — this ample dele- 
gation, — this attack on the laws of our ances- 
tors 1 Was it made in bad times, by men of 
no note, and of indifferent principles? I will 
mention the persons of whom the committee 
was composed : — 'they were, Mr. Pelham, 
then Chancellor of the Exchequer; Mr. Pitt, 
afterwards Lord Chatham ; Mr. George 
Grenville, afterwards Lord Grenville; Mr. 
Lyttleton and Mr. Charles Townsend, after- 
wards Secretaries of State; and Sir Dudley 
Ryder, the Attorney-General, afterwards 
Chief Justice of England. Those great 
lawyers and statesmen will, at least, not be 
accused of having been rash theorists, or, 
according to the new word, 'ultra-philoso- 
phers." But it will be thought remarkable 
that those great men, who were, in liberality, 
as superior to some statesmen of the present 
day, as in practical wisdom they were not 
inferior to them, found two sessions neces- 
sary for the inquiry into which they had en- 
tered. The first resolution to which those 
eminent and enlightened individuals agreed, 
was, "that it was reasonable to exchange 
the punishment of death for some other ade- 
quate punishment." Such a resolution is a 
little more general and extensive than that 
which I shall venture to propose ; — such a 
resolution, however, did that committee, 
vested with the powers which I have already 
described, recommend to the adoption of 
the House. One circumstance, not neces- 
sarily connected with my present motion, I 
will take the liberty of mentioning : — to that 
committee the credit is due of having first' 
denounced the Poor-laws as the nursery of 
crime. In this country pauperism and crime 
have always advanced in parallel lines, and 
with equal steps. That committee imputed 
much evil to the divisions among parishes on 
account of the maintenance of the poor. That 
committee too, composed of practical men as it 
was, made a statement which some practical 
statesmen of the present day will no doubt 
condemn as too large ; — namely, "that the 
increase of crime was in a great measure to 
be attributed to the neglect of the education 
of the children of the poor." A bill was 
brought in, founded on the resolutions of the 
committee, and passed this House. It was 
however negatived in the House of Lords, 
although not opposed by any of the great 
names of that day, — by any of the lumina- 
ries of that House. Lord Hardwicke, for in- 
stance, did not oppose a bill, the principal 
object of which was the substitution of hard 
labour and imprisonment for the punishment 
of death. 

In 1770, another alarm, occasioned by the 
increase of a certain species of crime, led to 
the appointment, on the 27th of November 
in that year, of another committee of the 
same kind, of which Sir Charles Saville, Sir 
William Meredith, Mr. Fox, Mr. Serjeant 



Glynn, Sir Charles Bunbury, and others, were 
members. To that committee the reference 
was nearly the same as that which I am now 
proposing; though mine be the more con- 
tracted one. That committee was occupied 
for two years with the branch of the general 
inquiry which the Noble Lord proposes to 
add to the already excessive labours of an 
e^cisting committee. In the second session 
they brought their report to maturity ; and, 
on that report, a bill was introduced for the 
repeal of eight or ten statutes, which bill 
passed the House of Commons without op- 
position. I do not mean to enter into the 
minute history of that bill, which was thrown 
out in the House of Lords. It met with no 
hostility from the great ornaments of the 
House of Lords of that day, Lord Camden 
and Lord Mansfield ; but it was necessarily 
opposed by others, whom I will not name, and 
whose names will be unknown to posterity. 
Sir, it is upon these precedents that I have 
formed, and that I bring forward my motion. 
I have shown, that the step I proposed to 
take accords with the usage of Parliament 
in the best of times, but that if we follow the 
plan recommended by the Noble Lord, we 
cannot effect the purpose which we have in 
view without evading or violating the usage 
of Parliament. Accepting, therefore, his 
concession, that a committee ought to be 
appointed for this investigation, here I might 
take my stand, and challenge him to drive 
me from this giound, which, with all his 
talents, he would find some difficulty in 
doing. But I feel that there is a great differ- 
ence between our respective situations ; and 
that, although he last night contented him- 
self with stating the evils which exist, with- 
out adverting to the other essential part of 
my proposal for a Parliamentary inquiry. — 
namely, the probability of a remedy, — I must 
take a different course. Although I cannot 
say that I agree with my Honourable Friend, 
who says that a Select Committee is not the 
proper mode of investigating this subject, 
yet I agree with him that there are two 
things necessary to justify an investigation, 
whether by a committee, or in any other 
manner : — the first is, the existence of an 
evil; the second is, the probability of a 
remedy. Far, therefore, from treating the 
sacred fabric reared by our ancestors more 
lightly, I approach it more reverently than 
does the Noble Lord. I should not have 
dared, merely on account of the number of 
offences, to institute an inquiry into the state 
of the Crimmal Law, unless, while I saw the 
defects, I had also within view, not the cer- 
tainty of a remedy (for that would be too 
much to assert), but some strong probability, 
that the law may be rendered more effi- 
cient, and a check be given to that, which 
has alarmed all good men, — the increase of 
crime. While I do what I think it was the 
bounden duty of the Noble Lord to have 
done, I trust I shall not be told that I am a 
rash speculator^ — that I am holding out im- 
punity to crimmals, or foreshadowing what 



ON THE STATE OF THE CRIMINAL LAW. 



527 



he is pleased to call " a golden age for 
crime." Sir Dudley Ryder, at the head of 
the criminal jurisprudence of the country, 
and Serjeant Glynn, the Recorder of London, 
— an ofHce that unhappily has the most ex- 
tensive experience of the administration of 
Criminal Law in the world, — both believed 
a remedy to the evil in question to be prac- 
ticable, and recommended it as necessary; 
and under any general reprobation which 
the Noble Lord may apply to such men, I 
shall not be ashamed to be included. 

I must now, Sir, mention what my object 
is not, in order to obviate the misapprehen- 
sions of over-zealous supporters, and the 
misrepresentations of desperate opponents. 
I do not propose to form a new criminal code. 
Altogether to abolish a system of law, admi- 
rable in its principle, interwoven with the 
habits of the English people, and under 
which they have long and happily lived, is a 
proposition very remote from my notions of 
legislation, and would be too extravagant and 
ridiculous to be for a moment listened to. 
Neither is it my intention to propose the 
abolition of the punishment of death. I hold 
the right of inflicting that punishment to be 
a part of the rights of self-defence, with 
which society as well as individuals are en- 
dowed. I hold it to be, like all other pun- 
ishments, an evil when unnecessary, but, 
like any other evil employed to remedy a 
greater evil, capable of becoming a good. 
Nor do I wish to take away the right of par- 
don fiom the Crown. On the contrary, my 
object is, to restore to the Crown the practical 
use of that right, of which the usage of 
modern times has nearly deprived it. 

The declaration may appear singular, but 
I do not aim at realising any universal prin- 
ciple. My object is, to bring the letter of 
the law more near to its practice, — to make 
the execution of the law form the rule, and 
the remission of its penalties the exception. 
Although I do not expect that a system of 
law can be so graduated, that it can be ap- 
plied to every case without the intervention 
of a discretionary power, I hope to see an 
effect produced on the vicious, by the steady 
manner in which the law shall be enforced. 
The main part of the reform which I should 
propose would be, to transfer to the statute 
book the improvements which the wisdom 
of modern times has introduced into the prac- 
tice of the law. But I must add, that even 
in the case of some of that practice with 
which the feelings of good men are not in uni- 
son, I should propose such a reform as would 
correct that anomaly. It is one of the greatest 
evils which can befall a country when the 
Criminal Law and the virtuous feeling of the 
community are in hostility to each other. 
They cannot be long at variance without in- 
jury to one, — perhaps to both. One of my 
objects is to approximate them ; — to make 
good men the anxious supporters of the 
Criminal Law, and to restore, if it has been 
injured, that zealous attachment to the law 
in general, which, even in the most tempes- 



tuous times of our history, has distinguished 
the people of England among the nations of 
the world. 

Having made these few general remarks, 
I will now. Sir, enter into a few illustrative 
details. It is not my intention to follow the 
Noble Lord in his inquiry into the causes of 
the increase of crimes. I think that his 
statement last night was in the main just and 
candid. I agree with him, that it is consola- 
tory to remark, that the crimes in which so 
rapid an increase has been observable, are 
not. those of the blackest die, or of the most 
ferocious character; that they are not those 
which would the most deeply stain and dis- 
honour the ancient moral character of Eng- 
lishmen ; that they are crimes against pro- 
perty alone, and are to be viewed as the 
result of the distresses, rather than of the 
depravity of the community. I also firmly 
believe, that some of the causes of increased 
crime are temporary. But the Noble Lord 
and I, while we agree in this proposition, are 
thus whimsically situated: — he does not 
think that some of these causes are tempo- 
rary which I conceive to be so ; w hile, on 
the other hand, he sets down some as tem- 
porary, which I believe to be permanent. 
As to the increase of forgery, for exam.ple 
(which I mention only by way of illustra- 
tion), I had hoped that when cash payments 
should be restored, that crime would be di- 
minished. But the Noble Lord has taken 
pains to dissipate that delusion, by asserting 
that the withdrawal of such a mass of paper 
from circulation would be attended with no 
such beneficial consequences. According to 
him, the progress of the country in manu- 
factures and wealth, is one of the principal 
causes of crime. But is our progress in manu- 
factures and wealth to be arrested? Does 
the Noble Lord imagine, that there exists a 
permanent and augmenting cause of crime, 
— at once increasing with our prosperity, and 
undermining it through its effects on the 
morals of the people. According to him, the 
increase of great cities would form another 
cause of crime. This cause, at least, can- 
not diminish; for great cities are the natural 
consequences of manufacturing and com- 
mercial greatness. In speaking, however, 
of the population of London, he has fallen 
into an error. Although London is positively 
larger now than it was in 1700, it is rela- 
tively smaller: — although it has since thai 
time become the greatest commercial city 
in Europe. — the capital of an empire whose 
colonies extend over every quarter of the 
world, — London is not so populous now, with 
reference to the population of the whole 
kingdom, as it was in the reign of William IIL 
It is principally to those causes of crime, 
which arise out of errors in policy or legisla 
tion, that I wish to draw the attention of 
Parliament. Among other subjects, it may 
be a question whether the laws for the pro 
tection of the property called "'game," have 
not created a clandestine traffic highly injuri- 
ous to the morals of the labouring classea. 1 



828 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



am happy fo find that that siibjiH't is to bo 
takiMi vip by my llonoiuablo Fiiciul the 
Mmnboi' lor Ili'iiforilshiic,* who will ibaw 
to it tlio iitti>iitioii which rvi'iy ])ropositiori of 
hisdosfivi's. A smiij;;<>iiiijj; tialiic of anollicr 
spocii's, althoui^h atti'iidiHt with iinaily the 
samo oirfct!?, has boon I'ostoroil by somo of 
tho oxlsliii^' laws rolatinti; to l!io lovonuo. I 
would piopoao no diminution of revonuo, for 
unfoitwnatoly wo can spaio nono : but thoro 
uro somo tavos which produco nojovonuo, 
and wliich woro novor intondod to jiioduco 
auj', but wi\ich aro, novorthcloss, very d(>tti- 
motitai. Tho cumbrous system of draw- 
backs, and protecting ilutios, is only a bounty 
on smuii'L^Iinji'. Poachors and smuiii;lors aro 
tho two bodies from w hich malefactors are 
principally rocruitt>d. Tho state wliich docs 
not sock to remedy these diseases, is guilty 
of its own (K>strucfion. 

Another subject I must mention : for, 
viewing it as I do, it woidd bo unpartlonablo 
to omit it. On examining tho simimary of 
cruues which has been laid on the table, it 
appears thil it was in 1808 that tho groat 
increase of crime took place. Th(^ number 
of crimes sincc^ that time has never fallen 
below the number of that year; although 
subsequon' years have varied among one 
another. But it is extremely remarkable, 
and is, indeed, a most si>rious and alarming 
fact, tint the year 1808 was prociselj- tho 
jieriod when the great is.suos of tho Bank of 
England began. As it has boon observed 
in the '• Letter to the Right MonourabIi> ]\b>m- 
ber for the Universiiy of Oxford,"! a work 
which has boon already monlioni\l in tliis 
House (the authort of which, although he 
has conceajeil his name, cainiot conceal liis 
talents, and his singular union of ancient 
learning with modern scionce), it was at that 
timo that pauperism ami poor rates increased. 
Pauperism and crime, as I liave before said, 
go hand in hand. Both were propelloil by 
tho imnionso issues of Bank paper in 1808. 
By those issues tho value of tin? one-jionnd 
liotcr was reduced to fourteen shillings. Every 
labourer, by he knew not what mysterious 
power, — by causes which ho could not dis- 
cover or comprehend, — fouml his wagi-s di- 
minished at least in the jiroportion of a third. 
No enemy had ravaged the country; no in- 
clement season had blasloil tho protluce of 
tho soil ; but his comforts were curtailed, 
and his enjoyments destroyed by the opera- 
tion of the paper system, which was to him 
like tho workings of a malignant (iond, that 
could be traced only in their eilects. Can 
any one doubt that this dimiimlion of the 
income of so many individuals, from the 
highest to the lowi^st classes of soeiety, was 
one of the chief sources of the increase of 
crime ? 

TiuMO is one other secondary cause of 
crime, which I hope we have at length se- 

* 'I"lu^ IIoiionr:il)Io 'riiciinns Hrand. — F,n. 
t The Kiuilit llonoiualilo Uohuri Peel. — F,i). 
t Tlic Ucv. Edward Coplostou (now Biahop of 
LlaudaJiy — Ed. 



riously determined to remove; — I mean the 
state of our jirisons. Th(>y nm-er were litted 
for reformation by a wise system of liisci- 
plino: bui ihal is now become an iufiwior 
subject of complaint. Since the number of 
criminals i\avo out-grown the size of our 
prisons, comparatively snuill oflondors have 
biHMi tiaineil in them to tho contemplation 
of atrocious crime. Happily this terrible 
source of evil is more than any other withiit 
our n>ach. Piison discipline may fail in re- 
forming oflondors : but it is our own fault if 
it furllu>r corrnjtts them. 

But the main ground which T take is this, — 
that the Criminal Law is not so ellicaciousas 
it might be, if temperate and prudiMit altera- 
tions in it were made. It is well known that 
there iwc, two hundred capital lolonieson tho 
statute book : but it may not bo so familiar 
to the House, that by tho Keturnsfor Loiuloti 
and Middlesex, it ajipears that from 171!) to 
181!), a term of seventy year.s, there are only 
tweiity-iive sorts of felonies i"or which any 
individuals have boon executed. So that 
lh(M-e are a hundred and seventy-live capitiil 
felonies rospiH'ting which the }tnnishnu>nt or- 
dained by various statutes has not been in- 
llietod. In the thirteen years since 180.5, it 
apjiears that there are only thirty descrip- 
tions of felonies on uhich thoro have; been 
any capital convictions throughout England 
anil Wales. So that there area hundred and 
seventy felonies created by law, oh which 
not oiui ca])ital conviction has taken place. 
This rapidly increasing discordance between 
tho letter and tho practice of the Criminal 
Law, arose in tho best times of our history, 
and, in my opinion, out of one of its most 
glorious and hap|)y events. As [ take it, the 
most important conseipnMico of tht; Kevolu- 
tion of 1(388, was the establishment in this 
country of a Parliamentary government. 
That event, however, has been attended by 
ono inconvenience — the unhappy facility af- 
forded to legislation. Every Member of Par- 
lianuMit has had it in his jiowor to indulge 
his whims and ca])rices on that subject ; and 
if ho could not do any thing else, ho could 
create a capital felony ! The anecdotes 
which I have heard of this shamelul and 
injurious facility, I am almost ashamed to 
repeat. Mr. Burke once told i«e, that on a 
certain occasion, when he was leaving the 
House, one of tho messengers callinl him 
back, and on his saying that he was going on 
urgent business, replied, "Oh! it will not 
keep you a single moment, it is oidy a felony 
without benefit of clergy !" \U^ also assured 
mo, that alllioni;h.as may be imagined, from 
his ]iolilieal career, he was not often entitled 
to ask favom- from the ministry of lli(> day, 
he was persuaded that his inieicst \\as at 
any timo good enough to obtain their assent 
to tho creation of a felony without benefit 
of clergy. This facility of granting an in- 
croa.se of tho severity of the law to every 
projiosor, with the most impartial ilisregard 
of political considerations, — this unfortunate 
facility, arose at a time when the humane 



ON THE STATE OF THE CRIMINAL LAW. 



529 



fijelings of tlie country were only yet ripcn- 
I'lig amid;:;! the dilTusioii ol' knowledge. Iler.ce 
originated the finul separation between the 
letter an J the practice of the Jaw j for bolli 
the government and the nation revolted from 
the execution of laws which were regaided, 
not as the results of calm deliberation or 
consummate wisdom, but rather as the fruit 
of a series of perverse and malignant acci- 
dents, impelling the adoption of temporary 
and short-sighted expedients. The reve- 
rence, therefore, generally due to old esta- 
bhshments, cannot belong to such laws. 

This most singular, and most injurious op- 
position of the legislative enactments, and 
their judicial enforcement, has repeatedly 
attracted the attention of a distinguished in- 
dividual, who unites in himself every quality 
that could render him one of the greatest 
ornaments of this House, and whom, as he 
13 no longer a member, I may be permitted 
10 name, — I mean SirWilliam Grant, — a man 
who can never be mentioned by those who 
Know him without the expression of their 
admiration — a man who is an honour, not 
merely to the profession which he has adorn- 
ed but to the age in which he lives — a man 
who is at once the greatest master of reason 
and of the power of enforcing it, — whose 
sound judgment is accompanietl by the most 
perspicuous comprehension, — whose views, 
especially on all subjects connected with 
legislation, or the administration of the law, 
are directed by the profoundest wisdom, — 
whom no one ever approaches without feel- 
ing his superiority, — who only wants the two 
vice.s of ostentation and ambition (vices con- 
temned by the retiring simplicity and noble 
modesty of his nature) to render his high 
talents and attainments more jwpularly at- 
tractive. We have his authority for the 
as.sertion, that the principle of the Criminal 
Law is diametrically opposite to its practice. 
On one occasion particularly, when his atten- 
tion was called to the subject, he declared it 
to be impossible '' that both the law and the 
practice could be right ; that the toleration 
of such discord was an anomaly that ought 
to be removed ; and that, as the law might 
be brought to an accordance with the prac- 
tice, but the practice could never be brought 
to an accordance with the law, the law 
ought to be altered for a wiser and more 
humane system." At another time, the same 
eminent individual u.sed the remarkable ex- 

Eression, " that during the last century, there 
ad been a general confederacy of prosecu- 
tors, witnesses, counsel, juries, judges, and 
the advisers of the Crown, to prevent the 
execution of the Criminal Law." Is it fitting 
that a system should continue which the 
whole body of the intelligent community 
combine to resist, as a disgrace to our nature 
and nation ? 

Sir, I feel that I already owe much to the 
indulgence of the House, and I assure you 
that I shall be as concise as the circum- 
stances of the case, important as it confess- 
edly is, will allow ; and more especially in 
67 



the details attendant upon it. The Noble 
Lord last night dwelt much upon the conse- 
(juenccs of ;i tiansition from war to peace in 
the multiplication of crimes; but, upon con- 
sulting c'XjMMicnce, I do not find that his 
position is borne out. It is not true that 
crime always diminishes during a state of 
war, or that it always increases after its con- 
clusion. In the Seven-Years' War, indeed, 
the^number of crimes was augmented, — 
decreasing after its termination. They were 
more numerous in the seven years preceding 
the American War, and continued to advance, 
not only during those hostilities, but, I am 
ready to admit, after the restoration of peace. 
It is, however, quite correct to state, that 
there was no augmentation of crime which 
nruch outran the progress of population until 
within about the last twenty, and more es- 
pecially within the last ten years; and that 
the augmentation which has taken place is 
capable of being accounted for, without any 
disparagement to the ancient and peculiar 
probity of the British character. 

As to the variations which have taken 
place in the administration of the law, with 
respect to the proportion of the executions 
to the convictions, some of them have cer- 
tainly been remarkable. Under the various 
admiin'strations of the supreme office of the 
law, down to the time of Lord Thurlow, the 
proportion of executions to convictions was 
for the most part uniform. Lord Rosslyn 
was the fir.st Chancellor under whose admi- 
nistration a great diminution of executions, 
as compared with convictions, is to be re- 
marked ; and this I must impute, not only to 
the gentle disposition of that distinguished 
lawyer, but to the liberality of those princi- 
ples which, however unfashionable they may 
now have become, were entertained by his 
early connexions. Under Lord Kosslyn's 
administration of the law, the proportion of 
executions was diminished to one in eight, 
one in nine, and finally as low as one in 
eleven. 

But, Sir, to the Noble Lord's argument, 
grounded on the diminution in the number 
of executions, I wish to say a few words. 
If we divide crimes into various sorts, sepa- 
rating the higher from the inferior offences, 
we shall find, that with respect to the smaller 
felonies, the proportion of executions to con- 
victions has been one in twenty, one in thirty, 
and in one year, only one in sixty. In the 
higher felonies (with the exception of bur- 
glary and robbery, which are peculiarly cir- 
cumstanced) the law has been uniformly 
executed. The Noble Lord's statement, 
therefore, is applicable only to the first-men- 
tioned class; and a delusion would be the 
result of its being applied unqualifiedly to 
the whole criminal code. 

For the sake of clearness, I will divide 
the crimes against which our penal code 
denounces capital punishments into three 
classes. In the first of these I include mur- 
der, and murderous offences, or sucholfences 
as are likely to lead to murder, such as shoot- 
2U 



530 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



ing or stabbing, with a view to the malicious 
destruction of human hfe : — in these cases 
the law is invariably executed. In the se- 
cond class appear arson, highway-robbery, 
piracy, and other offences, to the number of 
nine or ten, which it is not necessary, and 
which it would be painful, to specify : — on 
these, at present, the law is carried into 
eflect in a great many instances. In these 
two first divisions I will admit, for the pre- 
sent, that it would be unsafe to propose any 
alteration. Many of the crimes compre- 
hended in them ought to be punished with 
death. Whatever attacks the life or the 
dwelling of man deserves such a punish- 
ment ; and I am persuailed that a patient and 
calm investigation would remove the objec- 
tions of a number of well-meaning persons 
who are of a contrary opinion.* 

But looking from these offences at the head 
of the criminal code to the other extremity 
of it, I there find a third class of offences, — 
some connected with frauds of various kinds, 
but others of the most frivolous and fantastic 
description, — amounting in number to about 
one hundred and fifty, against which the 
punishment of death is still denounced by 
the law. although never carried into effect. 
Indeed, it would be most absurd to suppose 
that an execution would in such cases be 
now tolerated, when one or two instances 
even in former times excited the disgust and 
horror of all good men. There can be no 
doubt — even the Noble Lord, I apprehend, 
will not dispute — that such capital felonies 
should be expunged from our Statute Book 
as a disgrace to it. Can any man think, for 
instance, that such an offence as that of 
cutting down a hop vine or a young tree in a 
gentleman's pleasure ground should remain 
punishable with death ? The ''Black Act," 
as it is called, alone created about twenty- 
one capital felonies, — some of them of the 
most absurd description. Bearing particular 
weapons, — having the face blackened at 
night, — and being found disguised upon the 
high road, — were some of them. So that if 
a gentleman is going to a masquerade, and 
is obliged to pass along a highway, he is 
liable, if detected, to be hanged without 
benefit of clergy ! Who, again, can endure 
the idea that a man is exposed to the punish- 
ment of death for such an offence as cutting 
the head of a fish-pond 1 Sir. there are many 
more capital felonies of a similar nature, 
which are the relics of barbarous times, and 
which are disgraceful to the character of a 
thinking and enlightened people. For such 
offences punishments quite adequate and 
sufficiently numerous would remain. It is 
undoubtedly true, that for the last seventy 
years no capital punishment has been inflict- 
ed for such offences ; the statutes denouncing 
them are therefore needless. And I trust I 
shall never live to see the day when any 

* This passage is left intact on account of the 
momentous nature of its subject-matter, but the 
speaker has evidently been here too loosely re- 
pot '.ed — Ed. 



member of this House will rise and maintain 
that a punishment avowedly needless ought 
to be continued. 

The debatable ground on this subject is 
afforded by a sort of middle class of offences, 
consisting of larcenies and frauds of a hei- 
nous kinii, although not accompanied with 
violence and terror. It is no part of my pro- 
posal to take away the discretion which is 
reposed in the judicial authorities respecting 
these offences. Nothing in my mind would 
be more imprudent than to establish an un- 
deviating rule of law, — a rule that in many 
cases would have a more injurious and un- 
just operation than can easily be imaginea. 
I do not, therefore, propose in any degree to 
interfere with the discretion of the judges, in 
cases in which the punishment of death 
ought, under certain aggravated circum- 
stances, to attach, but only to examine whe- 
ther or not it is fit that death should remain 
as the punishment expressly dnected by the 
law for offences, which in its administration 
are never, even under circumstances of the 
greatest aggravationj more severely pun- 
ished than with various periods of trans- 
portation. 

It is impossible to advert to the necessity 
of reforming this part of the law, without 
calling to mind the efforts of that highly 
distinguished and universally lamented indi- 
vidual, by whom the attention of Parliament 
was so often roused to the subject of our 
penal code. Towards that excellent man I 
felt all the regard which a friendship of 
twenty years' duration naturally inspired, 
combined with the respect which his emi- 
nently superior understanding irresistibly 
claimed. But I need not describe his me- 
rits; to them ample justice has been already 
done by the unanimous voice of the Empire, 
seconded by the opinion of all the good men 
of all nations, — and especially by the eulo- 
gium of the Honourable Member for Bram- 
ber,* whose kindred virtues and kindred 
eloquence enable him justly to appreciate 
the qualities of active philanthropy and pro- 
found wisdom. I trust the House will bear 
with me if, while touching on this subject, I 
cannot restrain myself from feebly express- 
ing my admiration for the individual by whose 
benevolent exertions it has been consecrated. 
There was, it is well known, an extraordinary 
degree of original sensibility belonging to the 
character of my lamented Friend, combined 
with the greatest moral purity, and inflexi- 
bility of public principle ; but yet, with these 
elements, it is indisputably true, that his 
conduct as a statesman was always con- 
trolled by a sound judgment, duly and de- 
liberately weighing every consideration of. 
legislative expediency and practical policy. 
This was remarkably shown in his exertions 
respecting the criminal code. In his endea- 
vours to rescue his country from the disgrace 
arising out of the character of that code, he 
never indulged in any visionary views ; — he 

* Mr. Wilberforce.— Ed. 



ON THE STATE OF THE CRIMINAL LAW. 



531 



iras at once humane and just, — generous and 
wise. With all that ardour of temperament 
with, which he unceasingly pursued the pub- 
lic good, never was there a reformer more 
circumspect in his means, — more prudent in 
his end ; — and yet all his propositions were 
opposed. In one thing, however, he suc- 
ceeded, — he redeemed his country from a 
great disgrace, b}' putting a stop to that ca- 
reer of improvident and cruel legislation, 
which, from session to session was multiply- 
ing capital felonies. Sir, while private virtue 
and public worth are distinguished among 
men, the memory of Sir Samuel Romilly will 
remain consecrated in the history of hu- 
manity. According to the views of my la- 
mented Friend, the punishment of death 
ouuht not to attach by law to any of those 
ofTences for which transportation is a suffi- 
cient punishment, and for which, in the ordi- 
nary administration of the law by the judges, 
transportation alone is inflicted. In that view 
I entirely concur. 

I will not now enter into any discussion 
of the doctrine of Dr. Paley with respect to 
the expediency of investing judges with the 
power of inflicting death even for minor 
offences, where, in consequence of the cha- 
racter of the offence and of the offender, 
some particular good may appear to be pro- 
mised from the example of such a punish- 
ment on a mischievous individual. The 
question is, whether the general good de- 
rived by society from the existence of such* 
a state of the law is so great as to exceed 
the evil. And I may venture to express my 
conviction, that the result of such an inquiry 
as that which I propose will be to show, that 
the balance of advantage is decidedly against 
the continuance of the existing sy.slem. The 
late Lord Chief Justice ot the Common 
Pleas,* whose authority is undoubtedly en- 
titled to great consideration in discussing 
this question, expressed an opinion, that if 
the punishment of death for certain crimes 
were inflicted only in one case out of sixty, 
yet that the chance of having to undergo 
such a punishment must serve to impose an 
additional terror on the ill-disposed, and so 
operate to prevent the commission of crime. 
But I, on the contrary, maintain that such a 
terror is not likely to arise out of this mode 
of administering the law. I am persuaded 
that a different result must ensue; because 
this difference in the punishment of the 
same offence must naturally encourage a 
calculation in the mind of a person dispcsed 
to commit crime, of the manifold chances 
of escaping its penalties. It must also ope- 
rate on a malefactor's mind in diminution 
of the terrors of transportation. Exulting 
at his escape from the more dreadful inflic- 
tion, joy and triumph must absorb his facul- 
ties, eclipsing and obscuring those appre- 
hensions and regrets with which he would 
otherwise have contemplated the lesser 
penalty, and inducing him, like Cicero, to 

♦ Sir Vicary Gibbs.— Ed. 



consider exile as a refuge rather than as a 
punishment. In support of this opinion I 
will quote the authority of one who, if I 
cannot describe him as an eminent lawyer, 
all will agree was a man deeply skilled in 
human nature, as well as a most active and 
experienced magistrate, — I allude to the cele- 
brated Henry Fielding. In a work of his, 
published at the period when the first Parlia- 
mentary inquiry of this nature was in pro- 
gre.ss, fentituled ''A Treatise on the Causes of 
Crime," there is this observation: — '-A single 
pardon excites a greater degree of hope in 
the minds of criminals than twenty execu- 
tions excite of fear." Now this argument I 
consider to be quite analagous to that which 
I have just used with reference to the opinion 
of the late Chief Justice of the Common 
Pleas, because the chance of escape from 
death, in either case, is but too apt to dis- 
lodge all thought of the inferior punishments. 

But, Sir, another most important considera- 
tion is, the effect which the existing system 
of jaw has in deterring injured persons from 
commencing prosecutions, and witnesses 
from coming forward in support of them. 
The chances of escape are thus multiplied 
by a system which, while it discourages the 
prosecutor, increases the temptations of the 
offender. The better part of mankind, in 
those grave and reflecting moments which 
the pro.<!ecution for a capital offence must 
always bring with it, frequently shrink from 
the task imposed on them. The indisposi- 
tion to prosecute while the law-s continue so 
severe is matter of public notoriety. This 
has been evinced in various cases. It is not 
long since an act of George II., for preserving 
bleaching-grounds from depredation, was 
repealed on the proposition of Sir Samuel 
Romilly, backed by a petition from the pro- 
prietors of those grounds, who expressed 
their unwillingness to prosecute while the 
law continued so severe, and who repre- 
sented that by the impunity thus given to 
offenders, their property was left compara- 
tively unprotected. An eminent city banker 
has also been very recently heard to declare 
in this House, that bankers frequently de- 
clined to prosecute for the forgery of their 
notes in consequence of the law which de- 
nounced the punishment of death against 
such an offence. It is notorious that the 
concealment of a bankrupt's effects is very 
seldom prosecuted, because the law pro- 
nounces that to be a capital offence : it is 
undoubtedly, however, a great crime, and 
would not be allowed to enjoy such com- 
parative impunity were the law less severe. 

There is another strong fact on this sub- 
ject, to which I may refer, as illustrating 
the general impression respecting the Crimi- 
nal Law ; — I mean the Act w hich was passed 
in 1812, by which all previous enactments 
of capital punishments for offences against 
the revenue not specified in it were repealed. 
That Act I understand was introduced at the 
instance of certain ofiicers of the revenue. 
And why 1 — but because from the oxcessiv* 



532 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAV^S. 



severity of the then existing revenue laws, 
the collectors of the revenue themselves 
found that they were utterly inefficient. But 
I have the highest official authority to sus- 
tain my view of the criminal code. I have 
the authority of the late Chief Baron of the 
Exchequer, Sir Archibald Macdonald, who, 
when, he held the office of Attorney-General, 
which he discharged with so much honour 
to himself, and advantage to the country, 
distinctly expressed his concurrence' in the 
opinion of Lord Bacon that great penalties 
deadened the force of the laws. 

The House will still bear in mind, that I 
do not call for the entire abolition of the 
punishment of death, but only for its aboli- 
tion in those cases in which it is very rarely, 
and ought never to be, carried into effect. 
In those cases I propose to institute other, 
milder, but more invariable punishments. 
The courts of law should, in some cases, be 
aimed with the awful authority of taking 
away life: but in order to render that au- 
thority fully impressive, I am convinced that 
the punishment of death should be abolished 
where inferior punishments are not only ap- 
plicable, but are usually applied. Nothing 
indeed can, in my opinion, be more injurious 
than the frequency with which the sentence 
of death is at the present time pronounced 
from the judgment-seat, with all the so- 
lemnities prescribed on such an occasion, 
when it is evident, even to those against 
whom it is denounced, that it will never be 
carried into effect. Whenever that awful 
.^uthorhy, — the jurisdiction over life and 
death, is disarmed of its terrors by such a 
formality, the law is deprived of its benefi- 
cent energy, and society of its needful de- 
fence. 

Sir William Grant, in a report of one of 
his speeches which I have seen, observes, 
'' that the great utility of the punishment of 
death consists in the horror which it is natu- 
rally calculated to excite against the crimi- 
nal ; and that all penal laws ought to be in 
unison with the public feeling ; for that when 
they are not so, and especially when they 
are too severe, the influence of example is 
lost, sympathy being excited towards the 
criminal, while horror prevails against the 
law." Such indeed was also the impression 
of Sir William Blackstone, of Mr. Fox, and 
of Mr. Pitt. It is also the opinion of Lord 
Grenville, expressed in a speech* as dis- 
tinguished for forcible reasoning, profound 
wisdom, and magnificent eloquence, as any 
that I have ever heard. 

It must undoubtedly happen, even in the 
best regulated conditions of society, that the 
laws will be sometimes at variance with the 
opinions and feelings of good men. But 
that, in a country like Great Britain, they 
should remain permanently in a state not 
less inconsistent with obvious policy than 
■with the sentiments of all the enlightened 

* FfcPce published by Mr. Basil Montagu, in his 
Co.Uections On the Punishment of Death.— Ed. 



and respectable classes of the community, is 
indeed scarcely credible. I should not be 
an advocate for the repeal of any law be- 
cause it happened to be in opposition to 
temporary prejudices: but I object to the 
laws to which I have alluded, because they 
are inconsistent with the deliberate and per- 
manent opinion of the public. In all nations 
an agreement between the laws and the 
general feeling of those who are subject to 
them is essential to their efficacy : but this 
agreement becomes of unspeakable impor- 
tance in a country in which the charge of 
executing the laws is committed in a great 
measure to the people themselves. 

I know not how to contemplate, without 
serious appfehension, the consequences that 
may attend the prolongation of a system like 
the present. It is my anxious desire to re- 
move, before they become insuperable, the 
impediments that are already in the way of 
our civil government. My object is to make 
the laws popular, — to reconcile them with 
public opinion, and thus to redeem their 
character. It is to render the execution of 
them easy, — the terror of them overwhelm- 
ing, — the efficacy of them complete, — that I 
implore the House to give to this subject their 
most grave consideration. I beg leave to re- 
mind them, that Sir William Blackstone has 
already pointed out the indispensable neces- 
sity under which juries frequently labour of 
committing, in estimating the value of stolen 
•property, what he calls "pioiis perjuries." 
The resort to this practice in one of the , 
wisest institutions of the country, so clearly 
indicates the public feeling, that to every 
wise statesman it must afford an instructive 
lesson. The just and faithful administration 
of the law in all its branches is the great 
bond of society, — the point at which autho- 
rity and obedience meet most nearly. If 
those who hold the reins of government, in- 
stead of attempting a remedy, content them- 
selves with vain lamentations at the growth 
of crime, — if they refuse to conform the laws 
to the opinions and dispositions of the public 
mind, that growth must continue to spread 
among us a just alarm. 

With respect to petitions upon this sub- 
ject, I have reason to believe that, in a few 
days, many will be presented from a body 
of men intimately connected Avith the ad- 
ministration of the Criminal Law, — I m.ean 
the magistracy of the country, — praying for 
its revision. Among that body I understand 
that but little difference of opinion prevails, 
and that when their petitions shall be pre- 
sented, they will be found subscribed by 
many of the most respectable individuals 
in the empire as to moral character, enhght- 
ened talent, and general consideration. I 
did not, however, think it fight to postpone 
my motion for an inquiry so important U7:til 
those petitions should be actually laid on 
the table. I should, indeed, have felt ex- 
treme regret if the consideration of tliis ques- 
tion had been preceded by petitions diawn 
up and agreed to at popular and tumultuary 



ON THE STATE OF THE CRIMINAL LAW, 



53? 



assemblies. No one can be more unwilling 
than myself vo see any proceeding that can 
in the slightest degree interfere with the 
calm, deliberate, and dignified consideration 
of Parliament, more especially on a subject 
of this nature. 

The Petition from the City of London, 
however, ought to be considered in another 
light, and is entitled to peculiar attention. 
It proceeds from magistrates accustomed to 
administer justice in a populous metropolis, 
and who necessarily possess very great ex- 
perience. It proceeds from a body of most 
respectable traders — men peculiarly exposed 
to those depr-edations against which Capital 
Punishment is denounced. An assembly so 
composed, is one of weight and dignity; and 
its representations on this subject are enti- 
tled to the greater deference, inasmuch as 
the results of its experience appear to be in 
direct opposition to its strongest prejudices. 
The first impulse of men whose property is 
attacked, is to destroy those by whom the 
attack is made : but the enlightened traders 
of London perceive, that the weapon of 
destruction which our penal code affords, is 
inefTective for its purpose; they therefore, 
disabusing themselves of vulgar prejudice, 
call for the revision of that code. 

Another Petition has been presented to the 
House which I cannot pass over without no- 
tice : I allude to one from that highly merito- 
rious and exemplary body of men — the Qua- 
kers. It has, I think, been rather hardly 
dealt by; and has been described as con- 
taining very extravagant recommendations; 
although the prayer with which it concludes 
is merely^ for such a change in the Criminal 
Law as may be consistent witJi the ends of 
justice. The body of the Petition certainly 
deviates into a speculation as to the future 
existence of some happier condition of so- 
ciety, in which mntual goodwill may render 
severe punishments unnecessary. But this 



is a speculation in which, however unsanc- 
tioned by experience, virtuous and philoso- 
phical men have in all ages indulged them- 
selves, and by it have felt consoled for the 
evils by which they have been surrounded. 
The hope thus expressed, has exposed these 
respectable Petitioners to be treated w;th 
levity : but they are much too enlightened 
not to know that with such questions states- 
men and lawyers, whose arrangements and 
regulations must be limited by the actual 
state and the necessary wants of a ccmmu- 
nity, have no concern. And while I make 
these remarks, I cannot but request the 
House to recollect what description of people 
it is to whom I apply them, — a people who 
alone of all the population of the kingdom 
send neither paupers to your parishes, nor 
criminals to yaur jails, -^a people who think 
a spirit of benevolence .an adequate security 
to mankind (a spirit which certainly wants 
but the possibility of its being universal to 
constitute the perfection of our nature) — a 
people who have ever been foremost in un- 
dertaking and promoting every great and 
good work,— who were among the first to 
engage in the abolition of the slave trade, 
ami who, by their firm yet modest perseve- 
rance, payed the way for the accomplish- 
ment of that incalculable benefit to humanity. 
Recollecting all this, and recollecting the 
channel through which this Petition was pre- 
sented to the House,* I consider it to be en- 
titled to anything but disrespect. The aid 
of such a body must always be a source of 
encouragement to those who are aiming at 
any amelioration of the coirdition of human 
beings; and on this oc-casion it inspires me. 
not only with perfect confidence in the good- 
ness of my cause, but with the greatest 
hopes of its success. 



Ed. 



It had been presented by Mr. Wilberforce.' 
2u2 



534 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



SPEECH 

ON MR. BROUGHAM'S MOTION FOR AN ADDRESS TO THE CROWN, 

WITH REFERENCE TO THE TRIAL AND CONDEMNATION OF 

THE REV. JOHN SMITH, OF DEMERARA, 

©EUVERED IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS, ON THE 1st OF JUNE, 1824.* 



Mr. Speaker, — Even if I had not been 
loudly called upon, and directly challenged 
by the Honourable Gentleman,t — even if bis 
accusations, now repeated after full conside- 
ration, did not make it my duty to vindicate 
the Petition which I had the honour to pre- 
sent from unjust reproach, I own that I should 
have been anxious to address the House on 
this occasion ; not to strengthen a case al- 
ready invincible, but to bear my solemn tes- 
timony against the most unjust and cruel 
abuse of power, under a false pretence of 



* The Rev. John Smith, an Independent mi- 
nister, had been sent out lo Demerara in the year 
1816 by the London Missionary Society. The 
exemplary discharge of his sacred functions on the 
eastern shore of that colony for six years, amid 
difficulties which are said to have distinguished 
Demerara even among; ail her sister slave colo- 
nies, had so far impaired his health, that he was, 
by medical advice, on tiie point of leaving the 
country for a more salubrious climate, when, in 
the month of August, 1823, a partial insurrection 
of the negroes in his neighbourhood proved the 
means of putting a period alike to his labours and 
his life. The rising^was not of an extensive or 
organised character, and was, in fact, suppressed 
immediately, with little loss of life or propertv. 
lis suppression was, however, immediately fol- 
lowed by the establishment of martial law, and 
the arrest of Mr. Smith as privy beforehand to 
the plot. As the evidence in support of this 
charge had necessarily to be extracted for the most 
part from prisoners trembling for their own lives, 
incurable suspicion would seem to attach to the 
whole of it ; though candour must admit, on a 
careful consideration of the whole circumstances, 
including the sensitive feelings and ardent tempe- 
rament of the accused, that it was not inipossible 
that he had been made the involuntary depositary 
of the confidence of his flock. It was not till he 
had been in prison for nearly two months that Mr. 
Smith, on the 14th of October, was brought to 
trial before a court-martial. After proceedings 
abounding in irregularities, which lasted for six 
weeks, he was found guilty, and sentenced to 
death, but was recommended to the mercy of the 
Crown. He died in prison on the 6th of February 
following, awaiting the result. Sir James Mack- 
intosh had presented, at an earlier period of the 
session, the appeal of the London Missionary So- 
ciety on behalf of his memory and his widow. 
The present speech was delivered in support of 
Mr. Brougham's motion for an Address to the 
Jrown on the subject. — Ed, 

t Mr. Wilmot. Horton. who conducted the de- 
Sence of the authorities at Demerara. — ^Ed. 



law, that has in our times dishonoured any 
portion of the British einpire. I am sorry 
that the Honourable Gentleman, after so long 
an interval for reflection, should have this 
night repeated those charges again.^t the 
London Missionary Society, which when he 
first made them I thought rash, and which I 
am now entitled to treat as utterly ground- 
less. I should regret to be detained by them 
for a moment, from the great question of hu- 
manity and justice before us, if I did not feel 
that they e.xcite a prejudice against the case 
of Mr. Smith, and that the short discussion 
sufficietit to put them aside, leads directly 
to the vindication of the memory of that op- 
pressed man. 

The Honourable Gentleman calls the Lon- 
don Missionary Society '-bad philosophers," 
— by which, I presume, he means bad rea- 
soners, — because they ascribe the insurrec- 
tion partly " to the long and ine.xplicable 
delay of the government of Demerara in 
promulgating the instructions favourable to 
the slave population;" and because he, 
adopting one of the arguments of that speech 
by which the deputy judge-advocate dis- 
graced his office, contends that a partial re- 
volt cannot have arisen from a general cause 
af discontent, — a position belied by the 
whole course of history, and which is founded 
upon the absurd assumption, that one part 
of a people, from circumstances sometimes 
easy, some imes very hard to be discovered, 
may not be more provoked than others by 
grievances common to all. So inconsistent, 
indeed, is the defence of the rulers of De- 
merara with itself, that in another part of the 
case they represent a project for an universal 
insurrection as having been formed, and 
ascribe its being, in fact, confined to the east 
coast, to unaccountable accidents. Paris, the 
ringleader, in what is called his "confession," 
(to be found in the Demerara Papers, No. II., 
p. 21,) says, "The whole colony was to have 
risen on Monday; and I cannot account for 
the reasons why only the east rose at the 
time appointed." So that, according to this 
part of their own evidence, they must aban- 
don their argument, and own the discontent 
to have been as genera! as the grievance. 

Another argument against the Society's 



CASE OF MISSIONARY SMITH. 



535 



Petition, is transplanted from the same nur- 
sery of weeds. It is said, that cruelty can- 
not have contributed to this insurrection, be- 
cause the leaders of the revolt were persons 
Jittle likely to have been cruelly used, being 
among the most trusted of the slaves. Those 
who employ so gross a i'allacy, must be con- 
tent to be called worse reasoners than the 
London Missionary Society. It is, indeed, 
one of the usual common-places in all cases 
of discontent and tumult ; but it is one of the 
most futile. The moving cause of most in- 
surrections, and in the opinion of two great 
men (Sully and Burke) of all, is the distress 
of the gieat body of insurgents ; but the ring- 
leaders are generally, and almost necessa- 
rily, individuals who, being more highly en- 
dowed or more happily situated, are raised 
above the distress which is suffered by those 
of whom they take the command. 

But the Honourable Gentleman's principal 
charge against the Petition, is the allegation 
contained in it, '-'that the life of no white 
man was voluntarily taken away by the 
slaves." When I heard the confidence with 
which a confutation of this averment was 
announced, I own I trembled for the accu- 
racy of the Petition. But what was my as- 
tonishment, when I heard the attempt at 
confulation made! In the Demeraia Papers. 
No. II., there is an elaborate narrative of an 
attack on the house of Mrs. Walrand, by the 
insurgents, made by that lady, or for her — a 
caution in statements which the subsequent 
parts of these proceedings prove to be nece.s- 
saryin Demerara. The Honourable Gentle- 
man has read the narrative, to show that two 
lives were unhappily lost in this skirmish; 
and this he seriously quotes as proving the 
inaccuracy of the Petition. Does he believe, 
— can he hope to persuade the House, that 
the Petitioners meant to say, that there was 
an insurrection without fighting, or skirmishes 
without death"? The attack and defence of 
houses and posts are a necessary part of all 
revolts; and deaths are the natural conse- 
quences of that, as well as of every species 
of warfare. The revolt in this case was. 
doubtless, an offence ; the attack on the 
house was a part of that offence : the de- 
fence was brave and praiseworthy. The loss 
of lives is deeply to be deplored ; but it was 
inseparable from all such unhappy scenes: 
it could not be the "voluntary killing," in- 
tended to be denied in the Petition. The 
Governor of Demerara, in a despatch to Lord 
Bathurst, makes the same statement with 
the Petition : — " I have not," he says, " heard 
of one while who was deliberately murder- 
ed:" yet he was perfectly aware of the fact 
which has been so triumphantly displayed 
to the House. "At plantation Nabaclis, 
where the whites were on their guard, two 
out of three were killed in the defence of 
their habitations." The defence was legiti- 
mate, and the deaths lamentable : but as the 
Governor distinguishes them from murder, 
60 do the Society. They deny that there 
was any kiUing in cold blood. They did not 



mean to deny, — any more than to affirm — 
(for the Papers which mention the fact were 
printed since their Petition was drawn up), 
that there was killing in battle, when each 
party were openly struggling to destroy their 
antagonists and to preserve themselves. The 
Society only denies that this insurrection was 
dishonoured by those murders of the unof- 
fending or of the vanquished, which too fre- 
quently attend the revolts of slaves. The 
Governor of Demerara agrees with themj 
the whole facts of the case support them; 
and the quotation of the Honourable Gentle- 
man leaves their denial untouched. The re- 
volt was ab)5olutely unstained by excess. 
The killing of whites, even in action, was so 
small as not to appear in the trial of Mr. 
Smith, or in the fiist accounts laid before u.s, 
I will not stop to inquire whether "killing in 
action" may not, in a strictly philosophical 
sense, be called "voluntary." It is enough 
for me, that no man will call it calm, need- 
less, or deliberate. 

This is quite sufficient to justify even the 
words of the Petition. The substance of it 
is now more than abundantly justified by the 
general spirit of humanity which pervaded 
the unhappy insurgents, — by the unparal- 
leled forbearance and moderation which 
characterised the insurrection. On this part 
of the subject, so important to the general 
question, as well as to the character of the 
Petition for accuracy, the London Missionary 
Society appeal to the highest authority, that 
of the Reverend Mr. Austin, not a missionary 
or a Methodist; but the chaplain of the colo- 
nj-, a minister of the Church of England, 
who has done honour even to that Church, 
so illustrious through the genius and learn- 
ing and virtue of many of her clerpy, by his 
Christian charity, — by his inflexible princi- 
ples of justice, — by his intrepid defence of 
innocence against all the power of a govern- 
ment, and against the still more formidable 
prejudices of an alarmed and incensed com- 
munity. No man ever did himself more 
honour by the admirable combination of 
strength of character with sense of duty; 
M'hich needed nothing but a larger and more 
elevated theatre to place him among those 
who will be in all ages regarded by mankind 
as models for imitation and objects of reve- 
rence. That excellent person, — speaking of 
INlr. Smith, a person with whom he was pre- 
viously unacquainted, a minister of a differ- 
ent persuasion, a missionary, considered by 
many of the e;?tablished clergy as a rival, if 
not an enemy, a man then odious to the body 
of the colonists, whose good-will must have 
been so important to Mr. Austin's comfort, — 
after declaring his conviction of the perfect 
innocence and extraordinary merit of the 
persecuted missionary, proceeds to bear tes- 
timony to the moderation of the insurgents, 
and to the beneficent influence of Mr. Smith, 
in producing that moderation, in language, 
far warmer and bolder than that of the Peti- 
tion. "I feel no hesitation in declaring,"' 
says he, "from the intimate knowledge which 



536 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



my most anxious inquiries have obtained, 
that in the late scourge which the hand of 
an all-wise Creator has inflicted on this ill- 
fated country, nothing but those religious 
impressions which, under Providence, Mr, 
Smith has been instrumental in fixing, — no- 
thing but those principles of the Gospel of 
Peace, which he had been proclaiming, could 
have prevented a dreadful efiusion of blood 
here, and saved the lives of those very per- 
sons who are now, I shudder to write it, 
seeking his life." 

And here I beg the House to weigh this 
testimony. It is not only valuable from the 
integrity, impartiality, and understanding of 
the witness, but from his opportunities of 
acquiring that intimate knowledge of facts 
on which he rests his opinion. He was .a 
member of the Secret Commission of Inquiry 
established on this occasion, which was 
armed with all the authority of government, 
and which received much evidence relating 
to this insurrection not produced on the trial 
of Mr. Smith. 

This circumstance immediately brings me 
to the consideration of the hearsay evidence 
illegally received against Mr. Smith. I do 
not merely or chiefly object to it on grounds 
purely technical, or as being inadmissible 
by the law of England. I abstain from taking 
any part in the discussions of lawyers or phi- 
losopliers, with respect to the wisdom of our 
lules of evidence; though I think that there 
is more to be said for them than the inge- 
nious objectors are aware of. What I com- 
plain of is, the admission of hearsay, of the 
vagTiest sort, under circumstances where 
such an admission was utterly abomina- 
ble. In what I am about to say, I shall not 
quote from the Society's edition of the Trial, 
but from that which is ofTicially before the 
House: so that I may lay aside all that has 
been said on the superior authority of the 
latter. Mr. Austin, when examined in 
chief, stated, that though originally prepos- 
sessed against Mr. Smith, yet. in the course 
of numerous inquiries, he could not see any 
circumstances which led to a belief that Mr. 
Smith had been, in any degree, instrumental 
in the insurrection ; but that, on the contraiy, 
when he (Mr. Austin) said to the slaves, that 
bloodshed had not marked the progress of 
their insurrection, their answer was : — '•' It is 
contrary to the religion we profess" (which 
had been taught to them by Mr. Smith) ; — 
"we cannot give life, and therefore we will 
not take it." This evidence of <he innocence 
of Mr. Smith, and of the humanhy of the 
slaves, appears to have alarmed the impartial 
judge-advocate ; and he proceeded, in his 
cross-examination, to ask Mr. Austin whether 
any of the negroes had ever insinuated, that 
their misfortunes wa^re occasioned by the 
prisoner's influence over them, or by the 
doctrines he taught them? Mr. Austin, 
understanding this question to refer to what 
passed before the Committee, appears to 
have respectfully hesitated about the pro- 
priety of disclosing these proceedings ; upon 



which the Court, in a tone of discourtesj 
and displeasure, which a reputable advocate 
for a prisoner would not have used towards 
such a witness in this country, addressed 
the following illegal and indecent question 
to Mr. Austin: — "Can you take it upon 
yourself to swear that you do not recollect 
any insinuations of that sort at the Board of 
Evidence?" How that question came to be 
waived, does not appear in the ofticial copy. 
It is almost certain, however, from the pur- 
port of the next question, that the Society's 
Report is correct in supplying this defect, 
and that INIr. Austin still doubted its sub- 
stantial propriety, and continued to resent 
its insolent form. He was actually a-sked, 
" whether he heard, before the Board of Evi- 
dence, any negro imputing the cause of re- 
volt to the prisoner ?" He answered, '• Yes :" 
— and the inquiry is pursued no further. I 
again request the House to bear in mind, that 
this question and answer rest on the autho- 
rity of the ofTicial copy ; and I repeat, that I 
disdain to press the legal objection of its 
being hearsay evidence, and to contend, that 
to put such a question and receive such an 
answer, were acts of mere usurpation in any 
English tribunal. 

IMuch higher matter arises on this part of 
the evidence. Fortunately for the interests 
of truth, we are now in possession of the 
testimony of the negroes before the Board 
of Inquiry which is adverted to in this ques- 
tion, and which, be it observed, was wholly 
unknown to the unlbrtunate IMr. Smith. We 
naturally ask, why these negroes themselves 
were not protluced as witnes.ses, if they were 
alive ; or, if they were executed, how it hap- 
pened that none of the men who gave such 
important evidence before the Board of In- 
quiry were preserved to bear testimony 
against him before the Court-martial ? Why 
were they content with the much weaker 
evidence actually produced? Why were 
they driven to the necessit)' of illegally 
obtaining, through Mr. Austin, what they 
might have obtained from his informants ? 
The reason is plain : — they disbelieved the 
evidence of the negroes, who threw out the 
'■'insinuations." or "imputations." That 
might have been nothing; but they knew 
that all mankind would have rejected that 
pretended evidence with horror. They knew 
that the negroes, to whom their question 
adverteil, had told a tale to the Board of 
Evidence, in comparison with which the 
story of Titus Oates was a model of proba- 
bility, candour, and truth. One of them 
(Sandy) said, that Mr. Smith fold him, though 
not a member of his congregation, nor even 
a Christian, " that a good thing was come 
for the negroes, and that if they did not seek 
for it now, the whites would trample upon 
them, and upon their sons and daughters, to 
eternity."* Another (Paris) says, "that all 
the male whites (except the doctors and 
missionaries) were to be murdered, and all 

* Demerara Papers, No. 11. p. 2G. 



CASE OF MISSIONAHY SMITH. 



537 



the females distributed among the insur- 
gents; thai one of their leaders was to be a 
king, another to be a governor, and Mr. 
Smith to be emperor ;* that on Sunday, the 
17th of August, Mr. Smith administered the 
sacrament to several leading negroes, and to 
Mr. Hamilton, the European overseer of the 
estate Le Rcssouveiiir ; that he swore the 
former on the Bible to do him no harm when 
they had conquered the country, and after- 
wards blessed their revolt, saying, "Go; as 
you have begun in Christ, you must end in 
Christ !"t AH this the prosecutor concealed, 
with the knowledge of the Court. While 
they asked, whether Mr. Austin had heard 
statements made against Mr. Smith before 
the Board of Evidence, they studiously con- 
cealed all those incredible, monstrous, im- 
possible iictions which accompanied these 
statements, and which would have annihi- 
lated their credit, Whether the cjuestion 
was intended to discredit Mr. Austin, or to 
prejudice Mr. Smith, it was, in either case, 
an atrocious attempt to take advantage of 
the stories told by the negroes, and at the 
same time to screen them from scrutiny, 
contradiction, disbelief, and abhorrence. If 
these men could have been believed, would 
they not have been produced on the trial ? 
Paris, indeed, the author (J this horrible fa- 
brication, charges Biistol, Manuel, and Azor, 
three of the witnesses afterwards examined 
on the trial of Mr. Smith, with having been 
parties to the dire and execrable oath : not 
one of them alludes to such horrors; all 
virtually contradict them. Yet this Court- 
martial sought to injure Mr. Austin, or to 
contribute to the destruction of Mr. Smith, 
by receiving as evidence a general state- 
ment of what was said by those whom they 
could not believe, whom they durst not pro- 
duce, and who were contradicted by their 
own principal witnesses, — who, if their 
whole tale had been brought into view, would 
have been driven out of any court with shouts 
cf execration. 

I cannot yet leave this part of the subject. 
It deeply affects the character of the whole 
transaction. It shows the general terror, 
which was so powerful as to stimulate the 
slaves to the invention of such monstrous 
falsehoods. It throws light on that species 
of skill with which the prosecutors kept 
back the absolutely incredible witnesses, and 
brought forward only those who were dis- 
creet enough to tell a more plausible story, 
and on the effect which the circulation of 
the fictions, which were too absurd to be 
avowed, must have had in exciting the body 
of the colonists to the most relentless ani- 
mosity against the unfortunate Mr. Smith. 
It teaches us to view with the utmost jea- 
lousy the more guarded testimony actually 
produced against him, which could not be 
exempt from the influence of the same fears 
and prejudices. It authorises me to lay a 

• * Demarara Papers, No. II. p. 30. 
I- Ibid. p. 41. 

68 



much more than ordinary stress on every 
defect of the evidence ; because, in such 
circumstances, I am warranted in affirming 
that whatever was not proved, could not have 
been proved. 

But in answer to all this, we are asked by 
the Honourable Gentleman, "Would Presi- 
dent Wray have been a party to the admission 
of improper evidence '?" Now, Sir, I wish 
to say nothing disrespectful of Mr. Wray; 
and the rather, because he is well spoken 
of by those whose good opinion is to be re- 
spected. We do not know that he may not 
have dissented from every act of this Court- 
martial. I should heartily rejoice to hear 
that it was so: but I am aware we can 
never know whether he did or not. The 
Honourable Gentleman unwarily asks, — 
'■"Would not Mr. Wray have publicly pro- 
tested against illegal questions'?" Does he 
not know, or has he forgotten, that every 
member of a court-martial is bound by oath 
not to disclose its proceedings'? But really, 
Sir, I must say that the character of no man 
can avail against facts: — "Telle e causa 
nomen Catonis." Let character protect ac- 
cuood men, when there is any defect in the 
evidence of their guilt: let it continue to 
yield to them that protection which Mr. 
Smith, in his hour of danger, did not receive 
from the tenor of his blameless and virtu- 
ous life: let it be used for mercy, not for 
severity. Let it never be allowed to aid a 
prosecutor, or to strengthen the case of an 
accuser. Let it be a shield to cover the 
accused : but let it never be converted into 
a dagger, by which he is to be stabbed to 
the heart. Above all, let it not be used to 
destroy his good name, after his life has been 
taken away. 

The question is. as has been stated by the 
Honourable Gentleman, whether, on a review 
of the whole evidence, Mr. Smith can be 
pronounced to be guilty of the crimes charg- 
ed against him, and for which he was con- 
demned to death. That is the fact on which 
issue is to be joined. In trying if, I can lay 
my hand on my heart, and solemnly declare, 
upon my honour, or whatever more sacred 
sanction there be, that I believe him to have 
been an innocent- and virtuous man, — ille- 
gally tried, unjustly condemned to death, 
and treated in a manner which would be 
dis^xraceful to a civilized government in the 
case of the worst criminal. I heartily rejoice 
that the Honourable Gentleman has been 
matdy enough directly to dissent from my 
Honourable Friend's motion, — that the case 
is to be fairly brought to a decision, — and 
that no attempt is to be made to evade a de- 
termination, by moving the previous question. 
That, of all modes of proceeding, I should 
most lament. Some may think Mr. Smith 
guilty; others will agree with me in thinking 
him innocent ; but no one can doubt that it 
would be dishonourable to the Grand Jury 
of the Empire, to declare that they will not 
decide, when a grave case is brought before 
them, whether a British subject has been 



538 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



la'>vfully or unlawfully condemned to death. 
We still observe that usage of our forefathers, 
according to which the House of Commons, 
at the commencement of every session of 
Parliament, nominates a grand committee of 
justice; and if, in ordinary cases, other modes 
of proceeding have been substituted in prac- 
tice for this ancient institution, we may at 
least respect it as a remembrancer of our 
duty, which points out one of the chief ob- 
jects of the original establishment. All eva- 
sion is here refusal ; and a denial of justice 
in Parliament, more especially in an inquest 
for blood, would be a fatal and irreparable 
breach in the English constitution. 

The question before us resolves itself into 
several questions, relating to eveiy branch 
and stage of the proceedings against Mr. 
Smith : — Whether the Court-martial had 
jurisdiction 1 whether the evidence against 
nim was warranted by law, or sufficient in 
fact ? whether the sentence was just, or the 
punishment legal ? These questions are so 
extensive and important, that I caiuiot help 
wishing they had not been still further en- 
larged and embroiled by the introduction of 
matter wholly impertinent to any of them. 

To what purpose has the Honourable Gen- 
tleman so often told us that Mr. Smith w'as 
an "enthusiast?" It would have been well 
if he had given us some explanation of the 
sense in which he uses so vague a term. If 
he meant by it to denote the prevalence of 
those disorderly passions, wdiich, whatever 
De their source or their object, always dis- 
turb the understanding, and often pervert the 
moral sentiments, we have clear proof that 
-t did not exist in Mr. Smith, so far as to 
produce the first of these unfortunate effects: 
and it is begging the whole question in dis- 
pute, to assert that it manifested itself in him 
by the second and still more fatal symptom. 
There is, indeed, another temper of mind 
called enthusiasm, which, though rejecting 
the authority neither of reason nor of virtue, 
triumphs over all the vulgar infirmities of 
men, contemns their ordinary pursuits, braves 
danger, anil despises obloquy, — which is the 
parent of heroic acts and apostolical sacri- 
fices, — which devotes the ease, the pleasure, 
the interest, the ambition, the life of the 
generous enthusiast, to the service of his fel- 
low-men. If Mr. Smith had not been sup- 
ported by an ardent zeal for the cause of God 
and man, he would have been ill qualified 
for a task so surrounded by disgust, by ca- 
lumny, by peril, as that of attempting to 
pour instruction into the minds of unhappy 
slaves. Much of this excellent quality was 
doubtless necessary for so long enduring the 
climate and the government of Demerara. 

I am sorry that the Honourable Gentleman 
should have deigned to notice any part of 
the impertinent absurdities with which the 
Court have suffered their miimtes to be en- 
cumbered, and which have no more to do 
with this insurrection than with the Popish 
Plot. What is it to us that a misunderstand- 
ing occurred, three or four years ago, between 



Mr. Smith and a person called Captain or 
Doctor Macturk, whom he had the misfor- 
tune to have for a neighbour, — a misunder- 
standing long antecedent to this revolt, and 
utterly unconnected with any part of it ! It 
was inadmissible evidence; and if it had been 
otherwise, it proved nothing but the character 
of the witness, — of the generous Macturk ; 
who, having had a trifling difference with 
his neighbour. five years ago, called it to 
mind at the moment when that neighbour's 
life was in danger. Such is the chivalrous 
magnanimity of Dr. Macturk ! If I were 
infected by classical superstition, I should 
forbid such a man to embark in the same 
vessel with me. I leave him to those from 
whom, if we may trust his name or his man- 
ners, he may be descended ; and I cannot 
help thinking that he deserves, as well as 
they, to be excluded from the territory of 
Christians. 

I very sincerely regret. Sir, that the Ho- 
nourable Gentleman, by quotations from Mr. 
Smith's manuscript journal, should appear to 
give any countenance or sanction to the de- 
testable violation of all law, humanit}', and 
decency, by which that manuscript was pro- 
iluced in evidence against the writer. I am 
sure that, when his official zeal has some- 
what subsided, he will himself regret that 
he appealed to such a document. That 
which is unlawfully obtained cannot be fairly 
quoted. The production of a paper in evi- 
dence, containing general reflections and 
reasonings, or narratives of fact, not relating 
to any design, or composed to compass any 
end, is precisely the iniquity perpetrated by 
Jeffreys, in the case of Sidney, which has 
since been reprobated by all lawyers, and 
which has been solemnly condemned by the 
legislature itself. I deny, without fear of 
contradiction from any one of the learned 
lawyers who differ from me in this debate, 
that such a paper has been received in evi- 
dence, since that abominable trial, by any 
body of men calling themselves a court of 
justice. Is there a single line in the extracts 
produced which could have been written to 
forward the insurrection 1 I defy any man 
to point it out? Could it be admissible evi- 
dence on any other ground ? I defy any 
law'yer to maintain it; for, if it were to be 
said that it manifests opniions and feelings 
favourable to negro insurrection, and which 
rendered probable the particijjation of Mr. 
Smith in this revolt, (having first denied the 
fact,) I should ponit to the statute reversing 
the attainder of Sidney, against whom the 
like evidence was produced precisely under 
the same pretence. Nothing can be more 
decisive on this point than the authority of a 
great judge and an e.xcellent writer. '-Had 
the papers found in Sidney's closets," says 
Mr. Justice Foster, " been plainly relative to 
the other treasonable practices charged in 
the indictment, they might have been read 
in evidence against him, though not publish- 
ed. The papers found on Lord Preston were 
written in prosecution of certain determined 



CASE OF MISSIONAKY SMITH. 



539 



purposes which were treasonable, and then 
(namely, at the time of writing) in the con- 
templation of the offenders." But the iniquity 
in the case of Sidney vanishes, in comparison 
with that of this trial. Sidney's manuscript 
was intended for publication : it could not be 
said that its tendency, when published, was 
not to e.vcite dispositions hostile to the bad 
government which then existed ; it was per- 
haps in strictness indictable as a seditious 
libel. The journal of Mr. Smith was meant 
for no human eyes: it was seen by none ; 
only extracts of it had been sent to his em- 
ployers in England, — as inoffensive, doubt- 
les5, as their excellent instructions required. 
In the midst of conjugal affection and confi- 
dence, it was withheld even from his wife. 
It consisted of his communings with his 
own mind, or the breathings of his thoughts 
towards his Creator; it was neither addressed 
nor communicated to any created being. 
That such a journal .should have been drag- 
ged from its sacred secrecy is an atrocity — I 
repeat it — to which I know no parallel in the 
annals of any court that has professed to ob- 
serve a semblance of justice. 

I dwell on this circumstance, because the 
Honourable Gentleman, by his quotaUon, has 
compelled me to do so, and because the ad- 
mis.sion of this evidence shows the temper 
of the Court. For I think the extracts pro- 
duced are, in truth, favourable to Mr. Smith ; 
and I am entitled to presume that the whole 
journal, withheld as it is from us, — withheld 
from the Colonial Office, though circulated 
through the Court to excite West Indian pre- 
judices against Mr. Smith, — would, in the 
eyes of impartial men, have been still more 
decisively advantageous to his cause. How, 
indeed, can I think otherwise? What, in 
the opinion of the judge-advocate, is the 
capital crime of this journal? It is, that in 
it the prisoner " avows he feels an aversion 
to slavery ! !" He was so depraved, as to be 
an enemy of that admirable institution ! He 
was so lost to all sense of morality, as to be 
dissatisfied with the perpetual and unlimited 
subjection of millions of reasonable creatures 
to the will, and caprice, and passions of other 
men! This opinion, it is true, Mr. Smith 
shared with the King, Parliament, and peo- 
ple of Great Britain, — with all wise and good 
men, in all ages and nations : still, it is staled 
by the judge-advocate as if it were some im- 
moral paradox, which it required the utmost 
effrontery to "avow." One of the passages 
produced in evidence, and therefore thought 
either to be criminal in itself, or a proof of 
criminal intention, well deserves attention : 
— " While writing this, my very heart flut- 
ters at the almost incessant cracking of the 
whip !" As the date of this part of the jour- 
nal is the 22dof March 1819, more than four 
years before the insurrection, it cannot be 
so distorted by human ingenuity as to be 
brought to bear on the specific chargps which 
the Court had to try. What, therefore, is 
the purpose for which it is produced 1 They 
oveiheard, as it were, a man secretly com- 



plaining to himself of the agitation produced 
in his bodily frame by the horrible noise of 
a whip constantly resounding on the torn and 
bloody backs of his fellow-creatures. As he 
does not dare to utter them to any other, thej 
must have been unaffected, undesigning 
almost involuntary ejaculations ol feeling 
The discovery of them might have recalled 
unhardened men from practices of which 
they had thus casually perceived the impres- 
sion upon an uncoriupted heart. It could 
hardly have been supposed that the most 
practised negro-driver could have blamed 
them more severely than by calling them 
effusions of weak and womanish feelings. 
But it seemed good to the prosecutors of Mr. 
Smith to view these complaints in another 
light. They regard "the fluttering of hi;? 
heart at the incessant cracking of the whip," 
as an overt act of the treason of "abhorring 
slavery." They treat natural compassion, 
and even its involuntary effects on the bodily 
frame, as an offence. Such is the system of 
their society, that they consider every man 
who feels pity for sufferings, or indignation 
against cruelty, as their irreconcilable enemy. 
Nay, they receive a secret expression of 
those feelings as evidence against a man on 
trial for his life, in what they call a court of 
justice. My Right Honourable Friend* has, 
on a former occasion, happily characterised 
the resistance, which has not been obscurely 
threatened, against all measures for mitiga- 
ting the evils of slavery, as a "rebellion for 
the whip." In the present instance we see 
how sacred that instrument is held, — how 
the right to use it is prized as one of the 
dearest of privileges, — and in what manner 
the most private murmuragainst its severest 
inflictions is brought forward as a proof, that 
he who breathes it must be prepared to 
plunge into violence and blood. 

In the same spirit, conversations are given 
in evidence, long before the revolt, wholly 
unconnected with it. and held with ignorant 
men, who might easily misunderstand or 
misrememher them; in which Mr. Smith is 
supposed to have expressed a general and 
speculative opinion, that slavery never could 
be mitig-ated, and that it must die a violent 
death. These opinions the Honourable Gen- 
tleman calls " fanatical." Does he think Dr. 
Johnson a fanatic, or a sectary, or a Metho- 
dist, or an enemy of established authority! 
But he must know from the most amusing 
of books, that Johnson, when on a visit to 
Oxford, perhaps when enjoying lettered hos- 
pitality at the table of the Master of Univer 
sity College,! proposed as a toast, " Success 
to the first revolt of negroes in the West In- 
dies !" He neither meant to make a jest of 
such matters, nor to express a deliberate 
wish for an event so full of horror, but merely 
to express in the strongest manner his honest 
hatred of slavery. For no man ever more de- 
tested actual oppression ; though his Tory 

* Mr. Canning. — Ed. 

X Dr. Welherell, father of the Solicitor-GeiieraL 



540 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



prejudices hindered him from seeing the 
value of those hberal institutions which alone 
secure society from oppression. This justice 
will be universally done to the aged moralist, 
who knew slavery only as a distant evil, — 
whose ears were never wounded by the 
cracking of the whip. Yet all the casual 
expressions of the unfortunate Mr. Smith, in 
the midst of dispute, or when he was fresh 
from the sight of suflering, rise r.p against 
him as legal proof of settled purposes and 
deliberate designs. 

On the legality of the trial. Sir, the im- 

{jreguable speech of my Learned Friend* has 
eft me little if any thing to say. The only 
principle on which the law of England tole- 
rates what is called "martial law," is neces- 
sity; its introduction can be justified only by 
necessity ; its continuance requires precisely 
the same justification of necessity; and if 
it survives the necessity, in which alone it 
rests, for a single minute, it becomes in- 
stantly a mere exercise of lawless violence. 
When foreign invasion or civil war renders 
it impossible for courts of law to sit, or to 
enforce the execution of their judgments, it 
becomes necessary to find some rude sub- 
stitute for them, and to employ for that pur- 
pose the military, which is the only remain- 
^y' ing force in the community. While the laws 
are silenced by the noise of arms, the rulers 
of the armed force must punish, as equitably 
as they can, those crimes which threaten 
their own safety and that of society; but no 
longer; — every moment beyond is usurpa- 
tion. As soon as the laws can act, every 
other mode of punishing supposed crimes is 
itself an enormous crime. If argument be 
not enough on this subject, — if, indeed, the 
mere statement be not the evidence of its own 
truth, I appeal to the highest and most vene- 
rable authority known to our lav/. " Martial 
law," says Sir Matthew Hale, '• is not a law, 
but somethini^- indulged rather than allowed, 
as a law. The necessity of government, 
order, and discipline in an army, is that only 
which can give it countenance. • Necessitas 
enim, quod cogit, defendit.' Secondly, this 
indulged law is only to extend to members 
of the army, or to those of the opposite army, 
and never may be eo much indulged as to be 
exercised or executed upon others. Thirdly, 
the exercise of martial law may not be per- 
mitted in time of peace, when the king's 
courts are" (or may be) " open."t The illus- 
trious Judge on this occasion appeals to the 
Petition of Right, which, fifty years before, 
had declared all proceedings by martial law, 
m time of peace, to he illegal. He carries 
the principle back to the cradle of English 
liberty, and quotes the famous reversal of 
the attainder of the Earl of Kent, in the first 
year of Edward HI., as decisive of the prin- 
ciple, that nothing but the necessity arising 
from the absolute interruption of civil judi- 
cature by arms, can warrant the exercise of 

* Mr. Brougham. — Ed. 

1' History of the Common Law, chap. xi. 



what is called martial law. Wherever, and 
whenever, they are so interrupted, and as 
long as the interruption continues, necessity 
justifies it. 

No other doctrine has ever been maintain- 
ed in this country, since the solemn Parlia- 
mentary condemnation of the usurpations of 
Charles I., which he was himself compelled 
to sanction in the Petition of Right. In none 
of the revolutions or rebellions which have 
since occurred has martial law been exer- 
cised, however much, in some of them, the 
necessity might seem to exist. Even in 
those most deplorable of all commotions, 
which tore Ireland in pieces, in the last years 
of the eighteenth century, — in the midst of 
ferocious revolt and cruel punishment, — at 
the very moment of legalising these martial 
jurisdictions in 1799, the very Irish statute, 
which was passed for that purpose, did 
homage to the ancient and fundamental 
principles of the law, in the very act of de- 
parting from them. The Iiish statute 39 
Geo. III. c. 2, after reciting " that martial law 
had been successfully exercised to the restora- 
tion of peace, so far as to permit the course of 
the common law partially to take place, but 
that the rebellion continued to rage in con- 
siderable parts of the kingdom, whereby it 
has become necessary for Parliament to in- 
terpose," goes on to enable the Lord Lieu- 
tenant "to punish rebels by courts-martial." 
This statute is the most positive declaration, 
that where the common law can be exer- 
cised in some parts of the countr)'. martial 
law cannot be established in others, though 
rebellion actually prevails in those others, 
without an extraordinary interposition of the 
supreme legislative authority itself. 

I have already quoted from Sir Matthew 
Hale his position respecting the two-fold 
operation of martial law ; — as it aflects the 
army of the power which exercises it, and 
as it acts against the army of the enemy. 
That great Judge, happily unused to stand- 
ing armies, and reasonably prejudiced against 
mihtary jurisdiction, does not pursue his dis- 
tinction through all its consequences, and 
assigns a ground for the whole, which will 
support only one of its parts. " The neces- 
sity of order and discipline in an army," is, 
according to him, the reason why the law 
tolerates this departure from its most valu- 
able rules; but this necessity only justifies 
the exercise of martial law over the army 
of our own state. One part of it has since 
been annually taken out of the common law, 
and provided forby the Mutiny Act, which 
subjects the military offences of soldiers 
only to punishment by military courts, even 
in time of peace. Hence we may now be 
said annually to legalise military law ; which, 
however, differs essentiall)' from martial law, 
in being confined to offences against military' 
discipline, and in not extending to any per- 
sons but those who are' members of the 
army. 

Martial law exercised against enemies or 
rebels cannot depend on the same principle ; 



CASE OF MISSIONARY SMITH. 



for it is certainly not intended to enforce or 
preserve discipline among them. It seems 
to me to be only a more regular and conve- 
nient mode of exercising the right to kill in 
war, — a right originating in self-defence, 
and limited to those cases -where such kill- 
ing is necessary, as the means of insuring 
that end. Martial law put in force against 
rebels, can only be excused as a mode of 
more deliberately and equitably selecting 
the persons from whom quarter ought to be 
withheld, in a case vvhere all have foi feited 
their claim to it. It is nothing more than a 
sort of belter regulated decimation, founded 
upon choice, instead of chance, in order to 
provide for the safety of the conquerors, with- 
out the horrors of undistinguished slaughter: 
it is justifiable only where it is an act of 
mercy. Thus the matter stands by the law 
of nations. But by the law of England, it 
cannot be exercised except where the juris- 
diction of courts of justice is interrupted by 
violence. Did this necessity exist at Deme- 
rara on the 13th of October, 1823. Was it 
on that day impossible for the courts of law 
to try offences 1 It is clear that, if the case 
be tried by the law of England, and unless 
an affirmative answer can be given to these 
questions of fact, the Court-martial had no 
legal power to try Mr. Smith. 

Now, Sir, I must in the first place remark, 
that General Murray has himself expressly 
■waived the plea of necessity, and takes merit 
to himself for having brought Mr. Smith to 
trial before a court-martial, as the most pro- 
bable mode of securing impartial justice, — 
a statement which would be clearly an at- 
tempt to obtain commendation under false 
pretences, if he had no choice, and was 
compelled by absolute necessity to recur to 
martial law: — "In bringing this man (Mr. 
Smith) to trial, under present circumstances, 
I have endeavoured to secure to him the 
advantage of the most cool and dispassionate 
consideration, by framing a court entirely of 
ofRcers of the army, who, having no interests 
in the country, are without the bias of pub- 
lic opinion, which is at present so violent 
against Mr. Smith."* This paragraph I con- 
ceive to be an admission, and almost a boast, 
that the trial by court-martial was a matter 
of choice, and therefore not of necessity ; 
and I shall at present say nothing more on 
it, than earnestly to beseech the House to 
remark the evidence which it affords of the 
temper of the colonists, and to bear in mind 
the inevitable influence of that furious tem- 
per on the prosecutors who conducted the 
accusation, — on the witnesses who supported 
it by their testimony, — on the ofRcers of the 
Court-martial, who could have no other asso- 
ciates or friends but among these prejudiced 
and exasperated colonists. With what sus- 
picion and jealousy ought we not to regard 
such proceedings'? What deductions ought 
to be made from the evidence ? How little 

* General Murray (Governor of Demerara) to 
Earl Bathurst, 21st of October, 1823. 



can we trust the fairness of the prcsecuiors, 
or the impartiality of the judges'? What 
hope of acquittal could the most innocent 
prisoner entertain ? Such, says in substance 
Governor Murray, was the rage of the in- 
habitants of Demerara against the unfortu- 
nate Mr. Smith, that his only chance of im- 
partial trial required him to be deprived of 
all the safcg-uards which are the birthright 
of British subjects, and to be tried by a juiii- 
cature which the laws and feelings of his 
country alike abhor. 

But the admission of Governor Murray, 
though conclusive against him, is not ne- 
cessary to the argument ; for my Learned 
Friend has already demonstrated that, in 
fact, there was no necessity for a court-m.ar- 
tial on the 13lh of October. From the 31st 
of August, it appears by General Murray's 
letters, that no impediment existed to the or- 
dinary course of law ; "no negroes were in 
arms; no war or battle's sounds v/as heard" 
through the colony. There remained, in- 
deed, a few runaways in the forests behind j 
but we know, from the best authorities,* 
that the forests were never free from bodies 
of these wretched and desperate men m 
those unhappy settlements in Guiana, — 
where, under every government, rebellion 
has as uniformly sprung from cruelty, as 
pestilence has arisen from the marshes. Be- 
fore the 4lh of September, even the detach- 
ment which pursued the deserters into the 
forest had returned into the colony. For 
six weeks, then, before the Court-martial 
was assembled, and for twelve weeks before 
that Court pronounced sentence of death on 
Mr. Smith, all hostility had ceased, no ne- 
cessity for their existence can be pretended, 
and every act which they did was an open 
and deliberate defiance of the law of Eng- 
land. 

Where, then, are we to look for any colour 
of law in these proceedings'? Do they de- 
rive it from the Dutch law 1 I have dili- 
gently examined the Roman law, which is 
the foundation of that system, and the writ- 
ings of those most eminent jurists who have 
contributed so much to the reputation of . 
Holland : — I can find in them no trace of any 
such principle as martial law. Military law, 
indeed, is clearly defined ; and. provision is 
made for the punishment by military judges 
of the purely military olTences of soldiers. 
But to any power of extending military juris- 
diction over those who are not soldiers, there 
is not an allusion. I will not furnish a sub- 
ject for the pleasantries of my Right Honour- 
able Friend, or tempt him into a repetition 
of his former innumerable blunders, by 
naming the greatest of these jurists ;t lest his 
date, his occupation, and his rank might be 
again mistaken ; and the venerable President 
of the Supreme Court of Holland might be 
once more called a "clerk of the States* 



* See Stedman, Bolingbroke, &c. 
. t Bynkershoek, — of whose professional rank 
Mr. Canning had professed ignorance. — Ed. 



642 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



Geneni.l." " Persecutio militis." says that 
learned person, "pertiaet ad juilicem milita- 
remqiiaudo deliclum sit mililare, et ad judi- 
cem coraniunem quando delictum sit com- 
mune." Far fram supposing it to be jxis- 
pible, that those who were not soldiers could 
ever be triable by military courts for crimes 
not military, he expressly declares the law 
and practice of the United Provinces to be, 
that even soldiers are amenable, for ordi- 
nary ofTences against society, to the court of 
Holland and Friesland, of which he was long 
the chief. The law of Holland, therefore, 
does not justify this trial by martial law. 

Nothnig remains but some law of the 
colony itself. Where is if? It is not al- 
leged or alluded to in any part of this trial. 
We have heard nothing of it this evening. 
So unwilling was I to believe that this Court- 
martial woukl dare to act without some pre- 
tence of legal authority, that I suspected an 
authority for martial law would be dugout 
of some dark corner of a Guiana ordinance. 
I knew it was neither in the law of England, 
nor in that of Hollantl ; and I now believe 
that it does not exist even in the law of De- 
merara. The silence of those who are in- 
terested in producing it, is not m}- only rea- 
son for this belief. I happen to have seen 
the instructions of the States-General to their 
Governor of Demerara, hi November, 1792, — 
probably the last ever issued to such an offi- 
cer by that illustrious and memorable as- 
sembly. They speak at large of councils of 
war, both for consultation and for judicature. 
They authorise these councils to try the mili- 
tary offences of soldiers; and therefore, by 
an inference which is stronger than silence, 
authorise us to conclude that the governor 
had no power to subject those who were not 
soldiers to their authority. 

The result, then, is, that the law of Hol- 
land does not allow what is called "martial 
law " in any case ; and that the law of Eng- 
land does not allow it without a necessity, 
which did not exist in the case of Mr. Smith. 
If, then, martial law is not to be justified by 
the law of England, or by the law of Holland, 
or by the law of Demerara, what is there to 
hinder me from affirming, that the members 
of this pretended court had no more right to 
try Mr. Smith than any other fifteen men on 
the face of the earth, — that their acts were 
.nullities, and their meeting a conspiracy, — 
.that their .sentence was a direction to com- 
' mit a crime, — that, if it had been obeyed, it 
would not have been an execution, but a 
murder, — and that they, and all other parties 
engaged in it, must have answered for it with 
their lives. 

I hope, Sir, no man will, in this House, un- 
Ltervalue that part of the case which relates 
to the illegality of the trial. I should be 
sorry to hear any man represent it as an in- 
ferior question, whether we are lo be go- 
verned by law or by will. Every breach of 
law, under pretence of attaining what is cal- 
led "substantial justice," is a step towards 
reducing society under the authority of arbi- 



trary caprice and lawless force. As in many 
other cases of evil-doing, it is not the imnie* 
diate effect, but the •example (which is the 
larger part of the consequences of every act), 
which is most mischievous. If we listen to 
any laiigunge of this sort, we shall do our 
utmost to enconiage governors of colonies to 
discover some specious pretexts of present 
convenience for relieving themselves alto- 
gether, and as often as they wish, from the 
restraints of law. In spite of every legal 
check, colonial administrators are already 
daring enough, from the physical impedi- 
ments which render it nearly impossible to 
reduce their responsibility to practice. If 
we encourage them to proclaim martial law 
without necessity, we shall take away all 
limitations from their power in this depart- 
ment ; for pretences of convenience can sel- 
dom be wauling in a state of society which 
presents any temptation to abuse of power. 

But I am aware. Sir, that I have under- 
taken to maintain the innocence of Mr. Smith, 
as well as to show the unlawfulness and nulli- 
ty of the proceedings against him. I am 
relieved from the necessity of entering at 
large into the facts of his conduct, by the ad- 
mirable and irresistible speech of my Learned 
Frienil, who has already denionslrated the 
virtue and innocence of this unfortunate 
Gentleman, who died the niartjr of his zeal 
for the diffusion of religion, humanity, and 
civilization, among the slaves of Demerara. 
The Honourable Gentleman charges him 
with a want of discretion. Perhaps it may 
be so. That useful quality, which Swilt 
somewhere calls "an alderman-like virtue," 
is deservedly much in esteem among those 
who are "wise in their generation," and to 
whom the prosperity of this world belongs j 
but it is rarely the attribute of heroes and of 
martyrs, — of those who voluntarily sufier for 
faith or freedom, — who perish on the scaffolil 
in attestation of their principles ; — it does not 
animate men to encounter that honourable 
death which the colonists of Dcmeiara were 
.so eager to bestow on Llr. Smith. 

On the question of actual innocence, the 
Honourable Gentleman has either bewildered 
himself, or found it necessary to attemjit to 
bewilder his audience, by involving the case 
in a labyrinth of words, from which I shall 
be able to extricate it by a very few and 
short remarks. The question is, not whelhei 
Mr. Smith was wanting in the highest vigi- 
lance and foresight, but whether he was 
guilty of certain crimes laid to his charge? 
The first charge is, that he promoted discon- 
tent and dissatisfaction among the slaves, 
"intending thereby to excite revolt." The 
Court-martial found him guilty of the fact, 
but not of the intention ; thereby, in com- 
mon sense and justice, acquitting him. The 
second charge is, that, on the 17th of August, 
he consulted with Quamina concerning the 
intended rebellion; and, on the 19th and 
20th, during its progress, he aided and as- 
sisted it by consulting and corresponding 
with Quamina, an insurgent. The Court- 



CASE OF MISSIONARY SMITH. 



543 



martial found him guilty of the acts charged 
on the nth Ji^id 20th, but acquitted him of 
that ch;irged on tlie 19lh. But this chiirge 
is abandoned by the Ilonouiablu Gentleman, 
and, as far as I can learn, will not be sup- 
ported by any one likely to take a part in 
this debate. On the fouilh ciiarge, vhioli, 
in substance, is, that Mr. Smith did not en- 
deavour to make Quamina prisfl^ner on ihe 
the 20lh of August, — the Court-martial have 
found him guilty. But I will not waste the 
time of the House, by throwing away a single 
word upon an accusation which 1 am per- 
suaded no man here will so insult his own 
reputation as to vindicate. 

Th(; third charge, therefore, is the only one 
which re(]uires a moment's discussion. It 
imputes to Mr. Smith, that he previously 
knew of the intended revolt, and did not 
communicate his knowledge to the proper 
authorities. It depends entirely on the same 
evidence which was produced in support of 
the second. It is an oflence analogous to 
what, in our law, is denominated "mis- 

f)rision" of treason ; and it bears the same re- 
ation to an intended revolt of slaves against 
their owners, which misprision in England 
bears to high treason . To suj)port this charge, 
there should be sufhcient evidence of such 
a concealment as would have amounted 
to misprision, if a revolt of slaves against 
their private masters had been high treason. 
Now, it had been positively laid down by 
all the judges of J^ngland, that "one who is 
told only, in general, that there will be a 
rising, without persons or particulars, is not 
bound to disclose.-'* Concealment of the 
avowal of an intention is not misprision, be- 
cause such an avowal is not an overt act of 
high treason. Misprision of treason is a con- 
cealment of an overt act of treason. A con- 
sultation about the means of revolt is un- 
doubtedly an overt act, because it is one of 
the ordinary and necessary means of accom- 
plishing the object: but it is perfectly other- 
wise with a conversation, even though in the 
course of it improper declarations of a gene- 
ral nature should be made. I need not quote 
Hale or Foster in support of positions which 
I believe will not be controverted. Content- 
ing myself with having laid them down, I 
proceed to apply them to the evidence on 
this charge. 

I think myself entitled to lay aside — and, 
indeed, in that I only follow the e.vample of 
the Honourable Gentleman — the testimony 
of the coachman and the groom, which, if 
understood in one sense is incredible, and in 
the other is insignificant. It evidently 
amounts to no more than a remark by Mr. 
Smith, after the insurrection broke out, that 
he had long foreseen danger. The conceal- 
ment of such a general misapprehension, if 
he had concealed it. was no crime ; for it 
would be indeed most inconvenient to magis- 
trates and rulers, and most destructive of the 
quiet of society, if men were bound to com- 
municate to the public authorities every 

• Kelynge, p. 22. 



alarm that might seize the minds of any of 
them. 

But he did not conceal that general appre- 
hension : on the contrary, he did much more 
than stiict h^gal duty required. Divide the 
facts into two parts, those which preceded 
Sunday the 17th of August, and those which 
occurred then and afterwards. I iix on this 
day, because it will not be said, by any one 
whose arguments I should be at the trouble 
of answering, that there is any evidence of 
the existence of a specific plan of re volt pre- 
vious to the 17th of August. What did not 
exist could neither be concealed nor dis- 
closed. But the conduct of Mr. Smith re- 
specting the general apprehensions which he 
entertained before that day is evidence of 
groat importance as to what would have 
b(.'en his probable conduct, if any specific 
])lan had aftervvards been communicated to 
him. If he made every efl'ort to disclose a 
general apprehension, it is not likely that he 
should have deliberately concealed a S])ecific 
plan. It is in that light that I desire the at- 
tention of the House to it. 

It is quite clear that considerable agitation 
had prevailed among the negroes from the 
arrival of Lord Bathnrst's Dispatch in the 
beginning of July. They had heard from 
seamen arrived from England, and by ser- 
vants in the Governor's house, and by the 
angry conversations of their masters, that 
some projects for improving their condition 
had been favourably received in this country. 
They naturally entertained sanguine and ex- 
aggerated hopes of the extent of the i-efor- 
mation. The delay in making the Instruc- 
tions known naturally led the slaves to 
greater exaggerations of the plan, and gra- 
dually filled their minds with angry suspi- 
cions that it was concealed on account of the 
extensive benefits it was to confer. Liberty 
seemed to be offered from England, and 
pushed aside by their masters and rulers at 
Demerara. This irritation could not escape 
the observation of Mr. Smith, and instead of 
concealing it, he early imparted it to a neigh- 
bouring manager and attorney. How comes 
the Honourable Gentleman to have entirely 
omitted the evidence of Mr. Stewart?* It 
appears from his testimony, that Mr. Smith, 
several weeks before the revolt, communi- 
cated to him, (Stewart) the manager of plan- 
tation Success, that alarming rumours about 
the Instructions prevailed among the negroes. 
It appears that Mr. Smith went publicly with 
his friend Mr. Elliott, another missionary, to 
Mr. Stewart, to repeat the information at a 
subsequent period ; and that, in consequence, 
Mr. Stewart, with Mr. Cort, the attorney of 
plantation Success, went on the 8th of August 
to Mr. Smith, who confirmed his previous 
statements, — said that Quamina and other 
negroes had asked whether their freedom 
had come out, — and mentioned that he had 
some thoughts of disabusing them, by telling 
them from the pulpit that their expectations 
of freedom were erroneous. Mr. Cort dis- 



• Trial, &,c., p. 47. 



544 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



suacled him from taking so much upon him- 
self. Is it not evident from this testimony, 
that Mr. Smith had the reverse of an inten- 
tion to conceal the dangerous agitation on or 
before the 8lh of August? It is certain that 
all evidence of his privity or participation 
before that day must be false. He then told 
all that he knew, and offered to do much 
more than he was bound to do. His dis- 
closures were of a nature to defeat a project 
of revolt, or to prevent it from being formed ; 
— he enabled Cort or Stewart to put the Go- 
vernment on their guard. He told no parti- 
culars, because he knew none; but he put 
it into the power of others to discover them 
if they existed. He made these discoveries 
on the 8th of August : what could have 
changed his previous system of conduct in 
the remaining ten days? Nay, more, he put it 
out of his own power to change his conduct 
effectually: it no longer depended on himself 
■whethei' what he knew should not be so per- 
fectly made known to the Government as to 
render all subsequent concealment ineffec- 
tual. He could not even know on the 17th 
whether his conversations with Stewart and 
Cort had not been communicated to the Go- 
vernor, and whether measures hatl not been 
taken, which had either ascertained that the 
agitation no longer generally prevailed, or 
had led to such precautions as could not fail 
to end in the destruction of those who should 
deliberately and criminally conceal the de- 
signs of the insurgents. The crime of mis- 
prision consists in a design to deceive, — 
which, after such a disclosure, it was im- 
possible to ha: hour. If this had related to 
the communication of a formed plan, it might 
be said, that the disclosure to private per- 
sons was not sufiicient, and that he was 
bound to make it to the higher authorities. 
I believe Mr. Cort was a member of the 
Court of Policy. [Here Mr. Gladstone inti- 
mated by a shake of his head that Mr. Cort 
was not.) I yield to the local knowledge of 
my Honourable Friend — if I may venture to 
call him so in our present belligerent rela- 
tions. If Mr. Cort be not a member of the 
Court of Policy, he must have had access to 
its members : — he stated to Mr. Smith the 
reason of their delay to promulgate the In- 
structions; and in a communication which 
related merely to general agitation, Mr. 
Smith could not have chosen two persons 
more likely to be on the alert about a revolt 
of slaves than the manager and attorney of 
a neighbouring plantation. Stewart and Cort 
were also officers of jnilitia. 

A very extraordinary part of this case ap- 
pears in the Demerara Papers (No. II.) to 
which I havo already adverted. Hamilton, 
the manager of plantation Ressouvenir, had, 
it seems, a negro mistress, from whom few 
of his secrets were hid. This lady had the 
singularly inappropriate name of Susannah. 
I am now told that she had been the wife of 
Jack, one of the leaders of the revolt — I have 
no wish to penetrate into his domestic mis- 
fortunes; — at all eventSj Jack kept up a con- 



stant and confidential intercourse whh his 
former friend, even in the elevated station 
which she had attained. She told him (if 
we may believe both him and her) of all 
Hamilton's conversations. By the account 
of Paris, it seems that Hamilton had instruct- 
ed them to destroy the bridges. Susannah 
said that he entreated them to delay the re- 
volt for tw(J weeks, till he could remove his 
things. They told Hamilton not only of the 
intention to rise three weeks before, but of 
the particular time. On Monday morning 
Hamilton told her, that it was useless for 
him to manumit her and her children, as 
she wished, for that all would soon be free; 
and that the Governor kept back the Instruc- 
tions because he was himself a slave-owner. 
Paris and Jack agree in laying to Hamilton's 
charge the deepest participation in their 
criminal designs. If this evidence was be- 
lieved, why was not Hamilton brought to 
trial rather than Smith? If it was disbe- 
lieved, as the far greater part of it must 
have been, why was it concealed from Smith 
that such wicked falsehoods had been con- 
trived against another man, — a circumstance 
which so deeply affects the credit of all the 
negro accomplices, who swore to save their, 
own lives. If, as I am inclined to believe, 
some communications were made through 
Susannah, how hard was the -fate of Mr. 
Smith, who suffers for not promulgating 
some general notions of danger, which, from 
this instance, must have entered through 
manj' channels into the minds of the greater 
number of whites. But, up to the 17th of 
August, it appears that Mr. Smith did not 
content himself with bare disclosure, but 
proffered his services to allay discontent, 
and showed more solicitude than any other 
person known to us, to preserve the peace 
of the communit3\ 

The question now presents itself, which I 
allow constitutes the vital part of this case, 
— Whether any communication was made to 
Mr. Smith on the evening of Sunday the 
17th, of whieh the concealment from his 
superiors was equivalent to what we call 
misprision of treason ? No man can consci- 
entiously vote against the motion who does 
not consider the affirmative as proved. I do 
not say that this would be of itself sufficient 
to negative the motion; I only say, that it is 
indispensably necessary. There would still 
remain behind the illegality of the jurisdic- 
tion, as well as the injustice of the punish- 
ment. And on this latter most important 
part of the case I must here remark, that it 
would not be sufHcient to tell us, that the 
Roman and Dutch law ranked misprision as a 
species of treason, and made it punishable 
by death. It must be shown, not only that 
the Court were by this law entitled to con- 
demn Mr. Smith 1o death, but that they were 
also bound to pronounce such a sentence.' 
For if they had any discretion, it will not be 
said that an English court-martial ought not 
to regulate the exercise of it by the more 
humane and reasonable principles of their 



CASE OF MISSIONARY SMITH. 



54» 



own law, ^vhic}l does not treat misprision as 
a capital offence. 

. . . I am sorry to see that the Honour- 
able Agent for Demerara* has quitted his 
usual place, and has taken a very irnpoitant 
position. I feel no ill-will j but I dread the 
sight of him when pouring poison into the 
ears of the powerful. He is but too formid- 
able in his ordinary station, at the head of 
those troops whom his magical wand brings 
into battle in such numbers as no eloquence 
can match, and no influence but his own can 
command 

Let us now consider the evidence of what 
passed on the 17th of August. And here, 
once more, let me conjure the House to con- 
sider the condition of the witnesses who gave 
that evidence. They were accomplices in 
the revolt, who had no chance of life but 
what acceptable testimony might afford. — 
They knew the fierce, furious hatred, which 
the ruhng part)' had vowed against Mr. Smith. 
They were surrounded by the skeletons of 
their brethren : — they could perhaps hear 
the lash resounding on the bloody backs of 
others, who were condemned to suffer a 
thousand lashes, and to work for life in irons 
under the burning sun of Guiana. They 
lived in a colony where such unexampled 
barbarities were inflicted as a mitigated 
punishment, and held out as acts of mercy. 
Such were the dreadful terrors which acted 
on their minds, and under the mental torture 
of which every syllable of their testimony 
was uttered. There was still another deduc- 
tion to be made from their evidence : — they 
spoke to no palpable facts : the}' gave evi- 
dence only of conversation. "Words," says 
Mr. Justice Foster, "are transient and fleet- 
ing as the wind ; frequently the effects of a 
sudden transport easily misunderstood, and 
often misreported." If he spoke thus of 
words used in the presence of witnesses in- 
telligent, enlightened, and accustomed to ap- 
preciate the force and distinctions of terms, 
what would he have said of the evidence of 
negro slaves, accomplices in the crime, trem- 
bling for their lives, reporting conversations 
of which the whole effect might depend on 
the shades and gradations of words in a lan- 
guage very grossly known to them, — of Eng- 
fish words, uttered in a few hurried moments, 
and in the presence of no other witnesses 
from whom they could dread an expo.sure of 
their falsehood ? It may be safely affirmed, 
that it is difficult for imagination to conceive 
admissible evidence of lower credit, and 
more near the verge of utter rejection. 

But what, after all, is the sum of the evi- 
dence ■? It is, that the negroes who followed 
Mr. Smith from church on Sunday the 17th, 
spoke to him of some design which they en- 
tertained for the next day. It is not pre- 
tended that time, or place, or persons, were 
mentioned : — the contrary is sworn. Mr. 



* Mr. William Holmes, who was also the Trea- 
sury " whipper-in," was for the moment seated 
next, and whispering to, Mr. Canning. — Ed. 
69 



Smith, who was ac customed for six weeks 
to their murmurs, and had before been suc- 
cessful in dis.=uading them from violence, 
contents himself with repeating the same 
dissuasives. — believes he has again succeed- 
ed in persuading them to remain quiet, — and 
abstains for twenty-four hours from any new 
communication of designs altogether vague 
and undigested, which he hoped would eva- 
porate, as others of the same kind had done, 
without any serious effects. The very utmost 
that he seems to have apprehended was, a 
plan for obliging, or '•' driving," as they called 
it, their managers to join in an application to 
the Governor on the subject of the new law, 
— a kind of proceeding which had more than 
once occurred; both under the Dutch and 
English governments. It appears from the 
witnesses for the prosecution, that they had 
more than once gone to Mr. Smith before on 
the same subject, and that his answer was 
always the same ; and that some of the more 
exasperated negroes were so dissatisfied with 
his exhortations to submission, that they 
cried out. '-'Mr. Smith was making them 
fools, — that he would not deny his own colour 
for the sake of black people." Quamina 
appears to have shown at all times a more 
than ordinary deference towards his pastor. 
He renewed these conversations on the even- 
ing of Sunday the 17th. and told Mr. Smith, 
who again exhorted them to patience, that 
two of the more violent negroes. Jack and 
Joseph, spoke of taking their liberty by force. 
I desire it to be particularly observed, that 
this intention, or even violent language, ap- 
pears to have been attributed only to two, 
and that in such a manner as naturally to 
exclude the rest. Mr. Smith again repeated 
the advice which had hitherto proved effica- 
cious. " He told them to wait, and not to be 
so foolish. How do you mean that they 
should take it by force 1 You cannot do any 
thing with the white people, because the 
soldiers will be more strong than you ; there- 
fore you had better wait. You had better 
go and tell the people, and Christians parti- 
cularly, that they had better have nothing to 
do with it." When Mr. Smith spoke of the 
resistance of the soldiers, Quamina, with an 
evident view to persuade Mr. Smith that no- 
thing was intended which would induce the 
military to proceed to the last extremity, 
observed, that they would drive the mana- 
gers to town ; which, by means of the ex- 
pedient of a general "strike" or refusal to 
work, appears to have been the project spoken 
of by most of the slaves. To this observation 
Mr. Smith justly answered, that even if they 
did <•' drive" the managers to town, they 
'• would not be able to go against the sol- 
diers," who would very properly resist such 
tumultuary and dangerous movements. Be 
it again observed, that Bristol, the chief wit- 
ness for the prosecution, clearly distinguishes 
this plan from that of Jack and Joseph, " who 
intended to fight with the white people." I 
do not undertake to determine whether the 
more desperate measure was at that time 
2v2 



546 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



confined to these two men : it is sufficient 
for me that such was the representation made 
to Mr. Smith. Whoever fairly compares the 
evidence of Bristol with that of Seaton will, 
I think, find the general result to be such as 
I have now stated. It is true, that there are 
contradictions between them, which, in the 
case of witnesses of another caste, might be 
considered as altogether subversive of their 
credit. But I make allowance for their fears, 
— for their confusion. — for their habitual in- 
accuracy, — for their ignorance of the lan- 
guage, — for their own incorrectness, if they 
gave evidence in English, — for that of the 
interpreters, if they employed any other lan- 
guage. In return, I expect that no fair op- 
ponent will rely on minute circumstances, — 
that he will also allow the benefit of all 
chances of inaccuracy to the accused. — and 
that he will not rely on the manner, \vhere 
a single word, mistaken or misremembered. 
might make the whole difference between 
the most earnest and the faintest dissuasive. 

I do not know what other topics Mr. Smith 
could have used. He appeals to their pru- 
dence : '-the soldiers," says he, " will over- 
come your vain revolt." He appeals to their 
sense of religion : — " as Christians you ought 
not to use violence." What argument re- 
mained, if both these failed 1 What part of 
human nature could he have addressed, 
where neither danger could deter, nor duty 
restrain 1 He spoke to their conscience and 
to their fears : — surely admonition could go 
no further. There is not the least appear- 
ance that these topics were not urged with 
as perfect good faith, as they must have been 
in those former instances where he demon- 
strated his sincerity by the communications 
which he made to Stewart and Cort. His 
temper of mind on this subject continued, 
then, to be the same on the evening of the 
17th that it had been before. And, if so, 
how absolutely incredible it is, that he should, 
on that night, and on the succeeding morn- 
ing, advisedly, coolly, and malignantly, form 
the design of hiding a treasonable plot con- 
fidentially imparted to him by the conspira- 
tors, in order to lull the vigilance of the 
Government, and commit himself and his 
countrymen to the mercy of exasperated and 
triumphant slaves ! 

I have already stated the reasons which 
might have induced him to believe that he 
had once more succeeded in dissuading the 
negroes from violence. Was he inexcusable 
in overrating his own ascendant, — in over- 
estimating the docility of his converts, — in 
relying more on the efficacy of his religious 
instructions than men of more experience 
and colder temper would deem reasonable ? 
I entreat the House to consider whether this 
self-deception be improbable ; for if he be-' 
lieved that he had been successful, and that 
the plan of tumult or revolt was abandoned, 
would it not have been the basest and most 
atrocious treachery to have given such in- 
formation as might have exposed the de- 
fenceless slaves to punishments of unparal- 



leled cruelty, for offences which they had 
meditated, but from which he believed that 
he had reclaimed them 1 Let me for a mo- 
ment again remind the House of the facts 
which give such weight to this considera- 
tion. He lived in a colony where, for an in- 
surrection in which no while man Avas wan- 
tonly or deliberately put to death, and no 
property was intentionally destroyed or even 
damaged, I know not how many negroes 
perished on the gibbet, and others, — under 
the insolent; atrocious, detestable pretext of 
mercy ! — suffered a thousand lashes, and 
were doomed to hard labour in irons for life, 
under the burning sun, and among the pes- 
tilential marshes of Guiana? These dread- 
ful cruelties, miscalled punishments, did in- 
deed occur after the 17lh of August. But 
he, whose "heart had fluttered from the in- 
cessant cracking of the whip," must have 
strongly felt the horrors to which he was ex- 
posing his unhappy flock by a hasty or need- 
less disclosure of projects excited by the 
impolitic delay of their rulers. Every good 
man must have wished to find the informa- 
tion unnecessary. Would not Mr. Smith 
have been the most unworthy of pastors, if 
he had not desired that such a cup might 
pass from him ? And if he felt these be- 
nevolent desires, — if he recoiled with horror 
from putting these poor men into the hands 
of what in Demerara is called justice, there 
was nothing in the circumstances which 
might not have seemed to him to accord with 
his wishes. Even without the influence of 
warm feeling, I do not think that it would 
have been unreasonable for any man to 
believe that the negroes had fully agreed to 
wait. Nay, I am convinced that with Qua- 
mina Mr. Smith was successful. Quamina, 
I believe, used his influence to prevent the 
revolt ; and it was not till after he was ap- 
prehended on Monday, on unjust suspicions, 
and was rescued, that he took refuge among 
the revolters, and was at last shot by the 
soldiery when he was a runaway in the 
forest, — a fact which was accepted by the 
Court-martial as the sufficient, though sole, 
evidence of his being a ringleader in the 
rebellion. 

The whole period during which it is ne- 
cessary to account for Mr. Smith's not com- 
municating to the Government an immature 
project, of which he knew no particulars, 
and which he might well believe to be aban- 
doned, is a few hours in the morning of Mon- 
day; for it is proved by the evidence of 
Hamilton, that he was informed of the in- 
tended revolt by a Captain Simson, at one 
o'clock of that day, in George-Town, the 
seat of government, at some miles distant 
from the scene of action. It was then so 
notorious, that Hamilton never dreamt of 
troubling the Governor with such needless 
intelligence ; yet this was only four or five 
hours later than the time when Mr. Smith 
was held to be bound, under pain of death, 
to make such a communication ! The Go- 
vernor himself, in his dispatches, said that 



CASE OF MISSIONARY SMITH. 



5.47 



he had received the information, but did not 
believe it.* This disbelief, however, could 
not have been of long duialioii; for active 
measures were taken, and JVIr. Stewart ap- 
prehended Quamina and his son Jack a little 
after three o'clock on Monday ; which, con- 
sidering the distance, necessarily implies 
that some general order of that nature had 
been issued by the Government at George- 
Town not long after noon on that day.t As 
ail these proceedings occurred before Mr. 
Smith received the note from Jack of Doch- 
four about half an hour before the revolt, I 
lay that fact out of the case, as wholly im- 
material. The interview of Mr. Smith with 
Quamina, on the 19th of August, is nega- 
tived by the finding of the Court-martial : — 
that on the 20th will be relied on by no man 
in this House, because there is not the slight- 
est proof, nor, indeed, probability, that the 
conversation at that interview was not per- 
fectly innocent. Nothing, then, called for 
e.vplanation but the conversation of Sunday 
evening, and the silence of Monday morning, 
which I think I have satisfactorily explained, 
as fully as my present strength will allow, 
and much more so than the speech of my 
Learned Friend left it necessary to do. 

There is one other circumstance which 
occurred on Sunday, and which I cannot pass 
over in silence : — it is the cruel perversion 
of the beautiful text from the Gospel on 
which Mr. Smith preached his last sermon. 
That circumstance alone evinces the incura- 
ble prejudice against this unfortunate man, 
which so far blinded his prosecutors, that 
they actually represent him as choosing that 
most affecting lamentation over the fall of 
Jeru.salem, in order to e.vcite the slaves to 
accomplish the destruction of Demerara. The 
lamentation of one who loved a country was 
by them thought to be selected to stimulate 
those who were to destroy a country; — as if 
tragical reprehensions of the horrors of an 
assault were likely to be exhibited in the 
camp of the assailants the night before they 
were to storm a city. It is wonderful that 
these prosecutors should not have perceived 
that such a choice of a text would have been 
very natural for Mr. Smith, only on the sup- 
position that he had been full of love and 
compassion and alarm for the European in- 
habitants of Demerara. The simple truth 
was, that the estate was about to be sold, 
the negroes to be scattered over the colony 
by auction, and that, — by one of those some- 
what forced analogies, which may appear to 
me unreasonable, but which men of the 
most sublime genius as well as fervent piety 
have often applied to the interpretation of 
Scripture, — he likened their sad dispersion, 
in connection with their past neglect of the 
means of improvement, and the chance of 
their now losing all religious consolation and 
instruction, to the punishment inflicted on 
the Jews by the conquest and destruction of 
Jerusalem. 



* Demerara Papers, No. II. p. 1. t Ibid., p. 70. 



In what I have now addressed to the 
House, I have studiously abstained from all 
discussions of those awful questions which 
relate to the general structure of colonial so- 
ciety. I am as adverse as any one to the 
sudden emancipation of slaves, — much out 
of regard to the masters, but still more, as 
afl"ecting a far larger portion of mankind, out 
of regard to the unhappy slaves themselves. 
Emancipation by violence and revolt I con- 
sider as the greatest calamity that can visit 
a community, except perpetual slavery. I 
should not have so deep an abhorrence of 
that wretched state, if I did not regard it as 
unfitting slaves for the safe exercise of the 
common rights of mankind. I should be 
grossly inconsistent with myself, if, believing 
this corrupt and degrading power of slavery 
over the mind to be the worst of all its evils, 
I were not very fearful of changes which 
would set free those beings, whom a cruel 
yoke had transformed into wild beasts, only 
that they might tear and devour each other. 
I acknowledge that the pacific emancipation 
of great multitudes thus wretchedly circum- 
stanced is a problem so arduous as to per- 
plex and almost silence the reason of man. 
Time is undoubtedly necessary; and I shall 
never object to time if it be asked in good 
faith. If I be convinced of the sincerity of 
the reformer, I will not object to the reforma- 
tion merely on account of the time which it 
requires. But I have a right to be jealous 
of every attempt which, under pretence of 
asking time for reformation, may only aim at 
evading urgent demands, and indefinitely 
procrastinating the deliverance of men from 
bondage. 

And here, Sir, I should naturally close; 
but I must be permitted to relate the subse- 
quent treatment of Mr. Smith, because it 
reflects back the strongest light on the inten- 
tions and dispositions of those who prose- 
cuted him. and of those who ratified the sen- 
tence of death. They who can cruelly treat 
the condemned, are not in general scrupu- 
lous about convicting the innocent. I have 
seen the widow of this unhappy suff"erer, — 
a pious and amiable woman, w^orthy to be 
the helpmate of her martyred husband, dis- 
tinguished by a calm and clear understand- 
ing, and, as far as I could discover, of great 
accuracy, anxious rather to understate facts, 
and to counteract every lurking disposition 
to exaggerate, of which her judgment and 
humility might lead her to suspect herself. 
She told me her story with temper and sim- 
plicity ; and, though I ventured more near to 
cross examination in my inquiries than de- 
licacy would, perhaps, in any less important 
case have warranted, I saw not the least rea 
son to distrust the exactness, any more than 
the honesty, of her narrative. Within a few 
days of his apprehension, Mr. Smith and his 
wife were closely confined in two small rooms 
at the top of a building, with only the out- 
ward roof between them and the sun, when 
the thermometer in the shade at their resi- 
dence in the country stood at an average of 



548 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



eighty-three degrees of Fahrenheit. There 
they were confined from August to October, 
with two sentries at the door, which was 
kept open day and night. These sentries, 
who were relieved every two hours, had 
orders at every relief to call on the prisoner, 
to ascertain by his answer that he had not 
escaped. Thegenerahty, of course, executed 
their orders : " a few, more humane," said 
Mrs. Smith, "contented themselves during 
the night with quietly looking into the bed." 
Thus was he, under a mortal disease, and 
his wife, with all the delicacy of her sex, 
confined for two months, without seeing a 
human face except those of the sentries, and 
of the absolutely necessary attendants : — no 
physician, no friends to console, no legal ad- 
viser to guide the prisfjuer to the means of 
proving his innocence, no mitigation, no 
solace ! The first human face which she 
saw, was that of the man who came to bear 
tidings of accusation, and trial, and death, to 
her husband. I asked her, " whether it was 
possible that the Governor knew that they 
were in this state of desolation?" She an- 
swered, " that she did not know, for nobody 
came to inquire after them !" He was after- 
wards removed to apartments on the ground 
floor, the damp of which seems to have has- 
tened his fate. Mrs. Smith was set at large, 
but obliged to ask a daily permission to see 
her husband for a limited time, and if I re- 
member right, before witnesses ! After the 
packet had sailed, and when there was no 
longer cause to dread their communication 
with England, she was permitted to have un- 
restricted access to him, as long as his inter- 
course with earthly things endured. At 
length he was mercifully released from his 
woes. The funeral was ordered to take place 
at two o'clock in the morning, that no sor- 
rowing negroes might follow the good man's 
corpse. The widow desired to accompany 
the remains of her husband to the grave : — 
even this sad luxury was prohibited. The 
officer declared that his instructions were 
peremptory: Mrs. Smith bowed with the 
silent submission of a broken -heart. Mrs. 
Elliot, her friend and companion, not so 
borne down by sorrow, remonstrated. "Is 
it possible," she said, " That General Murray 
can have forbidden a poor widow from fol- 
lov/ing the coffin of her husband." The 
officer again answered that his orders were 
peremptory. "At all events," said Mrs. 
Elliot, " he cannot hinder us from meeting 
the coffin at the grave." Two negroes bore 
the coffin, with a single lantern going before ; 
and at fonr o'clock in the morning, the two 
women met it in silent anguish at The grave, 
and poured over the remains of the perse- 
cuted man that tribute which nature pays to 
the rr.emory of those whom we love. Two 
negro workmen, a carpenter and a brick- 
layer, — who had been members of his con- 
gregation, — were desirous of being permitted 
to protect and distinguish the spot where 
their benefactor reposed : — 



" That ev'n his bones from insult to protect, 
Some frail memorial, still erected nigh, 
With uficouih rhymes and shapeless sculptitra 

deckt. 
Might claim the passing tribute of a sigh."* 

They began to rail in and to brick over the 
grave : but as soon as this intelligence reach- 
ed the First Fiscal, his Hononr was pleased 
to forbid the work ; he ordered the bricks to 
be taken np, the railing to be torn down, and 
the whole frail memorial of gratitude and 
piety to be destroyed ! 

"English vengeance wars not with the 
dead :" — it is not so in Guiana. As they 
began, so they concluded j and at least it 
must be owned that they were consistent in 
their treatment of the living and of the dead. 
They did not stop here : a few days after the 
death of Mr. Smith, they passed a vote of 
thanks to Mr. President Wray, for his ser- 
vices during the insurrection, which. I fear, 
consisted entirely in his judicial acts as a 
member of the Court-martial. It is the 
single instance, I believe, in tlie history of 
the world, where a popular meeting thanked 
a judge for his share in a trial which closed 
with a sentence of death ! I must add, with 
sincere regret, that Mr. Wray, in an unad- 
vised moment, accepted these tainted thanks, 
and expressed his gratitude for them. Shortly 
after they did their utmost to make him re- 
pent, and be ashamed of his rashness. I 
hold in my hand a Demerara newspaper, 
containing an account of a meeting, which 
must have been held with the knowledge of 
the Governor, and among whom I see nine 
names, which from the prefix " Honourable," 
belong, I presume, to persons who were 
members either of the Court of Justice or 
of the Court of Policy. It was an assembly 
which must be taken to represent the co- 
lony. Their first proceeding was a Declara- 
tion of Independence : — they resolved, that 
the King and Parliament of Great Britain 
had no right to change their laws without 
the consent of their Court of Policy. They 
founded this pretension, — which would be 
so extravagant and insolent, if it were not 
so ridiculous, — on the first article of the 
Capitulation now lying before me, bearing 
date on the 19th of September, 1803, by 
which it was stipulated that no new esta- 
blishments should be introtluced without the 
consent of the Court of Policy, — as if a mili- 
tary commander had any power to perpetuate 
the civil constitution of a conquered country, 
and as if the subsequent treaty had not ceded 
Demerara in full soA'ereignty to his Majesty. 
I should have disdained to notice such a de- 
claration if it were not for what followed. 
This meeting took place eighteen da)-s after 
the death of Mr. Smith. It might be hoped, 
that, if their hearts were not touched by his 
fate, at least their hatred might have been 
buried in his grave ; but they showed how 
little chance of justice he had when living 

* Gray's Elegy.— Ed. 



ON THE RECOGNITION OF THE SPAN LSH- AMERICAN STATES. 



549 



within the sphere of their influence, by their 
rancorous persecution of his memory after 
death. Eighteen days after he had expired in 
a dungeon, they passed a resolution of strong 
condemnation against two names not often 
joined, — the London Missionary Society and 
Lord Bathurstj — the Society, because they 
petitioned for mercy (for that is a crime in 
their eyes), — Lord Bathurst, because he ad- 
vised His Majesty to dispense it to Mr. Smith. 
With an ignorance suitable to their other 
qualities, they consider the exercise of mercy 
as a violation of justice. They are not con- 



tent with persecuting their victim to death ; 

— they arraign nature, which released him, 

and justice, in the form of mercy, which 

would have delivered him out of their hands. 

Not satisfied with his life, they are incensed 

at not being able to brand his memory, — to 

I put an ignominious end to his miseries and 

to hang up his skeleton on a gibbet, whicft, 

j as often as it waved in the winds, should 

I warn every future missionary to fly from 

such a shore, and not dare to enter that colony 

to preach the doctrines of peace, of justice, 

and of mercy ! 



SPEECH 



0» PRESENTING A PETITION FROM THE MERCHANTS OF LONDON FOR THE RECOGNITION 0» 

THE INDEPENDENT STATES 

-ESTABLISHED IN THE COUNTRIES OF AMERICA FORMERLY SUBJECT TO SPAIN. 
DELIVERED IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS, ON THE 15tH OF JUNE, 1824. 



Sclt . - . , 

Unde petal Romam, libertas ultima mundi 
Quo steterit ferienda loco. — Fharsalia, lib. vii.. 579. 
*' As for the wars anciently made on behalf of a parity or tacit conformity of estate, — to set up or 
pull down democracies and oligarchies, — I do not see how ihey may be well justified." — Bacon, 
Essay on the True Greatness of Kingdoms. 



Mr. Speaker, — I hold in my hand a Peti- 
tion from the Merchants of the City of London 
who are engaged in trade with the countries 
of America formerly subject to the crown of 
Spain, praying that the House would adopt 
such measures as to them may seem meet 
to induce His Majesty's Government to re- 
cognise the independence of the states in 
those countries which have, in fact, esta- 
blished independent governments. 

In presenting this Petition, I think it right 
to give the House such information as I pos- 
sess relating to the number and character of 
the Petitioners, that it may be seen how far 
they are what they profess to be, — what are 
their means of knowledge, — what are likely 
to be the motives of their application,— what 
faith is due to their testimony, and what 
\veight ought to be allowed to their judg- 
ment. Their number is one hundred and 
seventeen. Each of them is a member of a 
considerable commercial house interested in 
the trade to America; the Petition,.therefore, 
conveys the sentiments of three or four hun- 
dred merchants. The signatures were col- 
lected in two days, without a public meeting. 
or even an advertisement. It was confined 
to the American merchants, but the Petition- 
ers have no reason to believe that any mer- 
chant in London would have declined to put 



his name to it. I am but imperfectly quali- 
fied to estimate the importance and station 
of the Petitioners. Judging" from common 
information, I should consider many of them 
as in the first rank of the mercantile com- 
munity. I see among them the firm of 
Baring and Company, which, without dis- 
paragement to any others, may be placed a;t 
the head of the commercial establishments 
of the world. I see also the firms of Herring, 
Powles, and Company ; of Richardson and 
Company; Goldsmid and Company; Monte- 
fiore and Company; of Mr. Benjamin Shaw, 
who, as Chairman of Lloyd's Cofl"ee-house. 
represents the most numerous and diversified 
interests of traffic; together with many others 
not equally known to me, but whom, if I did 
know, I have no doubt that I might with 
truth describe as persons of the highest mer- 
cantile respectability. I perceive among 
them the name of Rieardo, which I shall 
ever honour, and which I cannot now pro- 
nounce without emotion.* In a word, the 
Petitioners are the City of London. They 
contain individuals of all political parties ; 
they are deeply interested in the subject, — 
perfectly conversant with all its commercial 

* Mr. Rieardo had died on the lllh oi Septem 
ber preceding. — Ed. 



550 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



bearings; and they could not fill the high 
place where they stand, if they were not 
as much distinguished by intelligence and 
probity, as by those inferior advantages of 
wealth which with them are not fortunate 
accidents, but proofs of personal worth and 
professional merit. 

If, Sir, it had been my intention to enter 
fully on this subject, and especially to dis- 
cuss it adversely to the King's Government, 
I might have chosen a diiferent form of pre- 
senting it to the House. But though I am 
and ever shall be a member of a party asso- 
ciated, as I conceive, for preserving the liber- 
ties of the kingdom, I present this Petition 
in the spirit of those by whom it is sub- 
scribed, in the hope of relieving that anxious 
desire which pervades the commercial world, 
— and which is also shared by the people of 
England, — that the present session may not 
close without some discussion or some expla- 
nation on this important subject, as far as 
that explanation can be given without incon- 
venience to the public service. For such a 
purpose, the presentation of a petition affords 
a convenient opportunity, both because it 
implies the absence of any intention to blame 
the past measures of Government as foreign 
from the wishes of the Petitioners, and be- 
cause it does not naturally require to be fol- 
lowed by any motion which might be repre- 
sented as an invasion of the prerogative of 
the Crown, or as a restraint on the discretion 
of its constitutional advisers. 

At the same time I must add, that in what- 
ever form or at whatever period of the ses- 
sion I had brought this subject forward, I do 
not think that I should have felt myself call- 
ed upon to discuss it in a tone very different 
from that which the nature of the present 
occasion appears- to me tO' require. On a 
question of policy, where various opinions 
may be formed about the past, and where 
the only important part is necessarily pros- 
pective^ I should naturally have wished to 
speak in a deliberative temper. However 
nauch I might lament the delays which had 
occurred in the recognition of the American 
States, I could hardly have gone further than 
strongly to urge that the time w^as now at 
least come for more decisive measures. 

With respect, indeed, to the State Papers 
laid before us, I see nothing in them to blame 
or to regret, unless it be that excess of ten- 
derness and forbearance towards the feelings 
and pretensions of European Spain which the 
Despatches themselves acknowledge. In all 
other respects, I can ojily describe them as 
containing a body of liberal maxims of policy 
and just principles of pubhc law, expressed 
with a precision, a circumspection, and a dig- 
nity which will always render them models 
and master-pieces of diplomatic composi- 
tion.* Far from assailing these valuable 

* They were among the first papers issued from 
the Foreign Office, alter the accession to office of 
Mr. Canning, and represented the spirit of his — 
as distinguished from the preceding Castlereagh 
policy. — Ev. 



documents, it is my object to uphold theii 
doctrines, to reason from their principles, and 
to contend for nothing more than that the 
future policy of England on this subject may 
be governed by them. On them I rest : from 
them seems to me to flow every consequence 
respecting the future, which I think most 
desirable. I should naturally have had no 
other task than that of quoting them, of 
showing the stage to which they had con- 
ducted the'question, of unfolding their import 
where they are too short for the generality 
of readers, and of enforcing their application 
to all that yet remains undone. But scm.e- 
thing more is made necessary by the confu- 
sion and misconception which prevail on one 
part of this subject. I have observed Avith 
astonishment, that per.sons otherwise well 
informed should here betray a forgetfulness 
of the most celebrated events in history, and 
an unacquaintance with the plainest princi- 
ples of international law, which I should not 
have thought possible if I had not known it 
to be real. I am therefore obliged to justify 
these State Papers before I appeal to them. 
I must go back for a moment to those ele- 
mentary principles which are so grossly mis- 
understood. 

And first, Sir, with respect to the term 
"recognition," the introduction of which 
into these discussions has proved the princi- 
pal occasion of darkness and error. It is a 
term which is used in two senses so different 
from each other as to have nothing very im- 
portant in common. The first, which is the' 
true and legitimate sense of the word "re- 
cognition," as a technical term of interna- 
tional law, is that in which it denotes the 
explicit acknowledgment of the independ- 
ence of a country by a state which formerly 
exercised sovereignty over it. Spain has 
been doomed to exhibit more examples of 
this species of recognition than any other 
European state ; of which the most memora- 
ble cases are her acknowledgment of the 
independence of Portugal and Holland. This 
country also paid the penalty of evil councils 
in that hour of folly and infatuation which 
led to a hostile separation between the 
American Colonies and their mother country. 
Such recognitions are renunciations of sove- 
reignty, — surrenders of the power or of the 
claim to govern. 

But we, who are as foreign to the Spanish 
states in America as we are to Spain herself^ 
— who never had any more authority over 
them than over her, — have in this case no 
claims to renounce, no power to abdicate, no 
sovereignty to resign, no legal rights to con- 
fer. What we have to do is therefore not 
recognition in its first and most strictly proper 
sense. It is not by formal stipulations or 
solemn deglarations that we are to recognise 
the American states, but by measures of 
practical policy, which imply that we ac- 
knowledge their independence. Our recog- 
nition is virtual. The most conspicuous part 
of such a recognition, is the act >f sending 
and receiving diplomatic agents. It implies 



ON THE RECOGNITION OF THE SPANISH-AMERICAN STATES. 



551 



no guarantee, no alliance, no aid, no appro- 
bationof the successful revolt, — no intimation 
of an opinion concerning the justice or injus- 
tice of the means by which it has been ac- 
complished. These are matters beyond our 
jurisdiction. It would be an usurpation in 
us to sit in judgment upon them. As a state, 
we can neither condemn nor justify revolu- 
tions which do not affect our safety, and are 
not amenable to our laws. We deal with 
the authorities of new states on the same 
principles and for the same object as with 
those of old. We consider them as govern- 
ments actually exercising authority over the 
people of a country, with whom we are 
called upon to maintain a regular intercourse 
by diplomatic agents for the interests of 
Great Britain, and for the security of British 
subjects. Antiquity affords a presumption 
of stability, which, like all other presump- 
tions, may and does fail in particular in- 
stances 3 but in itself it is nothing, and when 
it ceases to indicate stability, it ought to be 
regarded by a foreign country as of no ac- 
count. The tacit recognition of a new stiite, 
with whi-ch alone I am now concerned, not 
being a judgment for the new government, 
or against the old, is not a deviation from 
perfect neutrality, or a cause of just ofi'ence 
to the dispossessed ruler.* When Great 
Britain recognised the United States, it was 

* These doctrines are so indispuiabie, that they 
are not controverted even by the jurists of the 
Holy Alliance, whose writings in every other re- 
spect bear the most ignominious marks of the 
servitude of the human understanding under the 
empire ofihit confederacy. Martens, who in the 
iast edition of his Summary of International Law 
has sacrificed even the principle of national inde- 
pendence (liv. iii. c. ij. s. 74), without which no 
such law could be conceived, yet speaks as follows 
on recognitions : — " Quant a la simple reconnais- 
sance, il seinble qu'une nation etrangere, n'etant 
pas obligee a juger de la legiiimite, peut toutes 
les fois qu'elle est douteuse se permettre de s'at- 
tacher an seul fait de la possession, et trailer 
comme independant de son ancien gouvernement, 
I'etat ou la province qui jouit dans le fait de I'inde- 
pendance, sans blesser par la les devoirs d'une 
rigoureuse neutralite." — Precis du Droit des Gens, 
liv. iii. c. ii. s. 80. Gottingen, 1821. Yet a com- 
parison of the above sentence with the parallel 
passage of the same book in the edition of 1789 is 
a mortifying specimen of the decline of liberty of 
opinion in Europe. Even Kluber, the publisher 
of the proceedings of the Congress of Vienna, 
assents to the same doctrine, though he insidiously 
contrives the means of evading it by the insertion 
of one or two ambiguous words: — "La soiive- 
rainete est acquise par un etat, ou lors de sa fon- 
dalion ou bien lorsqu'il se degage legitimement de 
la dependance dans laquelle il se trouvait. Pour 
Stre valide, elle n'a pas besoin d'etre reconnue ou 
garantie par une puissance quelconque : pourvu 
que la possession ne soit pas vicieuse." — Droit des 
Gens, part i. c. i. s. 23. Mr. Kluber would find it 
difficult to answer the question, " Who-is to judse 
whether the acquisition of independence be legiti- 
mate, or its possession d/c/oms .?" And it is evident 
that the latter qualification is utterly unmeaning ; 
for if there be an original fault, which vitiates the 
possession of independence, it cannot be removed 
ijy foreign recognition, which, according to this 
writer himself, is needless where the independence 



a concession by the recognising Power, the 
object of which was the advantage and se- 
curity of the government recognised. But 
when Great Britain (I hope very soon) recog- 
nises the states of Spanish America, it will 
not be as a concession to them, for they need 
no such recognition; but it will be for her 
own sake, — to promote her own interest, — to 
protect the trade and navigation of her sub- 
jects, — to acquire the best means of cul- 
tivating friendly relations with important 
countries, and of composing by immediate 
negotiation those differences which might 
otherwise terminate in war. Are th*se new 
doctrines? — quite the contrary. They are 
founded on the ancient practice of Europe. 
They have been acted upon for more than 
two centuries by England as well as other 
nations. 

I have already generally alluded. Sir, to 
the memorable and glorious revolt by which 
the United Provinces of the Netherlands 
threw off the yoke of Spain. Nearly four- 
score years passed from the beginning of 
that jnst insurrection to the time when a 
recognition of independence was at last ex- 
torted from Castilian pride and obstinacy. 
The people of the Netherlands first took up 
arms to obtain the redress of intolerable 
grievances; and for many years they for- 
bore from proceeding to the last extremity 
against their tyrannical king.* It was not 
till Philip had formally proscribed the Prince 
of Orange, — the purest and most perfect 
model of a patriotic hero, — putting a price 
on his head, and promising not only pardon 
for every crime, but the honours of nobility 
to any one who should assassinate him,! that 
the Slates-General declared the King of Spain 
to have forfeited, by a long course of merci- 
less tyranny, his rights of sovereignty over the 
Netherlands. t Several assassins attempted 
the life of the good and great Prince of 
Orange ; one wounded him dangerously ; 
another consummated the murder, — a zealot 
of what was then, as it is now. called " legiti- 
macy." He suffered the punishment due to 
his crime ; but the King of Spain bestow^ed 



is lawful, and must therefore be useless in those 
cases where he insinuates rather than asserts that 
foreign states are bound or entitled to treat it as 
unlawful. 

* The following are the words of their illustri- 
ous historian: — " Posv longam dubitationem, ab 
ordinibus Belgarum Philippo, ob violatas leges, 
imperium abrogatum est ; lataque in ilium senlen- 
tia cum quo, si verum falemur, novem jam per 
annos bellalum erat ; sed tunc primum desitum 
nomen ejus et insignia usurpari, mutaiaque verba 
solennis jurisjurandi, ut qui princeps hactenua 
erat : hoslis vocaretiir. Hoc consilium vicinas 
apud gentes necessitate et tot irritis ante precibiti 
exnisatum, hand dcsiere Hispani ut scelus insec. 
tari, parum memores, pulsum a majoribus suia 
regno invisBe crudelit.itis regem, eique pr^latam 
slirpcm non p.\ Icgibu;' genitam ; ut jam taceantur 
Vetera apud Francos, minus Vetera apud .Anglos, 
recentiora apud Danos et Sueonas dejpctorum 
regum exempla." — Groiii Annales, lib. iii. 

t Dtnnont, Corps Diplomatique, vol. v. p. 368 

X Ibid. p. 413. 



552 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



on his family the infamous nobility which 
had been earned by the assassin, — an ex- 
ample which has also disgraced our age. 
Before and after that murder, the greatest 
vicissitudes of fortune had attended the 
arms of those who fought for the liberties of 
their country. Their chiefs were driven into 
exile; their armies were dispersed. The 
greatest and most opulent of the Belgic 
Provinces, misled by priests, had made their 
peace with the tyrant. The greatest cap- 
tains of the age commanded against them. 
The DnJje of Alva employed his valour and 
experience to quell the revolts which had 
been produced by his cruelty. The genius 
of the Prince of Parma long threatened the 
infant liberty of Holland. Spinola balanced 
the consummate ability of Prince Maurice, 
and kept up an equal contest, till Gustavus 
Adolphus rescued Europe from the Holy 
Allies of that age. The insurgents had seen 
with dread the armament called "Invinci- 
ble," which was designed, by the conquest 
of England, to destroy the last hopes of the 
Netherlands. *Their independence appeared 
more than once to be annihilated; it was 
often endangered ; it was to the last fiercely 
contested. The fortune of war was^as often 
adverse as favourable to their arms. 

It was not till the 30th of January, 1648,* 
nearly eight years after the revolt, nearly 
seventy after the declaration of independ- 
ence, that the Crown of Spain, by the Treaty 
of Munster, recognised the Republic of the 
United Provinces, and renounced all pre- 
tensions to sovereignty over their territor)'. 
What, during that long period, was the policy 
of the European states? Did they wait for 
eighty years, till the obstinate punctilio or 
lazy pedantry of the Escurial was subdued? 
Did they forego all the advantages of friendly 
intercourse with a powerful and flotirishing 
republic? Did they withhold from that re- 
public the ordinary courtesy of keeping up 
a regular and open correspondence with her 
through avowed and honourable ministers? 
Did they refuse to their own subjects that pro- 
tection for their lives and properties, which 
such a correspondence alone could afford ? 

All this they ought to have done, accord- 
ing to the piinciples of those who would 
resist the prayer of the Petition in my hand. 
But nothing of this was then done or dreamt 
of. Every state in Europe, except the Ger- 
man branch of the House of Austria, sent 
ministers to the Hague, and received those 
of the States-General. Their friendship was 
prized, — their alliance courted ; and defen- 
sive treaties were formed wiih them by 
Powers at peace with Spain, from the heroic 
Gustavus Adolphus to the barbarians of Per- 
sia and Muscovy. I say nothing of Eliza- 
beth herself, — proscribed as she was as an 
usurper, — the stay of Holland, and the leader 
of the liberal party throughout Europe. But 
no one can question the authority on this 
point of her successor, — the great professor 

* Dumont, vol. vi. p. 429. 



of legitimacy, — the founder of that doctrine 
of the divine right of kings, which led his 
family to destruction. As king of Scotland, 
in 1594, forty-fou"r years before the recogni- 
tion by Spain, James recognised the States- 
General as the successors of the Houses of 
Austria and Burgundy, by stipulating with 
them the renewal of a treaty concluded be- 
tween his mother Queen Mary and the 
Emperor Charles V.* In 1604, when he 
made peace with Spain, eager as he was by 
that transaction to be admitted into the fra- 
ternity of legitimate kings, he was so far 
curbed by the. counsellors of Elizabeth, that 
he adhered to his own and to her recognition 
of the independence of Holland : the Court 
of Madrid virtually acknowledging, by seve- 
ral articles of the lreaty,t that such perseve- 
rance in the recognition was no breach of 
neutrality, and no obstacle to friendship with 
Spain. At the very moment of the negotia- 
tion, Winvvood was despatched with new 
instructions as minister to the States-Gene- 
ral. It is needless to add that England, at 
peace with Spain, continued to treat Holland 
as an independent slate for the forty-four 
years which passed from that treaty to the 
recognition of Munster. * • 

The policy of Engla^id towards Portugal, 
though in itself far Jess memorable, is still 
more strikingly pertinent to the purpose of 
this argument. On the 1st of December 
1640, the people of Portugal rose in arms 
against the tyranny of Spain, under which 
they had groaned about sixty years. They 
seated the Duke of Braganza on the throne. 
In January 1641, the Cortes of the kingdom 
were assembled to legalize his authority, 
though seldom convoked by his successors 
after their power was consolidated. Did 
England then wait the pleasure of Spain? 
Did she desist from connection with Portu- 
gal, till it appeared from long experience 
that the attempts of Spain to recover that 
country must be unavailing? Did she even 
require that the Braganza Government should 
stand the test of time before she recognised 
its independent authority? No: within a 
year of the proclamation of the Duke of 
Braganza by the Cortes, a treaty of peace 
and alliance was signed at Windsor between 
Charles I. and John IV., which not only treats 
with the latter as an independent sovereign, 
but expressly speaks of the King of Castile 
as a dispossessed nder; and alleges on the 
part of the King of England, that he was 
moved to conclude this treaty "fci/ his solici- 
tude to preserve the tranquillity of his king- 
doms, and to secure the liberty of trade of his 
beloved subjects.'^* The contest was carried 
on : the Spaniards obtained victories ; they 
excited conspiracies; they created divisions. 

* Dumont, vol. v. p. 507. 

t See particularly Art. xii. and xiv. in Ryiner, 
vol. xvi. The extreme anxiety of the English to 
adhere to their connection with Holland, appears 
from tiie Instructions and Despatches in Win- 
wood. 

t Dumont, vol. vi. p. 238. 



ON THE RECOGNITION OF THE SPANISH-AMERICAN STATES. 



553 



The palace of the King of Portugal was the 
Bcene of domestic discord, court intrigue, and 
meditated usurpation. There is no trace of 
any complaint or remonstrance, or even mur- 
mur, against the early recognition by Eng- 
land, though it was not till twenty-six years 
afterwards that Spain herself acknowledged 
the independence of Portugal, and (what is 
remarkable) made that acknowledgment in 
a treaty concluded under the mediation of 
England.* 

To these examples let me add an observa- 
tion upon a part of the practice of nations, 
strongly illustrative of the principles which 
ought to decide this question. All the Pow- 
ers of Europe treated England, under the 
Commonwealth and the Protectorate, as re- 
taining her rights of sovereignty. They re- 
cognised these governments as much as they 
had recognised the Monarchy. The friends 
of Charles II. did not complain of this policy. 
That monarch, when restored, did not dis- 
allow the treaties of foreign Powers with the 
Republic or wiih Cromwell. Why? Be- 
cause these Powers were obliged, for the 
interest of their own subjects, to negotiate 
with the government which, whatever might 
be its character, was actually obeyed by the 
British nation. They pronounced no opinion 
on the legitimacy of that government, — no 
judgment unfavourable to the claims of the 
exiled prince ; they consulted only the secu- 
rity of the commerce and intercourse of their 
own subjects with the British Islands. 

It was quite otherwise with the recogni- 
tion by Louis XIV. of the son of James II., 
when his father died, as King of Great Bri- 
tain. As that prince was not acknowledged 
and obeyed in England, no interest of France 
required that Louis should maintain an inter- 
course, or take any notice of his pretensions. 
That recognition was therefore justly resent- 
ed by England as a wanton insult, — as a 
direct interference in her internal affairs, — 
as an assumption of authority to pronounce 
against the lawfulness of her government. t 

I am aware, Sir, that our complaints of the 
interference of France in the American war 
may be quoted against my argument. Those 
who glance over the surface of history may 

* Treaty of Lisbon, February 23d, 1688, Du- 
monl, vol. vii. p. 70. 

t " Le Comte de Manchester, ambassadeur 
d'Angleierre, vie parut plus a Versailles aprcs la 
reconnaissance du Prince de Galles, et partit, sans 
prendre conge, quelques jours -apres I'arrivee du 
Roi a Fontainhleau. Le Roi Guillaume regut 
en sa maison de Loo en Hollande la nouvelle de 
la mort du Roi Jacques etde celte reconnaissance. 
II 6tait alors a table avec quelques aulres seigneurs. 
II ne profera pas une seule parole outre la nouvelle; 
mais il rougii, enfon§a son chapeau, et ne put 
contenir son visage. 11 envoya ordre a Londres 
d'en chasser sur le champ Poussin, et de lui faire 
repasser la nier aussi-tot apres. II faisait les affaires 
du Roi en I'absence d'un ambassadeur et d'un 
envovg. Cet eclat fut suivi de pres de la signa- 
ture de la Grande Alliance defensive et offensive 
centre la France et I'Espagne, entre I'Empcreur 
et I'Empire, I'Angleterre et la Hollande." — Me- 
moires de St. Sirhon, roi. iii. p. 228. 
70 



see some likeness between that case and 
the present : but the resemblance is merely 
superficial; it disappears on the slightest 
examination. It was not of the establish- 
ment of diplomatic relations with America 
by France in 1778, that Great Britain com- 
plained. We now know from the last edi- 
tion of the Memoirs of the Marquis de Bou- 
ille, that from the first appearance of discon- 
tent in 1765, the Due de Choiseul employed 
secret agents to excite commotion in North 
America. That gallant and accomplished 
officer himself was no stranger to these in- 
trigues after iheyear 1768, when he became 
governor of Guadaloupct* It is well known 
that the same clandestine and treacherous 
machinations were continued to the last, in 
a time of profound peace, and in spite of pro- 
fessions of amity so repealed and so solemn, 
that the breacli of them produced a more 
than political resentment in the mind of King 
George III. against the House of Bourbon. 
We also learn, from no contemptible autho- 
rity, that at the very time that the prelimi- 
naries of peace were signed at Fontainbleau 
in 1762 by the Due de Choiseul and the Duke 
of Bedford, the former of these ministers con- 
cluded a secret treaty with Spain, by which 
it was stipulated, that in eight years both 
Powers should attack England; — a design 
of which the removal of Choiseul defeated 
the execution .t The recognition of the 
United States was no more than the con- 
summation and avowal of these daik designs. 
So conscious was the Court of Versailles of 
their own perfidy, that they expected war to 
be the immediate consequence of it. Oa 
the same day with the tieaty of commerce 
they signed another secret treaty,! by which 
it was stipulated, that in case of hostilities be- 
tween France and England, America should 
make common cause with the former. The 
division of the territories to be conquered 
was even provided for. Negligent and su- 
pine as were the English Ministers, they can 
hardly be supposed to have been altogether 
ignorant of these secret treaties. The cause 
of war, then, was not a mere recognition 
after a long warning to the mother country, 
— after a more than generous forbearance 
shown to her dignity and claims (as it would 
be now in the case with Spanish America): 
it was that France, in defiance of the most 
solemn assurances of her Ministers, and also 
as it is said of her Sovereign, at length openly 
avowed those machinations to destroy the 
union between the British nation and the 
people of America, — Englishmen by blood, 
and freemen by principle, dear to us by both 
ties, but most dear by the last, — wliich they 
had carried on during so many years of 
peace and pretended friendship. 

I now proceed to review the progress 
which we liave already made towards the 

* Memoires de Bouille. p. 15. Choiseul, Rela- 
tion du Voyage de Louis XVI. a Varennes, p. 14. 

+ Ferrand, Trois Demembremens de la Polog 
ne, vol. i. p. 76. 

t Martens, Recueil de Trailes, vol. i. p. 701. 
2 W 



554 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



recogniti >n of the states of Spanish America, 
as it appears in the Papers before the House. 
I will not dwell on the statute 3 Geo. IV. c. 
43, which provides, " that the merchandize 
of countries in America or the West Indies, 
being or having been a pari of the dominions 
of the King of Spain, may be imported into 
Great Britani in ships which are the build 
of these countries j" though that clause must 
be allowed to be an acknowledg-ment of in- 
dependence, unless it could be said that the 
provinces separated from Spain were either 
countries without inhabitants, or inhabited 
by men without a government. Neither will 
I say any thing of the declaration made to 
Spain, that consuls must be immediately sent 
to South America ; though I shall hereafter 
argue, that the appointment of consuls is as 
much au act of recognition as the appoint- 
ment of higher ministers. Lord Liverpool 
indeed said, that by doing so we were "treat- 
ing South America as independent," — which 
is the only species of recognition which we 
have a right to make. I should be the last 
to blame the suspension of such a purpose 
during the lawless and faithless invasion of 
Spain, then threatened, and soon after exe- 
cuted. So strongly was I convinced that 
this was a sacred duty, that I at that time 
declined to present a petition of a nature 
similar to that which I now offer to your 
consideration. Nothing under heaven could 
have induced me to give the slightest aid to 
the unrighteous violence which then mena- 
ced the independence of Spain. 

The Despatch of Mr. Secretary Canning to 
Sir Charles Stuart, of the 31st of March, 1823, 
is the first paper which I wish to recall to 
the remembrance, and recommend to the 
serious attention of the House. It declares 
that time and events have decided the sepa- 
ration of Spanish America, — that various cir- 
cumstances in their internal condition may 
accelerate or retard the recognition of their 
independence ; and it concludes with intelli- 
gibly intimating that Great Britain would 
resist the conquest of any part of these pro- 
vinces by France. The most explicit warn- 
ing was thus given to Spain, to France, and 
to all Europe, as well as to the states of 
Spanish America, that Great Britain con- 
sidered their independence as certain, — that 
she regarded the time of recognising it as a 
question only of policy, — and "that she would 
not sufler foreign Powers to interfere for pre- 
venting its establishment. France, indeed, 
is the only Power named ; but the reason of 
the case applied to every other, and extended 
as much to conquest under the name of Spain 
as if it were made avowedly for France her- 
self. 

The next document to which I shall refer 
is the Memorandum of a Conference be- 
tween M. de Polignae and Mr. Secretary 
Canning, on the 9th of October. 1823 ; and I 
cannot help earnestly recommending to all 
persons who have any doubt with respect to 
the present state of this question, or to the 
footing on which it has stood for many 



months, — w^ho do not see or do not own that 
our determination has long been made and 
announced, — to observe with care the force 
and extent of the language of the British 
Government on this important occasion. — 
"The British Government," it is there said, 
"were of opinion that any attempt to bring 
Spanish America under its ancient submis- 
sion must be utterly hopeless; that all nego- 
tiation for that purpose would be unsuccess- 
ful ; and that the prolongation or renewal of 
war for the same object could be only a 
waste of human life and an infliction of ca- 
lamities on both parties to no end." Lan- 
guage cannot more strongly declare the con- 
viction of Great Britain that the issue of the 
contest was even then no longer doubtful, — 
that there was indeed no longer any such 
contest as could affect the policy of foreign 
states towards America. As soon as we had 
made known our opinion in terms so positive 
to Europe and America, the pretensions of 
Spain could not in point of justice be any 
reason for a delay. After declaring that we 
should remain, however, " strictly neutral 
if war should be unhappily prolonged," we 
go on to state more explicitly than before, 
" that the junction of any Power in an enter- 
prise of Spain against the colonies would be 
viewed as an entirely new question, upon 
which they must take such decision as the 
interest of Great Britain might require ;" — 
language which, however cautious and mo- 
derate in its forms, is in substance too clear 
to be misunderstood. After this paragraph, 
no state in Europe would have had a right 
to affect surprise at the recognition, if it had 
been proclaimed on the following clay. Still 
more clearly, if possible, is the same princi- 
ple avowed in a subsequent paragraph : — 
"That the British Government had node- 
sire to precipitate the recognition, so long as 
there was any reasonable chance of an ac- 
commodation with the mother country, by 
which such a recognition might come first 
from Spain :" but that it could not wait in- 
definitely for that result; that it could not 
consent to make its recognition of the new 
states dependent on that of Spain; "and 
that it would consider any foreign interfer- 
ence, either by force or by menace, in the 
dispute between Spain and the colonies, as 
a motive for recognising the latter without 
delay." And here in a matter less impor- 
tant I should be willing to stop, and to rest 
my case on this passage alone. Words can- 
not be more explicit : it is needless to com- 
ment on them, and impossible to evade them. 
We declare, that the only accommodation 
which we contemplate, is one which is to 
terminate in recognition by Spain ; and that 
we cannot indefinitely wait even for that re- 
sult. We assert our right to recognise, 
whether Spain does so or not ; and we state 
a case in which we should immediately re- 
cognise, independently of the consent ot the 
Spanish Government, and without regard to 
the internal state of the American provinces. 
As a natural consequence of these positions^ 



ON THE RECOGNITION OF THE SPANISH- AM ERIC AJ^ STATES. 



we decline any part in a proposed congress 
of European Powers for regulating the affairs 
of America. 

Sir, I cannot quit this document without 
paying a just tribute to that part which re- 
lates to commerce. — to the firmness with 
which it asserts the right of this country to 
continue her important trade with America, 
as well as the necessity of the appointment 
of consuls for the protection of that trade, — 
and to the distinct annunciation, "that an 
attempt to renew the obsolete interdictions 
would be best cut short by a speedy and un- 
qualified recognition of the independence of 
the South American states." Still more do I 
applaud the declaration, "that Great Britain 
had no desire to set up any separate right to 
the free enjo;^-ment of this trade ; that she 
considered the force of circumstances and 
the irreversible progress of events to have 
already determined the question of the ex- 
istence of that freedom for all the world." 
These are declarations equally wise and ad- 
mirable. They coincide indeed so evidently 
with the well-understood interest of every 
state, that it is mortifying to be compelled 
to .speak of them as generous; but they are 
so much at variance with the base and short- 
sighted policy of Governments, that it is re- 
freshing and consolatory to meet them in 
Acts of State ; — at least when, as here, they 
must be sincere, because the circumstances 
of their promulgation secure their ob.^erv- 
ance, and indeed render deviation from them 
impossible. I read them over and over with 
the utmost pleasure. They breathe the spirit 
of that just policy and sound philosophy, 
which teaches us to regard the interest of 
our country as best promoted by an increase 
of the industry, wealth, and happiness' of 
other nations. 

Although the attention of the House is 
chiefly directed to the acts of our own Go- 
vernment, it is not foreign frorh the purpose 
of my argument to solicit them for a few 
minutes to consider the admirable Message 
sent on the 2d of December, 1823, by the 
President of the United States* to the Con- 
gress of that great republic. I heartily re- 
joice in the perfect agreement of that mes- 
sage with the principles professed by us to 
the French Minister, and afterv.-ards to all 
the great Powers of Europe, whether mili- 
tary or maritime, and to the great English 
State beyond the Atlantic. I am not anx- 
ious to ascertain whether the Message was 
influenced by our communication, or was 
the mere result of similarity of principle 
and coincidence of interest. The United 
States had at all events long preceded us in 
the recognition. They sent consuls and 
commissioners two years before us, who 
found the greater part of South America 
quiet and secure, and in the agitations of 
-the remainder, met with no obstacles to 
friendly intercourse. This recognition neither 
interrupted amicable relations with Spain, nor 
occasioned remonstrances from any Power 



* Mr. Monroe, — Ed. 



in Europe. They declared their neutrality 
at the moment of recognition : they solemrdy 
renew that declaration in the Mes&Knge be- 
fore me. That wise Government, in grave 
but determined language, and with that rea- 
sonable and deliberate tone which becomes 
true courage, proclaims the principles of her 
policy, and makes known the cases in which 
the care of her own safety will compel her 
to take up arms for the defence of other 
states. I have alieady observed its coinci- 
dence with the declarations of England; 
which indeed is perfect, if allowance be 
made for the deeper, or at least more imme- 
diate, interest in the independence of South 
America, which near neighbourhood gives to 
the United States. This coincidence of the 
two great English Commonwealths (for so I 
delight to call them, and I heartily pray that 
they may be for ever united in the cause of 
justice and liberty) cannot be contemplated 
without the utmost pleasure by every en- 
lightened citizen of either. Above all, Sir, 
there is one coincidence between them, 
which is, I trust, of happy augury to the 
whole civilized world : — they have both de- 
clared their neutrality in the American con- 
test as long as it shall be confined to Spain 
and her former colonies, or as long as no 
foreign Power shall interfere. 

On the 25th of December 1823, M. Ofalia, 
the Spanish Minister for Foreign Affairs, 
proposed to the principal Powers of Europe 
a conference at Paris on the best means of 
enabUng his Catholic Majesty to re-establish 
his legitimate authority, and to spread the 
blessings of his paternal government over 
the vast provinces of America which once 
acknowledged the supremacy of Spain. To 
this communication, which was made also to 
this government, an answer was given on 
the 30th of January following, which cannot 
be read by Englishmen without approbation 
and pleasure. In this answer, the proposi- 
tion of a congress is once more rejected : the 
British Government adheres to its original 
declaration, that it would wait for a time, — 
but a limited time only, — and would rejoice 
to see his Catholic Majesty have the grace 
and advantaae of taking the lead among the 
Powers of Europe in the recognition of the 
American states, as well for the greater 
benefit and security of these states them- 
selves, as from the generous disposition felt 
by Great Britain to spare the remains of 
dignity and grandeur, however infinitesi- 
mally small, which may still be fancied to 
belong to the thing called the crown of Spain. 
Even the shadow of long-departed greatness 
was treated with compassionate forbearance. 
But all these courtesies and decorums were 
to have their limit. The interests of Europe 
and America imposed higher duties, which 
were not to be violated for the sake of leav- 
ing undisturbed the precedents copied by 
public oflices at Madrid, from the power of 
Charles V. or tne arrogance of Philip II. 
The principal circumstance in which this 
Despatch added to the preceding, was, that 



556 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



it both laid a wider foundation for the policy 
of recognition, and made a much nearer ap- 
proach to exactness in fixing the time beyond 
which it could not be delayed. 

I have no subsequent official information. 
I have heard, and I believe, that Spain has 
answered this Despatch, — that she repeats 
her invitation to England to send a minister 
to the proposed congress, and that she has 
notified the assent of Hussia, Austria, France, 
and Prussia. I have heard, and I also be- 
lieve, that England on this occasion has 
proved true to herself, — that, in conformity 
to her ancient character, and in consistency 
with her repeated declarations, she has de- 
clined all discussion of this question with the 
Holy (or M?)-Holy) Alliance. Would to God 
that we had from the beginning kept aloof 
from these Congresses, in which we have 
made shipwreck of our ancient honour ! If 
that were not possible, would to God that we 
had protested, at least by silence and ab- 
sence against that conspiracy at Verona, 
which has annihilated the liberties of conti- 
nental Europe ! 

In confirmation of the review which I have 
taken of the documents, I may also here 
mention the declaration made in this House, 
that during the occupation of Spain by a 
French army, every armament against the 
Spanish ports must be considered as having 
a French character, and being therefore 
within the principle repeatedly laid down in 
the Papers. Spain indeed, as a belligerent, 
can be now considered only as a fang of the 
Holy Alliance, powerless in itself, but which 
that monster has the power to arm with 
thrice-distilled venom. 

As the case now stands, Sir, I conceive it 
to be declaietl by iJreat Britain, that the ac- 
knowledgment of the independence of Sim- 
uish America is no breach of faith or neu- 
trality towards Spain, — that such an acknow- 
ledgment might long ago have been made 
without any violation of her rights or inter- 
position in her aflairs, — that we have been 
for at least two years entitled to make it by 
all the rules of international law, — that we 
have delayed it, from friendly consideration 
for the feelings and claims of the Spanish 
Government, — that we have now carried our 
forbearance to the utmost verge of reasonable 
generosity, — and, having exhausted all the 
ofiices of friendship and good neighbourhood, 
are at perfect liberty to consult only the in- 
terest of our own subjects, and the just pre- 
tensions of the American states. 

In adopting this recognition now, we shall 
give just offence to no other Power. But if 
we did. and once suffer ourselves to be in- 
fluenced by the apprehension of danger in re- 
sisting ujijnst pretensions, we destroy the only 
bulwark, — that of principle, — that guards 
a nation. There never was a time when it 
would be more perilous to make concessions, 
or to show feebleness and fear. We live in 
an age of the most extravagant and mon- 
Btrous pretensions, supported by tremendous, 
force A confederacy of absolute monarchs 



claim the right of controlling the internal go- 
vernment of all nations. In the exercise of 
that usurped power they have already taken 
military possession of the whole continent 
of Europe. Continental governments either 
obey their laws or tremble at their displea- 
sure. England alone has condemned their 
principles, and is independent of their power. 
They ascribe all the misfortunes of the pre- 
sent age to the example of her institutions. 
On England, therefore, they must look with 
irreconcilable hatred. As long as she is free 
and powerful, their system is incomplete, all 
the precautions of their tyrannical policy are 
imperfect, and their oppressed subjects may 
turn their eyes to her, indulging the hope 
that circumstances will one day compel us 
to exchange the alliance of kings for the 
friendship of nations. 

I will not say that such a state of the world 
does not require a considerate and circum- 
spect policy. I acknowledge, and should 
earnestly contend, that there never was a 
moment at which the continuance of peace 
was more desirable. After passing through 
all the sufferings of twenty years universal 
war. and feeling its internal evils perhajjs 
more severely since its close than when it 
raged most widely and fiercely, we are only 
now beginning to taste the natural and genu- 
ine fruits of peace. The robust constitution 
of a free community is just showing its power 
to heal the deepest wounds, — to compo.?e 
obstinate convulsions, — and to restore health 
and vigour to every disordered function or 
disabled member. I deprecate the occur- 
rence of what must disturb this noble pro- 
cess, — one of the miracles of Liberty. But 
I am also firmly convinced, that prudence in 
the present circumstances of Europe forbids 
every measure that can be represented as 
having the appearance of fear. If we carry 
our caution further than strict abstinence 
from injustice, we cannot doubt to what mo- 
tive our forbearance will be imputed. Every 
delay is liable to that mterpretation. The least 
scrupulous politicians condemn falsehood 
when it wears the appearance of fear. It 
maybe sometimes unsafe to fire at the royal 
tiger who suddenly crosses your path in an 
eastern forest ; but it is thought fully as dan- 
gerous to betray your fear by running away : 
prudent men quietly pursue their road with- 
out altering their pace, — without provoking 
or tempting the ferocious animal. 

Having thus traced the progress of mea- 
sures which have lead us to the very verge 
of recognition, the question naturally presents 
itself. Why do we not now recognize 1 It is 
not so much my duty as it is that of the Go- 
vernment, to tell us why they do not com- 
plete their own system. Every preparation 
is made; every adverse claim is rejected; 
ample notice is given to all parties. Why is 
the determination delayed 1 We are irrevo- 
cably pledged to maintain our principles, and 
to act on them towards America. We have 
cut off all honourable retreat. Why should 
we seem to hesitate "? America expects from 



ON THE RECOGNITION OF THE SPANISH-AMERICAN STATES. 



557 



as the common marks of amity and respect. 
Spain cannot complain at their being granted. 
No other slate can intimate an opinion on the 
subject, without an open attack on the inde- 
pendence of Great Britain. What then hin- 
ders the decisive word from being spoken ? 

We have aheady indeed taken one step 
more, in addition to those on which I have 
too long dwelt. We have sent consuls to all 
the ports of Spanish America to which we 
trade, as well as to the seats of the new go- 
vernment in that country. We have seen in 
the public papers, that the consul at Buenos 
Ayres has presented a letter from the Secre- 
tary of State for Foreign Affairs in this coun- 
try to the Secretary of that Government, de- 
siring that they would grant the permission 
to the consul, without which he cannot ex- 
ercise his powers. Does not this act acknow- 
ledge the independence of the State of Bue- 
nos Ayres ? An independent state alone 
can appoint consuls : — an independent state 
only can receive consuls. We have not only 
sent consuls, but commissioners. What is 
their character 1 Can it be any other than 
that of an envoy with a new title "? Every 
agent publicly accredited to a foreign govern- 
ment, and not limited by his commission to 
commercial affairs, must in reality be a di- 
plomatic minister, whatever may be his offi- 
cial name. We read of the public and joyful 
reception of these commissioners, of presents 
made by them to the American administra- 
tors, and of speeches in which they announce 
the good-will of the Government and people 
of England towards the infant republics. I 
allude to the speech of Colonel Hamilton at 
Bogota, on which, as I have seen it only in 
a translation, I can only venture to conjecture 
(after making some allowance for the over- 
flow of courtesy and kindness which is apt 
to occur on such occasions) that it expressed 
the anxious wishes and earnest hopes of this 
country, that he might find Columbia in a 
state capable of maintaining those relations 
of amity which we were sincerely desirous 
to establish. Where should we apply for 
redress, if a Columbian privateer were to 
capture an English merchantman 1 Not at 
Madrid, but at Bogota. Does not this answer 
decide the whole question 1 

But British subjects. Sir, have a right to 
expect, not merely that their Government 
shall provide some means' of redress, but 
that they should provide adequate and effec- 
tual means, — those which universal expe- 
rience has proved to be the best. They are 
not bound to be content with the unavowed 
agency and precarious good offices of naval 
officers, nor even with the inferior and im- 
perfect protection of an agent whose com- 
mission is limited to the security of trade. 
The power of a consul is confined to com- 
mercial affairs ; and there are many of the 
severest wrongs which the merchant suffers, 
which, as they may not directly affect him 
in his trading concerns, are not within the 
proper province of the consul. The English 
trader at Buenos Ayres ought not to feel his 



safety less perfect than that of other foreign 
merchants. The habit of trusting to an am- 
bassador for security has a tendency to re- 
concile the spirit of adventurous industry 
with a constant affection for the place of a 
man's birth. If these advantages are not 
inconsiderable to any European nation, they 
must be important to the most commercial 
and maritime people of the world. 

The American Governments at present 
rate our friendship too high, to be jealous 
and punctilious in their intercourse with us. 
But a little longer delay may give rise to an 
unfavourable judgment of our conduct. They 
may even doubt our neutrality itself. In- 
stead of admitting that the acknowledgment 
of their independence would be a breach of 
neutrality towards Spain, they may much 
more naturally conceive that the delay to 
acknowledge it is a breach of neutrality 
towards themselves. Do we in truth deal 
equally by both the contending parties ? We 
do not content ourselves with consuls at Ca- 
diz and Barcelona. If we expect justice to 
our subjects from the Government of Ferdi- 
nand VII., we in return pay every honour to 
that Government as a Power of the first class. 
We lend it every aid that it can desire from 
the presence of a British minister of the 
highest rank. We do not inquire whether 
he legitimately deposed his father, or legally 
dispersed the Cortes who preserved his 
throne. The inequality becomes the more 
strikingly offensive, when it is considered 
that the number of English in the American 
States is far greater, and our commerce with 
them much more important. 

We have long since advised Spain to ac- 
knowledge the independence of her late pro- 
vinces in America : we have told her that it 
is the only basis on which negotiations can be 
carried on, and that it affords her the only 
chance of preserving some of the advantages 
of friendship and commerce with these vast 
territories. Whatever rendered it right for 
Spain to recognise them, must also render it 
right for us. If we now delay, Spain may 
very speciously charge us witn insincerity 
"It now," she may say, "appears from your 
own conduct, that under pretence of friend- 
ship you advised us to do that from which 
you yourselves recoil." 

We have declared that we should imme- 
diately proceed to recognition, either if Spain 
were to invade the liberty of trade which we 
now possess, or if any other Power were to 
take a part in the contest between her and 
the American states. But do not these decla- 
rations necessarily imply that they are in 
fact independent ■? Surely no injustice of 
Spain, or France, or Russia could authorize 
England to acknowledge that to be a fact 
which we do not know to be so. Either 
therefore we have threatened to do wdiat 
ought not to be done, or these states are 
now in a condition to be treated as independ- 
ent. 

It is now many months since it was de- 
clared to M. de Polignac, that we should 
2w2 



558 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



consider '-any foreign interference, by force 
or menace, in the dispute between Spain and 
her colonies, as a motive for recognising the 
latter without delay." I ask whether the 
interference " by menace " has not now oc- 
curred ? M. Ol'alia, on the 26th of Decem- 
ber, proposed a congress on the affairs of 
America, in hopes that the allies of King- 
Ferdinand ''will assist him in accomplishing 
the worthy object of upholding the principles 
of order and leghimacy, the subversion of 
which, once commenced in America, would 
speedily communicate." Now I have al- 
ready said, that, if I am rightly informed, 
this proposition, happily rejected by Great 
Britain, has been acceded to by the Allied 
Powers. Preparations for the congress are 
said to be already made. Can there be a 
more distinct case of interference by menace 
in the American contest, than the agreement 
to assemble a congress for the purpose de- 
scribed in the despatch of M. Olalia ? 

But it is said. Sir, that we ought not to re- 
cognise independence where a contest is still 
maintained, or where governments of some 
apparent stabihty do not exist. Both these 
ideas seem to be comprehended in the proposi- 
tion, — "that we ought to recognise only where 
independence is actually enjoyed ;" though 
that proposition properly only affirms the 
former. But it is said that we are called 
upon only to acknowledge the fact of inde- 

fjendence, and before we make the acknow- 
edgment we ought to have evidence of the 
fact. To this single point the discussion is 
now confined. All considerations of Euro- 
pean policy are (I cannot repeat it too often) 
excluded : the policy of Spain, or France, or 
Russia, is no longer an element in the pro- 
blem. The fact of independence is now the 
sole object of consideration. If there be no 
independence, we cannot acknowledge it : if 
there be, we must. 

To understand the matter rightly, we must 
consider separately — what are often con- 
founded — the two questions, — Whether there 
is a contest with Spain still pending 1 and 
Whether internal tranquillity be securely 
established "? As to the first, we must mean 
such a contest as exhibits some equality of 
force, and of which, if the combatants were 
left to themselves, the issue would be in 
some degree doubtful. It never can be un- 
derstood so as to include a bare chance, that 
Spain might recover her ancient dominions at 
some distant and absolutely uncertain period. 
In this inquiry, do you consider Spanish 
America as one mass, or do you apply your 
inquiry to the peculiar situation of each in- 
dividual state ? For the purposes of the 
present argument you may view them in 
either light : — in the latter, because they are 
sovereign commonwealths, as independent 
of each other as they all are of Europe ; or in 
tlie former, because they are united by a 
treaty of alliance offensive and defensive, 
which binds them to make common cause in 
this contest, and to conclude no separate 
peace with Spain. 



If I look on Spanish America as one vast 
unit, the question of the existence of any 
serious contest is too simple to admit the 
slightest doubt. What proportion does the 
contest bear to the country in which it pre- 
vails ? My geograghy, or at least my recol- 
lection, docs not serve me so far, that I could 
enumerate the degrees of latitude and longi- 
tude over which that vast country extends. 
On the western coast, how^ever, it reaches 
from the northern point of New California to 
the utmost limit of cultivation towards Cape 
Horn. On the eastern it extends from the 
mouth of the Mississippi to that of the Ori- 
noco j and, after the immense exception of 
Guiana and Brazil, from tlie Rio de la Plata 
to the southern footsteps of civilized man. 
The prodigious varieties of its elevation ex- 
hibit in the same parallel of latitude all the 
climates and products of the globe. It is the 
onlyabundaiit sourceof the metals justly call- 
ed '-precious," — the most generally and per- 
manently useful of all commodities, except 
those which are necessary to the preservation 
of human life. It is unequall3'and scantily peo- 
pled by sixteen or eighteen millions, — whose 
numbers, freedom of industry, and security 
of property must be quadrupled in a century. 
Its length on the Pacific coast is equal to that 
of the whole continent of Africa from the 
Cape of Good Hope to the Straits of Gibraltar. 
It is more extensive than the vast possessions 
of Russia or of Great Britain in Asia. The 
Spanish language is spoken over a line of 
nearly six thousand miles. The State of 
Mexico alone is five times larger that Euro- 
pean Spain. A single communication cut 
through these territories between the Atlan- 
tic and Pacific would bring China six thou- 
sand miles nearer to Europe ;* and the Re- 
public of Columbia or that of Mexico may 
open and command that new road for the 
commerce of the world. 

What is the Spanish strength? A single 
castle in Mexico, an island on the coast of 
Chili, and a small army in Upper Peru ! Is 
this a contest approaching to equality? Is it 
sufficient to render the independence of 
such a country doubtful? Does it deserve 
the name of a contest? It is very little more 
than what in some of the wretched govern- 
ments of the East is thought desirable to 
keep alive the vigilance of the rulers, and 
to exercise the m'artial spirit of the people. 
There is no present appearance that the 
country can be reduced by the power of 
Spain alone; and if any other Power were 
to interfere, it is acknowledged that such an 
interference would impose new duties on 
Great Britain. 

If, on the other hand, we consider the 
American states as separate, the fact of in- 
dependence is undisputed, with respect at 
least to some of them. What doubts can be 
entertained of the independence of the im- 
mense provinces of Caraccas, New Grenada, 



* See Humboldt's admirable Essay on New 
Spain. 



ON THE RECOGNITION OF THE SPANISH-AMERICAN STATES. 



559 



and Quito, which now form the Republic of 
Columbia'? There, a considerable Spanish 
army has boon defeated : all have been either 
destroyed, or expelled from the territory of 
the Republic: not a Royalist soldier remains. 
Three Congresses have successively been 
assembled : they have formed a reasonable 
and promising Constitution ; and they have 
endeavoured to establish a wise system and 
a just administration of law. In the midst 
of their difficulties the Columbians have 
ventured (aud hitherto with perfect success) 
to encounter the arduous and perilous, but 
noble problem of a pacilic emaucipation of 
their slaves. They nave been able to ob- 
serve good faith with their creditors, and 
thus to preserve the greatest of all resources 
for times of danger. Their tranquillity has 
stood the test of the long absence of Bolivar 
in Peru. Englishmen who have lately tra- 
versed their territories in various directions, 
are unanimous in slating that their journeys 
were made in the most undisturbed security. 
Every where they saw the laws obeyed, 
justice administered, armies disciplined, and 
the revenue peaceably collected. Many 
British subjects have indeed given prac- 
tical proofs of their f;iith in the power and 
will of the Columbian Government to pro- 
tect industry and property: — they have esta- 
blished houses of trade ; they have under- 
taken to work mines; and they are esta- 
blishing steam-boats on the Orinoco and the 
Magdalena. Where is the state which can 
give better proofs of secure independence? 

The Republic of Buenos Ayres has an 
equally undi.sputed enjoj-ment of independ- 
ence. There no Spanish soldier has set his 
foot for fourteen years. It would be as diffi- 
cult to find a Royalist there, as it would be a 
Jacobite in England (I mean only a personal 
adherent of the House of Stuart, for as to 
Jacobites in principle, I fear they never were 
more abundant). Its rulers are so conscious 
of internal security, that they have crossed 
the Andes, and interposed with vigour and 
efTect in the revolutions of Chili and Peru. 
Whoever wishes to know the state of Chili, 
will lind it in a very valuable book lately 
published by Mrs. Graham,* a lady whom I 
have the happiness to call my friend, who, 
by the faithful and picturesque minuteness 
of her descriptions, places her reader in the 
midst of the country, and introduces him to 
the familiar acquaintance of the inhabitants. 
Whatever seeds of internal discord may be 
perceived, we do not discover the vestige of 
any party friendly to the dominion of Spain. 
Even in Peru, where the spirit of independ- 
ence has most recently appeared, and ap- 
pears most to fluctuate, no formidable body 
of Spanish partisans has been observed by 
the most intelligent observers; and it is very 
doubtful whether even the army which keeps 
the field in that province against the Ameri- 
can cause be devoted to the restored despot- 
ism of Spain. Mexico, the greatest, doubt- 



* Journal of a Reeidenee in Chili. — Ed. 



less, and most populous, but not perhaps the 
most enlightened, portion of Spanish America, 
has passed through severe trials, and seema 
hitherto far from showing a disposition again 
to fall under the authority of Spain. Even 
the party who long bore the name of Spain 
on their banners, imbibed in that very con- 
test the spirit of independence, and at length 
ceased to look abroad for a sovereign. The 
last Viceroy who was sent from Spain* was 
compelled to acknowledge the indejjei.dence 
of Me.vico; and the Royalist oincer,t who 
appeared for a time so fortunate, could not 
will his way to a transient power without 
declaring against the pretensions of the mo- 
ther country. 

If, then, we consider these states as one 
nation, there cannot be said to be any re- 
maining contest. If, on the other hand, we 
consider them separately, why do we not 
immediately comply with the prayer of this 
Petition, by recognising the independence 
of those which we must allow to be in fact 
independent ? Where is the objection to the 
instantaneous recognition at least of Colum- 
bia and Buenos Ayres 1 

But here. Sir. I shall be reminded of the 
second condition (as applicable to Mexico 
and Peru), — the necessity of a stable go- 
vernment and of internal tranquillity. Inde- 
pendence and good goverimient are unfortu- 
nately very different things. Most countries 
have enjoyed the former : not above three 
or four since the beginning of history have 
had any pretensions to the latter. Still, 
many grossly misgoverned countries have 
performed the common duties of justice and 
good-will to their neighbours, — I do not say 
so well as more wisely ordered common- 
wealths, but still tolerably, and always much 
better than if they had not been controlled 
by the influence of opinion acting through a 
regular intercourse with other nations. 

We really do not deal with Spain and 
America by the same weight and measure. 
We exact proofs of independence and tran- 
quillity from America: we dispense both 
with independence and tranquillity in Old 
Spain. We have an ambassador at Madrid, 
though the whole kingdom be in the hands 
of France. We treat Spain with all the ho- 
nours due to a civilized state of the first rank, 
though we have been told in this House, that 
the continuance of the French army there is 
an act of humanity, necessary to prevent the 
faction of frantic Royalists from destroying 
not only the friends of liberty, but -every 
Spaniard who hesitates to cairy on 4 war of 
persecution and extii-pation against all, wko 
are not the zealous supporters of unbounded 
tyranny. On the other hand, we require of 
the new-born states of America to solve the , 
awful problem of reconciling liberty with or- 
der. We expect that all the efforts incident 
to a fearful struggle shall at once subside 
into the most perfect and undisturbed tran- 



* Admiral Apodaca. — Ed. 

t Don Augustiii luirbide. — Ed. 



560 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS 



quillity, — that every visionary or ambitious 
nope which it has kindled shall submit with- 
out a murmur to the counsels of wisdom and 
the authority of the laws. Who are we who 
exact the performance of such hard condi- 
tions'? Are we the English nation, to look 
thus coldly ou rising hberty ? .We have in- 
dulgence enough for tyrants; we make am- 
ple allowance for the difficulties of their 
situation ; we are ready enough to deprecate 
the censure of their worst acts. And are we, 
who spent ages of bloodshed in struggling 
for freedom, to treat with such severity 
others now following our example ? Are we 
to refuse that indulgence to the errors and 
faults of other nations, which was so long 
needed by our own ancestors? We who have 
passed through every form of civil and reli- 
gious tyranny, — who persecuted Protestants 
under Mary, — who — I blush to add — perse- 
cuted Catholics under Elizabeth, — shall we 
now inconsistently, — unreasonably, — basely 
hold, that distractions so much fewer and 
milder and shorter, endured in the same 
glorious cause, will unfit other nations for its 
attainment, and preclude them from the en- 
joyment of that rank and those privileges 
which we at the same moment recognise as 
belonging to slaves and barbarians'? 

I call upon my Right Honourable Friend* 
distinctly to tell us, on what principle he con- 
siders the perfect enjoyment of internal quiet 
as a condition necessary for the acknowleda- 
ment of an independence which cannot be 
denied to exist. I can discover none, un- 
less the confusions of a country were such 
as to endanger the personal safety of a 
foreign minister. Yet the European Powers 
have always had ministers at Constantinople, 
though it was well known that the barbari- 
ans who ruled there would, on the approach 
of a quarrel, send these unfortunate gentle- 
men to a prison in which they might remain 
during a long war. But if there is any such 
insecurity in these states, how do the minis- 
ters of the United Slates of Norlh America 
reside in their capitals'? or why do we trust 
our own consuls and commissioners among 
ihem? Is there any physical pecularity in 
a consul, which renders him invulnerable 
where an ambassador or an envoy would be 
in danger'? Is he bullet-proof or bayonet- 
proof? or does he wear a coat of mail ? The 
same Government, one would think, which 
redresses an individual grievance on the ap- 
plication of a consul, may remove a cause of 
national difference after listening to the re- 
monstrance of an envoy. 

I will venture even to contend, that inter- 
nal distractions, instead of being an impedi- 
ment to diplomatic intercourse, are rather an 
additional reason for it. An ambassador is 
■more necessary in a disturbed than in a tran- 
ijuil country, inasmuch as the evils against 
vhich his presence is intended to guard are 
more likely to occur in the former than in 
the latter. It is in the midst of civil com- 

* Mr. Canning.— Ed. 



motions that the foreign trader is the most 
likely to be wronged ; and it is then that he 
therefore requires not only the good offices 
of a consul, but the weightier interposition 
of a higher minister. In a perfectly well- 
ordered country the laws and the tribunals 
might be sufficient. In the same manner it 
is obvious, that if an ambassador be an im- 
portant security for the preservation of good 
understanding between the best regulated 
governments, his presence must be far more 
requisite to prevent the angry passions of 
exasperated factions from breaking out into 
war. Whether therefore we consider the 
individual or the public interests which are 
secured by embassies, it seems no paradox 
to maintain, that if they could be dispensed 
with at all, it would rather be in quiet than 
in disturbed countries. 

The interests here at stake may be said 
to be rather individual than national. But a 
wrong done to the humblest British subject, 
an insult offered to the British flag flying 
on the slightest skiff, is, if unrepaired, a dis- 
honour to the British nation. 

Then the amount of private interests en- 
gaged in our trade with Spanish America is 
so great as to render them a large part of the 
national interest. There are already at least 
a hundred English houses of trade established 
in various parts of that immense country. A 
great body of skilful miners have lately left 
this country, to restore and increase the 
W'Orking of the mines of Mexico. Botanists, 
and geologists, and zoologists, are preparing 
to explore regions too vast to be exhausted 
by the Condamines and Humboldts. These 
missionaries of civilization, who are about 
to spread European, and especially English 
opinions and habits, and to teach mdustry 
and the arts, with their natural consequences 
— the love of order and the desire of quiet, — 
are at the same time opening new markets 
for the produce of British labour, and new 
sources of improvement as well as enjoyment 
to the people of America. 

The excellent petition from Liverpool to 
the King sets forth the value of our South 
American commerce very clearly, with re- 
spect to its present extent, its rapid increase, 
and its probable permanence. In 1819, the 
official returns represent the value of British 
exports at thirty-five millions sterling, — in 
1822, at forty-six millions; and, in the opin- 
ion of the Petitioners, who are witnesses of 
the highest authority, a great part of this 
prodigious incre'ftpe is to be ascribed to the 
progress of the South American tiade. On 
this point, however, they arc not content 
with probabilities. .In 1822, they tell us that 
the British exports to the late Spanish colo- 
nies amounted in value to three millions 
eight hundred thousand pounds sterling; and 
in 182.S, to five millions six hundred thou- 
sand ; — an increase of near two millions in 
one year. As both the years compared are 
subsequent to the opening of the American 
ports, we may lay out of the account the in- 
direct trade formerly carried on with the 



ON THE RECOGNITION OP THE SPANISH- AM ERIC AN STATES. 561 



Spanish Main through the West Indies, the 
far greater part of which must now be trans- 
ferred to a cheaper, shorter, and more con- 
venient chaimel. In the year 1820 and the 
three following years, the annual average 
number of ships which sailed from the port 
of Liverpool to Spanish America, was one 
hundred and eighty-nine; and the number 
of those who have so sailed in five months 
of the present year, is already one hundred 
and twenty-four; being an increase in the 
proportion <of thirty to nineteen. Another 
criterion of the importance of this trade, on 
which the traders of Liverpool are peculiarly- 
well qualified to judge, is the export of cot- 
Ion goods from their own port. The result 
of the comparison of that export to the United 
Slates of America, and to certain parts* of 
Spanish and Portuguese America, is pecu- 
liarly instructive and striking : — 

ACTUAL VALUE OF COTTON GOODS EXPORTED 
FROM LIVERPOOL. 

Year ending Jan. 5, 1820. 
To United States - - - £S82,029 
To Spanish and Portuguese America 852,651 

Year ending Jan. 5, 1821. 
To United Slates - - - £1,033,206 
To Spanish and Portuguese America 1,111,574 

It is to be observed, that this last extraordi- 
nary statement relates to the comparative 
infancy of this trade ; that it comprehends 
neither Vera Cruz nor the ports of Columbia ; 
and that the striking disproportion in the rate 
of increase does not arise from the abate- 
ment of the North American demand (for 
that has increased), but from the rapid pro- 
gress of that in the South American market. 
Already, then, this new commerce surpasses 
in amount, and still more in progress, that 
trade with the United States which is one 
of the oldest and most extensive, as well as 
most progressive branches of our traffic. 

If I consult another respectable authority, 
and look at the subject in a somewhat dif- 
ferent light, I find the annual value of our 
whole exports estimated in Lord Liverpool's 
speecht on this subject at forty-three mil- 
lions sterling, of which about twenty mil- 
lions' worth goes to Europe, and about the 
value of seventeen millions to North and 
South America; leaving between four and 
five millions to Africa and Asia. According 
to this statement. I may reckoii the trade to 
the new independent states as one eighth of 
the trade of ihe whole British Empire. It is 
more than our trade to all ouf^possessions on 
the continent and islands of America was, 
before the beginning of the fatal American 
war in 1774: — for fatal I call it, not because 
I lament the independence of America, but 
because I deeply deplore the hostile separa- 
tion of the tw^o great nations of English race. 

The official accounts of exports and im- 
ports laid before this House on the 3d of 

* Viz.j Brazil, Buenos Ayres, Monte Video, 
Chili, and the West Coast of America. 

+ Delivered in the House of Lords on the 15lh 
of March.— En. 

71 



May, 1824, present another view of this 
subject, in which the Spanish colonies are 
carefully separated from Brazil. By these 
accounts it appears that the exports to the 

Spanish colonies were as follows: — 

1818, £735,.344. I 1821, £917.916. 

1819, £850,943. 1822, £1. 210^825. 

1820, £431,615. | 1823, £2^016,276. 

I quote all these statements of this com- 
merce, though they do not entirely agree 
with each other, because I well know the 
difficulty of attaining exactness on such sub- 
jects, — because the least of ihem is perfectly 
sufficient for my purpose, — and because the 
last, though not .so large as others in amount, 
shows more clearly than any other its rapid 
progress, and the proportion which itsincrease 
bears to the extension of American independ- 
ence. 

If it were important to swell this account. 
I might follow the example of the Liverpoo 
Petitioners (who are to be heard with more 
re.spect, because on this subject they have 
no interest), by adding to the general amount 
of commerce the supply of money to the 
American states of about twelve millions 
sterling. For though I of course allow that 
such contracts cannot be enforced by the 
arms of this country against a foreign slate, 
yet I consider the commerce in money as 
equally legitimate and honourable with any 
other sort of commercial dealing, and equally 
advantageous to the country of the lenders, 
wherever it is profitable to the lenders them- 
selves. I see no difference in principle be- 
tween a loan on the security of public reve- 
nue, and a loan on a mortg-age of private 
property; and the protection of such deal- 
ings is in my opinion a perfectly good addi- 
tional reason for hastening to do that which 
is previously determined to be politic and 
just. 

If, Sir, I were further called to illustrate 
the value of a free intercourse with South 
America, I should refer the House to a valu- 
able work, which I hope all who hear me 
have read, and which I know they ought to 
read, — I mean Captain Basil Hall's Travels 
in that country. The whole book is one 
continued proof of the importance of a Free 
Trade to England, to America, and to man- 
kind. No man knows better how to extract 
information from the most seemingly trifling 
conversations, and to make them the means 
of conveying the most just conception of the 
opinions, interests, and feelings of a people. 
Though he can weigh interests in the scales 
of Smith, he also seizes with the skill of 
Plutarch on those small circumstances and 
expressions wliich characterize not only in- ; 
dividuals but nations. '-'While we were ad- ■ 
miring the scenery," says he, "our people 
had established themselves in a hut, and 
were preparing supper under the diiection 
of a peasant, — a tall copper-coloured semi 
barbarous native of the forest, — but who 
notwithstanding his uncivilized appearance, 
turned out to be a very shrewd fellow, and 



562 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



gave us sufficiently pertinent answers to 
most of our queries. A young Spaniard of 
our parly, a Royalist by birth, and half a 
patriot in sentiment, asked the mountaineer 
what harm the King had done. ' Why,' an- 
swered he, 'as for the King, his only fault, 
at least that I know of, was his living too far 
off'. If a king be really good for a country, 
it appears to me that he ought to live in that 
country, not two thousand leagues away 
from it.' On asking him what was his 
opinion of free trade, ' My opinion,' said he, 
' is this : — formerly I paid nine dollars for 
the piece of cloth of which this shirt is 
made ; I now pay two : — that is my opinion 
of free trade.' "* This simple story illus- 
trates better than a thousand arguments the 
sense which the American consumer has of 
the consequences of free trade to him. 

If we ask how it affects the American 
producer, we shall find a decisive answer in 
the same admirable work. His interest is to 
produce his commodities at less expense, 
and to sell them at a higher price, as well as 
in greater quantity : — all these objects he 
has obtained. Before the Revolution, he sold 
his copper at seven dollars a quintal: in 
1821, he sold it at thirteen. The articles 
which he uses in the mines are, on the other 
hand, reduced; — steel from fifty dollars a 
quintal 1o sixteen dollars ; iron from twenty- 
five to eight ] the provisions of his labourers 
in the proportion of twenty-one to fourteen; 
the fine cloth which he himself wears, from 
twenty-three dollars a yard to twelve ; his 
crockery from three hundred and fifty reals 
per crate to forty; his hardware from three 
hundred to one hundred reals; and his glass 
from two hundred to one hundred.! 

It is justly observed b)'^ Captain Hall, that 
however incompetent a Peruvian might be 
to appreciate the benefits of political liberty, 
he can have no difficulty in estimating such 
sensible and palpable improvements in the 
condition of himself and his countrymen. 
With Spanish authority he connects the re- 
membrance of restriction, monopoly, degra- 
dation, poverty, discomfort, privation. In 
those who struggle to restore it, we may be 
assured that the majority of Americans can 
see only enemies who come to rob them of 
private enjoyments and personal accommo- 
dations. 

It will perhaps be said, that Spain is will- 
ing to abandon her monopolies. But if she 
does now, might she not by the same autho- 
rity restore them ? If her sovereignty be re- 
stored, she must possess abundant means 
of evading the execution of any concessions 
now made in the hour of her distress. The 
faith of a Ferdinand is the only security she 
offers. On the other hand, if America con- 
tinues independent, our security is the strong 
sense of a most palpable interest already 
spread among the people, — the interest of 



* Vol. ii. p. 188. 
^ t Vol. ii. p. 47. This curious table relates to 
Chili, — the anecdote to Mexico, 



the miner of Chili in selling his copper, sua 
of the peasant of Mexico in buying his shirt. 
I prefer it to the royal word of Ferdinand. 
But do we not know that the Royalist Gene- 
ral Canterac. in the summer of 1823, declared 
the old prohibitory laws to be still in force 
in Peru, and ainiounced his intention of ac- 
cordingly confiscating all English merchan- 
dise which he had before generously spared 1 
Do we not know that English commerce 
every where flies from the Royalists, and 
hails with security and joy the appearance 
of the American flag?* But it is needless 
to reason on this subject, or to refer to the 
conduct of local agents. We have a decree 
of Ferdinand himself to appeal to, bearing 
date at Madrid on the 9th February, 1824. 
It is a very curious document, and very 
agreeable to the general character of his 
most important edicts; — in it there is more 
than the usual repugnance between the title 
and the purport. As he published a table 
of proscription under the name of a decree 
of amnesty, so his professed grant of free 
trade is in truth an establishment of mo- 
nopoly. The first article does indeed pro- 
mise a free trade to Spanish America. The 
second, however, hastens to declare, that 
this free trade is to be " regulated" by a 
future law, — that it is to be confined to cer- 
tain ports, — and that it shall be subjected to 
duties, which are to be regulated by the 
same law. The third also declares, that 
the preference to be granted to Spain shall 
be '' regulated" in like manner. As if the 
duties, limitations, and preferences thus an- 
nounced had not provided such means of 
evasion as were equivalent to a repeal of the 
first article, the Royal lawgiver proceeds in 
the fourth article to enact, that "till the two 
foregoing articles can receive their perfect 
execution, there shall be nothing innovated 
in the state of America." As the Court of 
Madrid does not recognise the legality of 
what has been done in America since the 
revolt, must not this be reasonably inter- 
preted to import a re-establishment of the 
Spanish laws of absolute monopoly, till the 
Government of Spain shall be disposed to 
promulgate that code of restriction, of pre- 
ference, and of duties, — perhaps prohibitory 
ones, — which, according to them, constitutes 
free trade. 

But, Sir, it will be said elsewhere, though 
not here, that I now argue on the selfish and 
sordid principle of exclusive regard to Bri- 
tish interest, — that I would sacrifice every 
higher consideration to the extension of our 
traffic, and to the increase of our profits. 
For this is the insolent language, in which 
those who gratify their ambition by plunder- 
ing and destroying their fellow-creatures, 
have in all ages dared to speak of those who 
better their own condition by multiplying the 
enjoyments of mankind. In answer, I might 
content myself with saying, that having 



* As in the evacuation of Lima in the spring of 
1824. 



ON THE RECOGNITION OF THE SPANISH-AMERICAN STATES. 



563 



proved the recognition of the independence 
of these 8lal(?s to be conformable to justice, 
I have a perfect light to recommend it as 
conducive to the welfare of this nation. But 
I deny altogether the doctrine, that com- 
merce has a selfish character, — that it can 
benefit one party witliout being advantageous 
to the other. It is twice blessed : it blesses 
the giver as well as the receiver. It consists 
in the interchange of the means of enjoy- 
ment ; and its very essence is to employ one 
part of mankind in contributing to the hap- 
pinefis of others. What is the instrument 
by which a savage is to be raised from a 
state in which he has nothing human but the 
form, but commerce, — exciting in his mind 
the desire of accommodation and enjoyment, 
and presenting to him the means of obtain- 
ing these advantages'? It is thus only that 
he is gradually raised to industry, — to fore- 
sight, — to a respect for property, — to a sense 
of justice, — to a perception of tlie necessity 
of laws. What corrects his prejudices against 
foreign nations and dissimilar races? — com- 
mercial intercourse. What slowly teaches 
him that the quiet and well-being of the 
most distant regions have some tendency to 
promote the prosperity of his own? What 
at k'ngtli disposes him even to tolerate tho.se 
religious diflierences which led him to regard 
the greater part of the species with abhor- 
rence? Nothing but the intercourse and 
familiarity into which commerce alone could 
have tempted him. What diffuses wealth, 
and therefore increases the leisure which 
calls into existence the works of genius, the 
discoveries of science, and the inventions of 
art ? What transports just opinions of go- 
vernment into enslaved countries, — raises the 
importance of the middle and lower classes 
of society, and thus reforms social institu- 
tions, and establishes equal liberty? What 
but Commerce — the real civilizer and eman- 
cipator of mankind ? 

A delay of recognition would be an im- 
jx)rtant breach of justice to the American 
states. We send consuls to their territory, 
in the confidence that their Government and 
their judges will do justice to British sub- 
jects; but we receive no authorised agents 
from them in return. Until they shall be 
recognised by the King, our courts of law 
will not acknowledge their existence. Our 
statutes allow certain privileges to ships 
coming from the "provinces in America 
lately subject to Spain ;" but our courts will 
not acknowledge that these provinces are 
subject to any government. If the maritime 
war which has lately commenced should 
long continue, many questions of interna- 
tional law may arise out of our anomalous 
situation, which it will be impossible to de- 
termine by any established principles. If 
we escape this difficulty by recognising the 
actual governments in courts of Prize, how 
absurd, inconsistent, and inconvenient it is 
not to extend the same recognition to all our 
tribunals ! 

The reception of a new state into the so- 



ciety of civilized nations by those acts which 
amount to recognition, is a proceeding which, 
as it has no legal character, and is purely of 
a moral nature, must vary very much in its 
value, according to the authority of the na- 
tions who, upon such occasions, act as the 
representatives of civilized men. I will sav 
nothing of England, but that she is the only 
anciently free stale in the world. For her 
to refuse her moral aid to communities strug- 
gling for liberty, is an act of unnatural harsh- 
ness, which, if it does not recoil on herselt", 
must injure America hi the estimation of 
mankind. 

This is not all. The delay of recognition 
tends to prolong and exasperate the disorders 
which are the reason alleged for it. It en- 
courages Spain to waste herself in desperate 
efforts; it encourages the Holy Alliance to 
sow division, — to employ intrigue and cor- 
ruption, — to threaten, perhaps to ecjuip and 
despatch, armaments. Then it encourages 
every incendiary to excite revolt, and every 
ambitious adventurer to embark in projects 
of usurpation. It is a cruel policy, which 
has the strongest tendency to continue for a 
time, of which we cannot foresee the limits, 
rapin(; and blood, commotions and civil wars, 
throughout the larger portion of the New 
World. By maintaining an outlaw ry against 
them, we shall give them the character of 
outlaws. The long continuance of confu- 
sion, — in part arising from our refusing to 
countenance their governments, to impose on 
them the mild yoke of civilized opinion, and 
to tcjach them respect for themselves by as- 
sociating them with other free communities, 
— may at length really unfit them for liberty 
or order, and destroy in America that capa- 
city to maintain the usual relations of peace 
and amity with us which undoubtedly exists 
there at present. 

It is vain to expect tliat Spain, even if she 
were to reconquer America, could establish 
in that country a vigorous government, ca- 
pable of securing a peaceful intercourse with 
other countries. America is too determined, 
and Spain is too feeble. The only possible 
result of so unhappy an event would be, to 
exhibit the wretched spectacle of beggary, 
plunder, bloodshed, and alternate anarchy 
and despotism in a country almost depopu- 
lated. It may require time to give firmness 
to native governments: but it is impossi- 
ble that a Spanish one snould ever agani ac- 
quire it. 

Sir, I am far from foretelling that the Ame- 
rican nations will not speedily and complete- 
ly subdue the agitations which are in some 
(fegree, perhaps, inseparable from a struggle 
for independence. I have no such gloomy 
forebodings; though even if I were to yield 
to them, I should not speak the language 
once grateful to the ears of this House, if I 
were not to say that the chance of liberty is 
worth the agitations of centuries. If any 
Englishman were to speak opi)Ofiite doctrines 
to these rising communit es, the present 
power and prosperity and glory of Eng'and 



964 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



would enable them to detect his slavish 
sophistry. As a man, I trust that the virtue 
and fortune of these American states will 
spare them many of the sufferings which 
appear to be the price set on liberty ; but as 
a Briton, I am desirous that we should aid 
them by early treating them with that honour 
and kindness which the justice, humanity, 
valour, and magnanimity which they have 
displayed in the prosecution of the noblest 
object of human pursuit, have so well de- 
served. 

To conclude : — the delay of the recogni- 
tion is not due to Spain : it is injurious to 
America : it is inconvenient to all European 
nations, — and only most inconvenient to 
Great Britain, because she has a greater in- 
tercourse with America than any other na- 
tion. I would not endanger the safety of my 
own country for the advantage of others; I 
would not violate the rules of duty to pro- 
mote its interest; I would not take unlawful 
means even for the purpose of diffusing 
Liberty among men ; I would not violate neu- 
trality to serve America, nor commit injus- 
tice to extend the commerce of England : 



but I would do an act. consistent with neu- 
trality, and warranted by impartial justice, 
tending to mature the liberty and to consoli- 
date the internal quiet of a vast continent, — 
to increase the probability of the benefits of 
free and just government being attained by 
a great portion of mankind, — to procure for 
England the honour of a becoming share in 
contributing to so unspeakable a blessing, — 
to prevent the dictators of Europe from be- 
coming the masters of the New World, — to 
re-establish some balance of opinions and 
force, by placing the republics of America, 
with the wealth and. maritime power of the 
world, in the scale opposite to that of the 
European Allies, — to establish beyond the 
Atlantic an asylum which may preserve, till 
happier times^ the remains of the Spanish 
name, — to save nations, who have already 
proved their generous spirit, from becoming 
the slaves of the Holy Alliance, — and to 
rescue sixteen millions of American Spa- 
niards from sharing with their European 
brethren that sort of law and justice, — of 
peace and order, — which now prevails from 
the Pyrenees to the Rock of Gibraltar. 



SPEECH 
ON THE. CIVIL GOVERNMENT OF CANADA. 

DELIVERED IN THE HOUSE OP COMMONS ON THE 2d OF MAY, 1828. 



Mr. Speaker, — I think I may interpret 
fairly the general feeling of the House, when 
I express my congratulations upon the great 
extent of talent and information which the 
Honourable Member for St. Michael's* has 
just displayed, and that I may venture to 
assert he has given us full assurance, in his 
future progress, of proving a useful and valu- 
able member of the Parliament of this coun- 
try. I cannot, also, avoid observing, that the 
laudable curiosity which carried him to visit 
that country whose situation is now the sub- 
ject of discussion, and still more the curiosity 
which led him to visit that Imperial Republic 
which occupies the other best portion of the 
American continent, gave evidence of a mind 
actuated by enlarged and liberal views. 

After having presented a petition signed 
by eighty-seven thousand of the inhabitants 
Qf Lower Canada — comprehending in that 
number nine-tenths of the heads of families 
in the province, and more than two-thirds of 
its landed proprietors, and after having shown 
that the Petitioners had the greatest causes 
of complaint against the administration of 



* Mr. [now the Right Honourable] Henry La- 
bouchere. — Ed. 



the government in that colony, it would be 
an act of inconsistency on my part to attempt 
to throw any obstacle in the way of that in- 
quiry which the Right Honourable Gentle- 
man* proposes. It might seem, indeed, a 
more natural course on my part, if I had 
seconded such a proposition. Perhaps I 
might have been contented to give a silent 
acquiescence in the appointment of a com- 
mittee, and to reserve any observations I 
may have to offer until some specific mea- 
sure is proposed, or until the House is in pos- 
session of the infoiTnation which may be 
procured through the labours of the commit- 
tee, — perhaps, I say, I might have been dis- 
posed to adopt this course if I had not been 
intrusted with the presentation of that Peti- 
tion. Bat I feel bound by a sense of the 
trust reposed in me to allow no opportunity 
to pass over of calling the attention of-the 
House to the grievances of the Petitioners, 

* Mr. Huskisson, Secretary for the Colonial 
Department, had moved to refer the whole ques- 
tion of the already embroiled affairs of the Ca- 
nadian provinces to a Select Committee of the 
House of Commons, which was eventually agreed 
to.— Ed. 



ON THE CIVIL GOVERNMENT OF CANADA. 



565 



and to their claims for redress and for the 
maintenance of their legitimate rights. This 
duty I hold m3-8elf bound to execute, ac- 
cording to the best of my ability, without 
sacrificing my judgment, or rendering it sub- 
ordinate to any sense of duty ; — but feeling 
only that the confidence of the Petitioners 
binds me to act on their behalf, and as their 
advocate, in precisely the same manner, 
and to the same extent, as if I had been in- 
vested with another character, and autho- 
rised fo state their complaints in a different 
situation.* 

To begin then with the speech of the 
Right Honourable Gentleman, I may take 
leave to observe, that in all that was con- 
tained in the latter part of it he has mj' full- 
est and most cordial assent. In 1822, when 
the Canadians were last before the House, 
I stated the principles which ought to be 
maintained with respect to what the Right 
Honourable Gentleman has very properly 
and very eloquently called the "Great Bri- 
tish Confederacy." I hold now, ae I did 
then, that all the different portions of that 
Confederacy are integral parts of the British 
Empire, and as such entitled to the fullest 
protection. I hold that they are all bound 
together as one great class, by an alliance 
prior in importance to every other, — more 
binding upon us than any treaty ever enter- 
ed into with any state, — the fulfilment of 
which we can never desert without the 
sacrifice of a great moral duty. I hold that 
it can be a matter of no moment, in this bond 
of alliance, whether the parties be divided 
by oceans or be neighbours: — I hold that 
the moral bond of duty and protection is the 
same. My maxims of Colonial Policy are 
few and simple : — a full and efficient pro- 
tection from all foreign influence ; full per- 
mission to conduct the whole of their own 
internal affairs; compelling them to pay all 
the reasoKable expenses of their own govern- 
ment, and giving them at the same time a 
perfect control over the expenditures of the 
money ; and imposing no restrictions of any 
kind upon the industry or traffic of the peo- 
ple. These are the only means by which 
the hitherto almost incurable evil of distant 
government can be either mitigated or re- 
moved. And it may be a matter of doubt, 
whether in such circumstances the colonists 
would not be under a more gentle control, 
and in a happier state, than if they were to 
be admitted to a full participation in the 
rale, and brought under the immediate and 
full protection, of the parent government. 
I agree most fully with the Honourable Gen- 
tleman who spoke la.«t, when he expressed a 
wish that we should leave the regulation of 
the internal affairs of the colonies to the 
colonists, except in eases of the most urgent 
and manifest necessity. The most urgent 
and manifest necessity, I say ; and few and 

* This alludes to his nomination some time 
previously by the House of Assembly of Lower 
Canada as the Agent of the Province, which 
aominaUoii had not however taken effect. — Ed. 



rare ought to be the exceptions to the rule 
even upon (he strength of those necessities. 

Under these circumstances of right I con- 
tend it is prudent to regard all our colonies; 
and peculiarly the population of these two 
great provinces; — provinces placed in one 
of those rare and happy states of society in 
which the progress of population must be 
regarded as a blessing to mankind, — exempt 
from the curse of fostering slavery, — exempt 
from the evils produced b)' the contentions 
of jarring systems of religion, — enjoying the 
blessings of universal toleration, — and pre- 
senting a state of society the most unlike 
that can possibly be imagined to the fastidi- 
ous distinctions of Europe. Exempt at once 
from the slavery of the West, and the castes 
of the East, — exempt, too, from the embar- 
rassments of that other great continent which 
we have chosen as a penal settlement, and 
in which the prejudices of society have 
been fostered, I regret to find, in a most un- 
reasonable degree, — exempt from all the 
artificial distinctions of the Old World, and 
many of the evils of the New, we see a great 
population rapidly growing up to be a great 
nation. None of the claims of such a popu- 
lation ought to be cast aside ; and none of 
their complaints can receive any but the 
most serious consideration. 

In the first part of his speech the Right 
Honourable Gentleman declared, that the 
excesses and complaints of the colonists 
arose from the defect of their constitution, 
and next from certain contentions into w hich 
they had fallen with Lord Dalhousie. In 
any thing I may eay on this occasion, T beg 
to be understood as not casting any imputa- 
tion upon the character of that Noble Lord : 
I speak merely of the acts of his Govern- 
ment; and I wish solely to be understood as 
saying, that my opinion of the acts of that 
Government are different from those which 
I believe to have been conscientiously his. 

I, however, must say, that I thought the 
Right Honourable Gentleman in one part of 
his address hivl indulged himself in some 
pleasantries which seemed ill suited to the 
subject to which he claimed our attention j 
— I allude to the three essential grievances 
which he seemed to imagine led to many, 
if not all, of the discontents and complainl* 
of the colonists. There was the perplexed 
system of real-property-law^, creating such a 
vexatious delay, and such enormous costs to 
the suitor as to amount very nearly to a de- 
nial of justice : this, he said, arose from ad- 
hering to the Custom of Paris. The next 
cause of discontent is the inadequate repre- 
sentation of the people in Parliament : that 
he recommended to the immediate attention 
of the committee, for the purpose of revision. 
Lastly, the members of the Legislature were 
so absurdly ignorant of the first principles of 
political economy, as to have attempted to 
exclude all the indui^try and capital of other 
countries from flowing in to enrich and fer- 
tilise their 'Shores. These were the three 
grounds upon which he formally impeachf d 
2X 



566 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



the people of Canada before the Knights, 
Citizens, and Burgesses of Great Britain and 
Ireland in Parliament assembled. 

Did the Right Honourable Gentlennan never 
\iear of any other system of law, in any 
vther country than Canada, in which a jumble 
«f obsolete usages were mixed up and con- 
founded with modern subtleties, until the 
mind of the most acute men of the age and 
nation — men who had, in a service of forty 
years, passed through every stage of its gra- 
dations — were driven to declare that they 
felt totally unable to find their way through 
its labyrinths, and were compelled, by their 
doubts of what was law and what was not, 
to add in a most ruinous degree to the ex- 
penses of the suitor ? This system has been 
called the " Common Law," — " the wisdom 
of our ancestors," — and various other vener- 
able names. Did he never hear of a system 
of representation in any other country totally 
irreconcilable either with the state of the 
population or with any rule or principle under 
heaven 1 Have I not heard over and over 
again from the lips of the Right Honourable 
Gentleman, and from one* whom, alas! I 
shall hear no more, that this inadequate 
system of representation possessed extraor- 
dinary advantages over those more syste- 
matic contrivances which resulted from the 
studies of the "constitution makers" of other 
countries'? And yet it is for this very irre- 
gu'arity in their mode of representation that 
the Canadians are now to be brought before 
the judgment of the Right Honourable Gentle- 
man's committee. I feh stilt greater wonder, 
however, when I heard him mention his third 
ground of objection to the proceedings of the 
colonists, and his third cause of their dis- 
content — their ignorance of political ecwio- 
my. Too surely the laws for the exclusion 
of the capital and industry of other countries 
did display the grossest ignorance of that 
science! I should not much wonder if I 
heard of the Canadians devising plans to 
prevent the entrance of a single grain of 
foreign corn into the provinces. I should not 
wonder to hear the members of their Legis- 
lature and their great land -owners contend- 
ing that it was absolutely necessary that the 
people should be able to raise all their own 
food ; and consequently (although, perhaps, 
they do not see the consequences) to make 
every other nation completely independent 
of their products and their industry. It is 
perhaps barely possible that some such non- 
sense as this might be uttered in the legisla- 
tive assembly of the Canadians. 

Then ag-ain, Sir, the Right Honourable 
Gentleman has alluded to the Seigneurs and 
their vassals. Some of these "most potent, 
grave, and' reverend" Seigneurs may happen 
to be jealous of their manorial rights: for 
seigneuralty means manor, and' a seigneur is 
only, therefore, a lord of the manor. How 
harmless this lofty word seems to be when 
Irans.ated ! Some of these seigneurs might 

* Mr^ Caxining. — Ed. 



happen, I say, to be jealous of their manorial 
privileges, and anxious for the preservation 
of their game. I am a very bad sportsman 
myself, and not well acquainted with the 
various objects of anxiety to such persons ; 
but there may be, too, in these colonies also, 
persons who may take upon themselves to 
institute a rigorous inquiry into the state of 
their game, and into the best methods of 
preserving red game and black game, and 
pheasants and partridges: and who might be 
disposed to make it a question whether any 
evils arise from the preservation of these 
things for their sport, or whether the safely, 
the liberty, and the life of their fellow-sub- 
jects ought not to be sacrificed for their per- 
sonal gratification. 

With regard to the observance of the 
Custom of Paris, I beg the House to consider 
that no change was effected from 1760 to 
1789; and (although I admit wilh the Right 
Honourable Gentleman that it may be bad as 
a system of conveyance, and may be expen- 
sive on account of the difficulties- produced 
by mortgages) that the Canadians cannot be 
very ill off under a code of laws which grew 
np under the auspices of the Parliament of 
Paris — a body comprising the greatest learn- 
ing and talent ever brought to the study of 
the law, and boasting the names of L'Hopital 
and Montesquieu. 

Neither can it be said, that the Assembly 
of Canada was so entirely indifferent to its 
system of representation : for if ought to be 
recollected, that they passed a bill to amend 
it, which was thrown out by the Council, — 
that is, in fact, by the Government. At all 
events, this shows that there was no want 
of a disposition to amend the state of their 
representation; although Government might 
differ from them as to the best method of 
accomplishing it. A bill for establii-hing th? 
independence of the judges was another re- 
medial measure thrown out by the Upper 
House. 

As at present informed, however, without 
going further into these questions, I see 
enough stated in the Petition vipon the table 
of the House, to justify the appointment of 
a committee of inquiry. 

In every country, Sir, the wishes of the 
greater number of the inhabitant.?, and of 
those in possession of the great mass of the 
property, ought to have great influence in the 
government; — they ought to possess the 
power of the government. If this be true 
generally, the rule ought, a miiHo fortiori, to 
be followed in the government of distant 
colonies, from which the information that i* 
to guide the Government at home is sent by 
a few, and is never correct or complete. A 
Government on the spot, though with the 
means of obtaining correct information, i» 
exposed to the delusions of prejudice : — for 
a Government at a distance, the only safe 
course to pursue is to follow public opinion. 
In making the practical application of thi» 
principle, if I find the Govenunent of any 
country engaged in squabbles with the great 



ON THE CIVIL GOVERNMENT OF CANADA. 



667 



mass of the people, — if I find it engaged in 
vexatious controversies and ill-timed dis- 
putes, — especially if that Governnrient be the 
Government of a colony, — I say, that there 
is a reasonable presumption against that Go- 
vernment. I do not charge it with injustice, 
but I charge it with imjjrudence and indis- 
cietion ; and I say that it is unfit to hold the 
authority intrusted to it. The ten years of 
squabbles and hostility which have existed 
in this instance, are a sufficient charge agahi.st 
this Government. 

I was surprised to hear the Right Honour- 
able Gentleman put the People and the Go- 
vernment on the same footing in this respect. 
What is government good for, if not to temper 
passion with wisdom? The People are said 
to be deficient in certain qualities, and a go- 
vernment are said to possess them. If the 
People are not deficient in them, it is a fal- 
lacy to talk of the danger of intrusting them 
with political power: if they are deficient, 
where is ihe common sense of exacting from 
them that moderation which government is 
instituted for the very purpose of supplying? 

Taking this to be true as a general princi- 
ple, it cannot be false in its application to 
the question before the House. As I under- 
stand it, the House of Assembly has a right 
to apjjropriate the supplies which itself has 
granted. The House of Commons knows 
well how to appreciate that right, and should 
not quarrel with the House of Assembly for 
indulging in a similar feeling. The Right 
Honourable Gentleman himself admits the 
existence of this right. The Governor-Gene- 
ral has, however, infringed it, by appropria- 
ting a sum of one hundred and forty thousand 
pounds without the authority of the Assem- 
bly. TL'it House does not claim to appro- 
priate the revenue raised under the Act of 
1774: they only claim a right to examine 
the items of the appropriation in order to 
a.scertain if the Government need any fresh 
supplies. The Petitioners state it as one of 
their not unimaginary grievances, that they 
have lost one hundred thousand pounds by 
the neglect of the Receiver-General. This 
is not one of those grievances which are said 
to arise from the Assembly's claim of politi- 
cal rights. Another dippute arises from the 
Governor-General claiming, in imitation of 
the power of the King, a right to confirm the 
Speaker of the House of Assembly. This 
right, — a very ancient one, and venerable 
from its antiquity and from being an esta- 
blished fact of an excellent constitution at 
home, — is a most absurd adjunct to a wjlo- 
nial government. But I will not investigate 
the question, nor enter into any legal argu- 
ment with regard to it ; for no discussion can 
in any case, as I feel, be put in competition 
with the feelings of a whole people. It is a 
fatal error in the rulers of a country to despise 
the people: its safety, honour, and strength, 
are best preserved by consulting their wishes 
and feelings. The Government at Quebec, 
despising such considerations, has been long 
engaged in a scuffle with the people, and has 
2q2 



thought hard words and hard blows not in 
consistent with its dignity. 

I observe, Sir, that twenty-one bills were 
passed by the Ilouse of Assembly in 1827, 
— most of them reformatory, — of which not 
one ^^■a3 approved of by the Legislative 
Council. Is the Governor responsible for 
this ■? I answer, he is. The Council is no- 
thing else but his tool : it is not, as at present 
constituted, a fair and just constitutional 
check between the popular assembly and the 
Governor. Of the twenty-seven Councillors, 
seventeen hold places under the Government 
at pleasure, dividingamong themselves yearly 
fifteen thousand pounds, which is not a small 
sum in a country in which a thousand a-year 
is a large income for a country gentleman. 
I omit the Bishop, who is perhaps rather too 
much inclined to authority, but is of a pacific 
character. The minority, worn out in their 
fruitless resistance, have withdrawn from 
attendance on the Council. Two of them, 
being the most considerable landholders in 
the province, were amongst the subscribers 
to the Petition. I appeal to the Honse^ if the 
Canadians are not justified in considering the 
very existence of this Council as a constitu- 
tional grievance ? 

It has been said that there is no aristocracy 
formed in the province. It is not possible 
that this part of Mr. Pitt's plan could ever 
have been carried into execution : an aristo- 
cracy — the creature of time and opinion — 
cannot be created. But men of great merit 
and superior qualifications get an influence 
over the people ; and they foim a species of 
aristocracy, differing, indeed, from one of 
birth and descent, but supplying the mate- 
rials out of which a constitutional senate 
may be constituted. Such an aristocracy 
there is in Canada j but it is excluded from 
the Council. 

There are then. Sir, two specific classes 
of grievances complained of by the Lower- 
Canadians: the first is, the continued hosti- 
lity to all the projected measures of the 
Assembly by the Governor ; the second is, 
the use he makes of the Council to oppose 
them. These are the grounds on which in- 
quiry and change are demanded. I, how- 
ever, do not look upon these circumstances 
alone as peremptorily requiring a change in 
the constitution of the province. These are 
wrongs which the Government might have 
remedied. It might have selected a better 
Council; and it might have sent out instruc- 
tions to the Governor to consult the feelings 
of the people. It might have pointed out to 
him the example of a Government which 
gave way to the wishes of a people, — of a 
majority of the people, expressed by a ma 
jority of their representatives, — on a ques- 
tion, too, of religious liberty,* and instead of 
weakening themscilves, had thereby more 
firmly seated themselves in the hearts of the 
people. On reviewing the whole question, 
the only practical remedy which I see, is to 



* Alluding to the repeal of the Test Act.— Ed. 



"4>6S 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



introduce more pmdence and discretion into 
the counsels of the Administration of the 
Province. 

The Right Honourable Gentleman has made 
allusion to the English settlers in Lower- 
Canada, as if they were opjiressed by the 
natives. But I ask what law has been pa.ssed 
by the As.sembly that is unjust to them 1 Is 
it a remedy for this that it is proposed to 
change the scheme of representation 1 The 
English inhabitants of Lower-Canada, with 
^some few exceptions, collected in towns as 
merchants or the agents of merchants, — 
very respectable persons, I have no doubt, — 
raraount to about eighty thousand : would it 
not be the height of injustice to give them 
the same influence which the four hundred 
thousand Canadians, from their numbers and 
properly, ought to possess 1 Sir, when I hear 
<df an inquiry on account of measures neces- 
sary to protect English settlers, I greatly 
lament that any such language should have 
been used. Are w^e to have an English colony 
in Canada separated from the rest of the in- 
habitants, — a favoured body, with peculiar 
privileges ? Shall they have a spnpathy with 
English sympathies and English interests'? 
And shall we deal out to'Canada six hundred 
years of such miseries as we have to Ireland ? 
Let us not, in God's name, introduce such 
curses into another region. Let our policy 
be to give all the King's subjects in Canada 
equal law and equal justice. I cannot listen 
to unwise distinctions, generating alarm, and 
leading to nothing but evil, without adverting 
to them ; and I shall be glad if my observa- 
tions supply the Gentlemen opposite with the 
opportunity of disavowing, — knowing, as I 
do, that the disavowal will be sincere — that 
any such disthiction is to be kept up. 

As to Upper Canada, the statement of the 
Right Honourable Gentleman appears to be 
scanty in information : it does not point out, 
— as is usual in proposing such a Committee, 
— what is to be the termination of the change 
proposed. He has thrown out two or three 
plans ; but he has also himself supplied ob- 
jections to them. The Assembly there ap- 
pears to be as independent as the one in the 
Lower province. I have heard of some of 
their measures — an Alien bill, a Catholic, 
bill, and a bill for regulating the Press : 
and these discussions vvere managed with as 
much spirit as those of an assembly which 
I will not say is better, but which has the 
gooil fortune to be their superiors. The peo- 
ple have been much disappointed by the 



immense grants of land which have been 

reserved for the Church of England, — which 
faith is not that of the majority of the people. 
Such endowments are to be held sacred 
where they have been long made ; but I do 
not see the propriety of creating them anew, 
— and for a Church, too, to which the ma- 
jority of the people do not belong. Then, 
with regard to the regulations which have 
been made for the new college, I see with 
astonishment that, in a country where the 
majoritjr of the people do not belong to the 
Church of England, the professors are all to 
subscribe to the Thirty-nine Articles : so that, 
if Dr. Adam Smith were alive, he could not 
fill the chair of political econom)', and Dr. 
Black would be excluded from that of chem- 
istry. Another thing should be considered : 
— a large portion of the population con.«;ist3 
of American settlers, who can least of all 
men bear the intrusion of law into the do- 
mains of conscience and religion. It is a 
bad augury for the welfare of the province, 
that opinions prevalent at the distance of 
thousands of miles, are to be the foundations 
of the college-charter: it is still worse, if 
they be only the opinions of a faction, that 
we cannot interfere to correct the injustice. 

To the proposed plan for the union of the 
two provinces there are so many and such 
powerful objections, that I scarcely think 
that such a measure can soon be success- 
fully concluded. The Bill proposed in 1822, 
whereby the bitterness of the Lower-Canatla 
Assembly was to be mitigated by an infu- 
sion of mildness from the Upper province, — 
failing as it did, — has excited general alarm 
and mistrust among all your colonies. Ex- 
cept that measure, which ought to be looked 
upon as a warning rather than a precedent, 
I think the grounds upon which we have 
now been called upon to interfere the scan- 
tiest that ever were exhibited. 

I do not know, Sir, what other plans are to 
be produced, but I think the wisest measure 
would be to send out a temperate Governor, 
with instructions to be candid, and to supply 
him with such a Council as will put an end 
to the present disputes, and infuse a better 
spirit into the administration than it has 
known for the last ten years. I wish, how- 
ever, to state, that I have not come to a final 
judgment, but have merely described what 
the bearing of my mind is on those general 
maxims of colonial policy, any deviation 
from which is as inconsistent with national 
policy as it is with national justice. 



ON THE AFFAIRS OF PORTUGAL. 



569 



SPEECH 



ON MOVING FOR 



PAPERS RELATIVE TO THE AFFAIRS OF PORTUGAL. 

DELIVERED IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS, ON THE 1st OF JUNE, 1S29. 



Mr. Spe.\ker, — I think it will be scarcely 
necessary for any man who addresses the 
House from that part of it where I generally 
sit, to disclaim any spirit of party opposition 
to His Majesty's Ministers during the present 
session. My own conduct in dealing with 
the motion Which I regret that it is now my 
painful duty to bring forward, affords, I be- 
lieve I may say, a pretty fair sample of the 
principle and feeling which have guided all 
my friends in the course they have adopted 
since the very first day of this Session, when 
I intimated my intention to call public atten- 
tion to the present subject. For the first 
two months of the session, I considered my- 
selCand my political friends as acting under 
a sacred and irresistible obligation not to do 
any thing which might appear even to ruffle 
the surface of that hearty and complete co- 
operation which experience has proved to 
have been not more than necessary to the suc- 
cess of that grand healing measure* brought 
forward by His Majesty's Ministers. — that 
measure which I trust and believe will be 
found the most beneficent ever adopted by 
Parliament since the perrod when the happy 
settlement of a Parliamentary and constitu- 
tional crown on the House of Brunswick, not 
only preserved the constitution of England, 
but struck a death-blow against all preten- 
sions to unbounded power and indefeasible 
title throughout the world. I cannot now 
throw off the feelings that actuated me in 
the course of the contest by means of which 
this great measure has been effected. I can- 
not so soon forget that I have fought by the 
side of the Gentlemen opposite for the at- 
tainment of that end. Such are my feelings 
upon the present occasion, that while I will 
endeavour to discharge my duty, as I feel 
no hostility, so I shall assume no appearance 
of acriuiony. At the same time, I trust my 
conduct will be found to be at an immeasura- 
ble distance from that lukewarainess, which, 
on a question of national honour, and in the 
cause of the defenceless. I should hold to be 
aggravated treachery. I am influenced by 
a solicitude that the councils of England 
should be and should seem unspotted, not 
only at home, but in the eye of the people 
as well as the rulers of Europe, — by a desire 

* The Bill for removing the Roir.ar, Catholic 
disabilities. 

72 



!for an explanation of measures which have 

} ended in plunging our most ancient ally into 

! the lowest depths of degradation, — by a warm 
and therefore jealous regard to national hon 
our, which, in my judgment, consists still 
more in not doing or abetting, or approach- 

! ing. or conniving at wrong to others, than in 
the spirit never tamely to brook wrong done 
to ourselves. ^ 

I I hold it, Sir, as a general principle to be 
exceedingly beneficial and wholesome, that 
the attention of the House should be some- 
times drawn to the state of our foreign rela- 
tions : and this for the satisfaction of the peo- 
ple of England ; — in the first place, in order 
to assure them that proper care is taken foi 
the maintenance of peace and security j — 

I above all, to convince them that caie is taken 
of the national honour, the best, and indeed 

j only sufficient guard of that peace and secu- 
rity. I regard such discussions as acts of 
courtesy due to our fellow-members of the 
great commonwealth of European states ; 
more particularly now that some of them are 

I bound to us by kindred ties of liberty, and 
by the possession of institutions similar to 
our own. Two of our neighbouring states, 
— one our closest and most congenial ally, — 
the other, in times less happy, our most 
illustrious antagonist, but in times to come 
our most illustrious rival — have adopted our 
English institutions of limited monarchy and 
representative assemblies : ma)' they con- 
solidate and perpetuate their wise alliance 
between authority and freedom ! The occa- 
sional discussions of Foreign Policy in such 
assemblies will, I believe, in spite of cross 
accidents and intemperate individuals, prove 
o.n the whole, and in the long-run, favourable 
to good-will and good understanding between 
nations, by gradually softening prejudicep, 
by leading to public and satisfactory expla- 
nations of ambig-uous acts, and even by 
affording a timely vent to jealousies and re- 
sentments. They will, I am persuaded, root 
more deeply that strong and growing passion 
for peace, which, whatever may be the pro- 
jects or intrigues of Cabinets, is daily spread- 
ing in the hearts of European nations, and 
which, let me add, Js the best legacy be- 
queathed to us by the fierce wars which 
have desolated Europe from Copenhagen 10 
Cadiz. They will foster this useful disposi- 
tion, through the most generous sentiments 
2x2 



570 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



of human nature, instead of attempting to 
attain the same end by under-rating the re- 
sources or magnifying the difHcullies of any 
single country, at a moment when distress is 
feh by all : — attempts more likely to rouse 
and provoke the just sense of national dig- 
nity which belongs to great and gallant na- 
tions, than to check their boldness or to damp 
their spirit. 

If any thing was wanting to strengthen my 
passion for peace, it would draw new vigour 
from the dissuasive against war which I 
heard fall with such weight from the lips of 
him,* of whom alone in the two thousand 
years that have passed since Scipio defeated 
Hannibal at Zama. it can be said, that in a 
single battle he overthrew the greatest of 
commanders. I thought, at the moment, of 
verses written and sometimes quoted for 
other purposes, but characteristic of a dis- 
suasive, which derived its weight from so 
many victories, and of the awful lesson taught 
by the fate of his mighty antagonist : — 

4 " Si admoveris ora, 

Caiinas et Trebiam ante oculos, Thrasymenaque 

busta, 
Et Pauli stare ingenlem miraberis umbram."t 

Actuated by a passion for peace, I own 
that I am as jealous of new guarantees of 
foreign political arrangements, as I should be 
resolute in observing the old. I object to 
them as multiplying the chances of war. 
And I deprecate virtual, as well as express 
ones : for such engagements may be as much 
contracted by acts as by words. To proclaim 
by our measures, or our language, that the 
preservation of jhe integrity of a particular 
state is to be introduced as a principle into 
the public policy of Europe, is in truth to 
form a new, and, perhaps, universal, even 
if only a virtual, guarantee. I will not affect 
to conceal that I allude to our peculiarly ob- 
jectionable guarantee of the Ottoman em- 
pire.}. I cannot see the justice of a policy, 
which would doom to perpetual barbarism 
and barrenness the eastern and southern 
shores of the Mediterranean, — the fair and 
famous lands which wind from the Eu.xine 
to the Atlantic. I recoil fi-om thus riveting 
the Turkish yoke on the neck of the Chris- 
tian nations of As'a Minor, of Mesopotamia, 
of Syria, and of Egypt ; encouraged as they 
are on the one hand to hope for deliverance 
by the example of Greece, and sure that 
the barbarians will be provoked, by the 
Kame example, to maltreat them with tenfold 
cruelty. It is in vain to distinguish in this 
case between a guarantee against foreign 
enemies, and one against internal revolt. If 
all the Powers of Europe be pledged by their 
acts to protect the Turkish territory from 
invasion, the unhappy Christians of the East 

* Alliuling to a passage contained in a speech 
of the Duke of Wellington on the Catholic Relief 
Bill.— Ed. 

t Pharsalia, lib. vii. — Ed. 

t Which formed part of the basis of the arrange- 
ments for liberating Greece. — Ed. 



must look on all as enemies : while the Turk, 
relieved from all foreign fear, is at perfect 
liberty to tyrannize over his slaves. The 
Christians must despair not only of aid, but 
even of good-will, from states whose interest 
it will become, that a Government which 
they are bound to shield from abroad should 
be undisturbed at home. Such a guarantee 
cannot be long enforced ; it will shortly give 
rise to the very dangers against which it is 
intended to guard. The issue will assuredly, 
in no long time, be, that the great military 
Powers of the neighbourhood, when they 
come to the brink of war with each other, 
will recur to their ancient secret of avoiding 
a quarrel, by fairly cutting up the prey that 
lies at their feet. They will smile at the 
credulity of those most distant states, whose 
strength; however great, is neither. of the 
kind, nor within the distance, which would 
enable them to prevent the partition. But 
of this, perhaps, too much. 

The case of Portugal touches us most near- 
ly. It is that of a country connected with 
England by treaty for four hundred and fifty 
years, without the interruption of a single 
day's coldness, — w^ith which we have been . 
connected by a treaty of guarantee for more 
than a century, without ever having been 
drawn into war, or exposed to the danger of 
it, — which, on the other hand, for her stead- 
fast faith to England, has been three tirnes 
invaded— in 1760, in 1801, and in 1807,— 
and the soldiers of which have fought for 
European independence, when it was main- 
tained by our most renowned captains against 
Louis XiV. and Napoleon. It is a connection 
which in length and intimacy the history of 
mankind cannot match. All other nations 
have learnt to regard our ascendant, and 
their attachment, as two of the elements of 
the European system. May I venture to 
add, that Portugal preceded us, though but 
for a short period, in the command of the 
sea. and that it is the country of the greatest 
poet who has employed his genius in cele- 
brating nautical enterprise? 

Such is the country which has fallen under 
the yoke of an usurper, whose private crimes 
rather remind us of the age of Commodus 
and Caracalla, than of the level mediocrity 
of civilized vice, — who appears before the 
whole world with the deep brand on his 
brow of a pardon from his king and father 
for a parricide rebellion, — who has waded 
to the throne through a succession of frauds, 
falsehoods, and perjnries, for which any man 
amenable to the law would have suffered 
the most disgraceful, — if not the last pun- 
ishment. Meanwhile the lawful sovereign, 
Donna Maria II., received by His Majesty 
with parental kindness, — by the British na- 
tion with the interest due to her age, and 
sex, and royal dignity, — solemnly recognised 
by the British Government as Queen of Por- 
tugal, — whom all the great Powers of Europe 
once co-operated to place on her throne, con- 
tinues still to be an exile ; though the very 
acts by which she is unlawfully dispossessed 



ON THE AFFAIRS OF PORTUGAL. 



671 



are outrages and indignities of the highest 
nature against these Powers themselves. 

His Majesty has twice told his Parliament 
that he has been compelled, by this alike 
perfidious and insolent usurpation, to break 
off all diplomatic intercourse with Portugal. 
Europe has tried the Usurper. EiTiope is 
determined that under his sway the usual re- 
lations of amity and courtesy cannot be kept 
up with a once illustrious and still respecta- 
ble nation. So strong a mark of the displea- 
sure of ail European rulers has never yet 
been set on any country in time of peace. 
It would be a reflection on them, to doubt 
tliat they have been in some measure influ- 
enced by those unconfuted — I might say, un- 
contradicted — charges of monstrous crimes 
which' hang over the head of the Usurper. 
His crimes, public and private, have brought 
on her this unparalleled dishonour. Never 
before were the crimes of a ruler the avowed 
and sufficient ground of so severe a visitation 
on a people. It is. therefore, my public duty 
to state them here; and I cannot do so in 
soft word.'?, without injustice to Portugal and 
disgrace to myself. In a case touching our 
national honour, in relation to our conduct 
towards a feeble ally, and to the unmatched 
ignominy which has now befallen her, I 
must use the utmost frankness of speech. 

I m.ust inquire what are the causes of this 
fatal issue 1 Has the fluctuation of British 
policy had any part in it? Can we safely 
say that we have acted not merely with 
literal fidelity to engagements, but with gene- 
rous support to those who risked all in reli- 
ance on us, — with consistent friendship to- 
wards a people who put their trust in us, — 
with liberal good faith to a monarch whom 
we acknowledge as lawful, and who has 
taken irretrievable steps in consequence of 
our apparent encouragement? The motion 
with which I shall conclude, will bo for an 
address to obtain answers to these important 
questions, by the production of the principal 
despatches and documents relating to Portu- 
guese affains, from the summer of 1826 to 
to the present moment; whether originating 
at London, at Lisbon, at Vienna, at Rio Ja- 
neiro, or at Terceira. 

As a ground for .such a motion. I am obliged. 
Sir, to state at some length, though as .shortly 
as I can, the events on which these docu- 
ments may throw the needful light. In this 
statement I shall first lighten my burden by 
throwing overboard the pretended claim of 
Miguel to the crown, under I know not what 
ancient laws : not that I have not examined 
it,* and found it to be altogether absurd ; but 
because he renounced it by repeated oaths, — 
because all the Powers of Europe recognised 
another settlement of the Poitugucse crown, 
and took measures, though inadequate one.s, 
to carry it into eff'ect, — because His Majesty 
has withdrawn his minister from Lisbon, in 
acknowledgment of Donna Maria's right. I 
content myself with these authorities, as, in 



• See the Case of Donna Maria. — Ed. 



this place, indisputable. In the perforanance 
of my duty, I shall have to relate facts which 
I have heard from high authority, and to 
quote copies which I consider as accurate, 
of various despatches and minutes. I be- 
lieve the truth of what I shall relate, and the 
correctness of what I shall quote. I shall be 
corrected wheresoever I may chance to be 
misinformed. I owe no part of my intelli- 
gence to any breach of duty, The House 
will not wonder that many copies of docu- 
ments interesting to multitudes of men, in 
the disastrous situation of some of the parties, 
should have been scattered over Europe. 

I pass over the revolution of 1820, when a 
democratical monarchy was adopted. The 
principles of its best adherents have been 
modified by the reform of 1826: its basest 
leaders are now among the tools of the 
Usurper, while he proscribes the loyal suf- 
ferers of that period. I mention only in pas- 
sing the Treaty of Rio Janeiro, completed in 
August, 1825, by which Brazil was separated 
from Portugal, under the mediation of Eng- 
land and Austria; — the result of negotiations 
in which Sir Charles Stuart (now Lord Stuart 
de Rothesay), one of the most distinguished 
of British diplomatists, acted as the plenipo- 
tentiary of Portugal. In the following spring, 
John VI., the late King of Portugal, died, 
after having, in the ratification of the treaty, 
acknowledged Dom Pedro as his heir. It 
was a necessary interpretation of that treaty 
that the latter was not to continue King of 
Portugal in his own right, but only for the 
purpose of separating and settling the two 
kingdoms. He held Portugal in trust, and 
only till he had discharged this trust : for 
that purpose some time was necessary; the 
duration could not be precisely defined; but 
it was sufficient that there should appear no 
symptom of bad faith, — no appearance of an 
intention to hold it longer than the purposes 
of the trust absolutely required. For these 
purposes, and for that time, he was aS much 
King of Portugal as his forefathers, and as 
such was recognised by all Euroi-e, with the 
exception of Spain, which did not throw the 
discredit of her recognition on his title. 

To effect the separation safely^ and bene- 
ficially for both countries, Dom Pedro abdi- 
cated the crown of Portugal in favour of his 
daughter Donna Maria, who was to be affi- 
anced to Dom Miguel, on condition of his 
.swearing to observe the Constitution at the 
same time bestowed by Dom Pedro on the 
Portuguese nation. With whatever pangs 
he thus sacrificed his daughter, it must be 
owned that no arrangement seemed more 
hkely to secure peace between the parties 
who divided Portugal, than the union of the 
chief of the Absoluti.sts with a princess who 
became the hope of the Constitutionalists. 
Various opinions may be formed of the fit- 
ness of Portugal for a free constitution : but 
no one can doubt that the foundations of 
tranquillity could be laid no otherwise than 
in the security of each party from being op- 
pressed by the other. — that a fair distribu- 



572 



MACKINTOSH'S MSCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



tion of political power between them was 
the only means of shielding either, — and that 
no such distribution could be effected with- 
out a constitution comprehending all classes 
and parties. 

In the month of June, 1826, this Constitu- 
tion was brought to Lisbon by the same emi- 
nent English minister who had gone from 
that city to Brazil as the plenipotentiary of 
John VI., and who now returned from Rio to 
the Tagus, as the bearer of the Constitutional 
Charter granted by Dom Pedro. I do not 
meddle with the rumours of dissatisfaction 
then produced by that Minister's visit to 
Lisbon. It is easier to censure a1 a distance, 
than to decide on a pressing emergency. It 
doubtless appeared of the utmost importance 
to Sir Charles Stuart, that the uncertainty of 
the Portuguese natton as to their form of 
government should not be continued ; and 
that he, a messengcir of peace, should hasten 
with its tidings. No one can doubt that the 
people of Portugal* received such a boon, by 
sucli a bearer, as a mark of the favourable 
disposition of the British Government towards 
the Constitution. It is matter of notoriety 
that many of the Nobility were encouraged 
by this seeming approbation of Great Britain 
publicly to espouse it in a manner which 
they might and would otherwise have con- 
sidered as an useless sacrifice of their own 
safety. Their constitutional principles, how- 
ever sincere, required no such devotion, 
without these reasonable hopes of success, 
which every mark of the favour of England 
strongly tended to inspire. No diplomatic 
disavowal (a proceeding so apt to be con- 
sidered as merely formal) could, even if it 
were public, which it was not, undo the im- 
pression made by lhis act of Sir Charles 
Stuart. No avowal, however public, made 
six months after, of an intention to abstain 
from all interference in intestine divisions, 
could replace the Portuguese in their first 
situation : they had taken irrevocable steps, 
and cut themselves off from all retreat. 

But th's is not all. Unless I be misin- 
formed by those who cannot deceive, and 
are most unlikely to be deceived, the promul- 
gation of the Constitution was suspended at 
Lisbon till the Regency could receive advice 
from His Majesty. The delay lasted at least 
a fortnight. The advice given was, to put 
the Charter in force. I do not know the 
terms of this opinion, or the limitations and 
conditions which might accompany it ; nor 
does it import to my reasoning that I should. 
The great practical fact that it was asked 
for, was sure to be published, as it instantly 
was, through all the societies of Lisbon. — 
The small accessories were either likely to 
be concealed, or sure to be disregarded, by 
eager and ardent reporters. In the rapid 
ducce.'ssion of governments which then ap- 
peared at Lisbon, it could not fail to be known 
to every man of information, and spread with 
the usual exaggerations among the multitude, 
that Great Britain had declared for the Con- 
stitution. Let it not be thought that I men- 



tion these acts to blame them. They were 
the good offices of an ally. Friendly advice 
is not undue interference : it involves no en- 
croachment on independence, — no departure 
from neutrality. ''Strict neutrality consists 
merely, first, in abstaining from all part in 
the operations of war; and, secondly, in 
equally allowing or forbidding the supply of 
instruments of war to both parties."* Neu- 
trality does not imply indifference. It re- 
quires no detestable impartiality between 
right or wrong. It consists in an abstinence 
from certain outward acts, well defined by 
international law, — leaving the heart entirely 
free, and the hands at liberty, where they 
are not visibly bound. We violated no neu- 
trality in execrating the sale of Corsica, — in 
loudly crying out against the partition of 
Poland. Neutrality did not prevent Mr. 
Canning from almost praying in this House 
for the defeat of the French invasion of 
Spain. No war with France, or Austria, or 
Prussia, or Russia, ensued. Neutrality is 
not a point, but a line extending from the 
camp of one party to the camp of his oppo- 
nent. It comprehends a great variety of 
shades and degrees of good and ill opinion: 
so that there is scope within its technical 
limits for a change from the most friendly to 
the most adverse policy, as long as arms are 
not taken up. 

Soon after, another encouragement of an 
extraordinary nature presented itself to this 
unfortunate people, the atrocious peculiari- 
ties of which throw into shade its connection, 
through subsequent occurrences, with the 
acts of Great Britain. On the 30th October 
following. Dom Miguel, at Vienna, lirst swore 
to the Constitution, and was consequently 
affianced by the Pope's Nuncio, in the pre- 
sence of the Imperial Ministers, to Donna 
Maria, whom he then solemnly acknow- 
ledged as Queen of Portugal. This wa8 
the first of his perjuries. It was a deliberate 
one, for it depended on the issue of a Papal 
dispensation, which required time and many 
formalities. The falsehood had every aggra- 
vation that can arise from the quality of 
the witnesses, the importance of the object 
which it secured to him, and the reliance 
which he desired should be placed on it by 
this country. At the same moment, a re- 
bellion, abetted by Spain, broke out in his 
name, which still he publicly disavowed. 
Two months more, and the perfidy of Spain 
became apparent : the English troops were 
landed in Portugal ; the rebels were driven 
from the territory of our ancient friends, by 
one of the most wise, honourable, vigorous, 
and brilliant strokes of policy ever struck 
by England. Mr. Canning delivered Portu- 
gal, and thus paid the debt which we owed 
for four centuries of constant faith and friend- 
ship, — for three invasions and a conquest 
endured in onr cause. Still we were neutral : 
but what Portuguese could doubt that the 
nation which had scattered the Absolutists 

* Mariens, Precis du Droit des Gens, p. 524. 



ON THE AFFAIRS OF PORTUGAL. 



578 



vras friendly to the Constitution 1 No tech- 
nical rule was broken : but new encourage- 
ment was unavoiilably held out. These re- 
peated incentives to a nation's hopes, — these 
informal but most effective, and therefore 
most binding acts, are those on which I lay 
the stress of this argument, still moi^ than 
on federal and diplomatic proceedings. 

There occurred in the following year a 
transaction between the Governments, more 
nearly approaching the nature of a treaty, 
and which, in my humble judgment, par- 
takes much of its nature, and imposes its 
equitable and l^onourable duties. I now 
come to the conferences of Vienna in au- 
tumn, 1827. On the 3d of July in that year, 
Dom Pedro "had issued an edict by which he 
approached more nearly to an abdication of 
the crown, and nominated Dom Miguel lieu- 
tenant of the kingdom. This decree had 
been enforced by letters of the same date, — 
one to Dom Miguel, commanding and re- 
quiring him to execute the office in con- 
formity with the Constitution, and others to 
his allies, the Emperor of Austria and the 
King of Great Britain, committing to them 
as it were the execution of his decree, and 
beseeching them to take such measures as 
should render the Constitutional Charter the 
fundamental law of the Portuguese mo- 
narchy.* On these conditions, for this pur- 
pose, he prayed for aid in the establishment 
of Miguel. In consequence Of this decree, 
measures had been immediately taken for a 
ministerial conference at Vienna, to concert 
the means of its execution. 

And here, Sir, I must mention one of them, 
as of the utmost importance to both branches 
of my argument ; — as an encouragement to 
the Portuguese, and as a virtual engagement 
with Dom Pedro : and I entreat the House to 
bear in mind the character of the transactions 
of which I am now to speak, as it affects both 
these important points. Count Villa Real, at 
that time in London, was appointed, I know 
not by whom, to act as a Portuguese minis- 
ter at Vienna. Under colour of want of time 
to consult the Princess Regent at Lisbon, un- 
signed papers of advice, amounting in effect 
to instructions, were put into his hands by an 
Austrian and an English minister. In these 
papers he was instructed to assure Miguel, 
that by observing the Constitutional Charter, 
he would insure the support of England. 
The tone and temper fit to be adopted by 
Miguel in conversations at Paris were pointed 
out. Count Villa Real was more especially 
instructed to urge the necessity of Miguel's 
return by England. '-His return," it was 
said, "is itself an immense guarantee to the 
Royalists; his return through this country 
will be a security to the other party." Could 
the Nobility and people of Portugal fail to 



* " Je supplie V. M. de m'aider non seulemcnt 
a faire que cette regence entre promptoment en 
fonctions, mais encore a effectuer que la Charte 
Constitutionelle octroyee par moi devienne la loi 
fondamentale du Royaume." — Dom Pedro to the 
King of Great Britain, 3d July, 1827. 



consider so active a part in the settlement 
of their goverimient, as an encouragement 
from their ancient and powerful ally to ad- 
here to the Constitution ■? Is it possible that 
language so remarkable should not speedily 
have spread among them ? May not some 
of those before whose eyes now rises a scaf- 
fold have been emboldened to act on their 
opinions by encouragement which seemed 
so flattering? 

In the month of September, 1827,. when 
Europe and America were bewailing the 
death of Mr. Canning, a note M^as given in at 
Vienna by the Marquess de Rezende. the 
Brazilian minister .at that court, containing 
the edict and letters of the 3d of July. The 
ministers of Austria, England, Portugal, and 
Brazil, assembled there on the 18th of Octo- 
ber. They began by taking the Brazilian 
note and the documents wliich accompanied 
it, as the basis of their proceedings. It was 
thus acknowledged, solemnly, that Dom 
Pedro's title was unimpaired, and his settle- 
ment of the constitutional crown legitimate. 
They thus also accepted the execution of the 
trust on the conditions under which he com- 
mitted it to them. 

It appears from a despatch of Prince Met- 
ternich to Prince Esteihazy (the copy of 
which was entered on the minutes of the 
conference), that Prince Metternich imme- 
diately proceeded to dispose Dom Miguel 
towards a prudent and obedient course. He 
represented to him that Dom Pedro had re- 
quired " the effectual aid of Austria to en- 
gage the Infant to submit with entire defer- 
ence to the orders of his brother ;" and he 
added, that "the Emperor of Austria could, 
in no case, consent to his retvtrn througn 
Spain, which would be contrary to the wishes 
of Dom Pedro, and to the opinion of all the 
Governments of Europe." These represen- 
tations were vain : the good offices of an Au- 
gust Person were interposed : — Miguel con- 
tinued inflexible. But in an interview, where, 
if there had been any truth in him, ne must 
have uttered it, he spontaneously added, that 
" he was determined to maintain in Portugal 
the Charter to which he had sworn, and that 
His Majesty might be at ease in that respect." 
This voluntary falsehood, — this daring allu- 
sion to his oath, amounting, virtually, to a re- 
petition of it, — this promise, made at a mo- 
ment when obstinacy in other respects gave 
it a fraudulent credit, deserves to be num- 
bered among the most signal of the perjuries 
by which he deluded his subjects, and in- 
sulted all European sovereigns. 

Prince Metternich, after having consulted 
Sir Henry Wellesley (now Lord Cowley) and 
the other Ministers, '-'on the means of con- 
quering the resistance of the Infant," deter- 
mined, conformably, (be it remembered) 
with the concurrence of all, to have a last 
and categorical explanation with that Prince. 
"I declared to him," says Prince Metter- 
nich, "without reserve, that, in his position, 
he had only to choose between immediately 
going to England on his way to Portugal, or 



574 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



waiting at Vienna the further determination 
of Dom Pedro, to whom the Courts of Lon- 
don (bo it not forgotten) and Vienna would 
communicate the motives which had induced 
the Infant not immediately to obey his bro- 
ther's orders." Prince Melternich describes 
the inslantaneous effect of this menace of 
further imprisonment with the elaborate soft- 
ness of a courtier and a diplomatist. " I was 
not slow in perceiving that I had the happi- 
ness to make a profound impression on the 
mind of the Infant. After some moments 
of refl(?ction, he at last yielded to the coun- 
sels of friendship and of reason." He owned 
" that he dreaded a return through England, 
because he knew that there were strong pre- 
judices against him in that country, and he 
feared a bad reception there." He did jus- 
tice to the people of England • — his con.'scious 
guilt foresaw their just indignation : but he 
could not be e.vpected to comprehend those 
higher and more generous qualities which 
disposed them to forget his former crimes, 
In the hope that he was about to atone for 
them by the establishment of liberty. No- 
thing in their own nature taught them that 
it was possible for a being in human shape 
to employ the solemn promises which de- 
luded them as the means of perpetrating 
new and more atrocious crimes. 

Here, Sir, I must pause. Prince Melter- 
nich, with the concurrence of the English 
Minister, announced to Miguel, that if he did 
not immediately i-eturn to Portugal by way 
of England, he must remain at Vienna until 
Dom Pedro's further pleasure should be 
known. Reflections here crowd on the mind. 
Miguel had before agreed to maijitain the 
Charter : had he hesitated on that subject, it 
is evident that the language used to him 
must have been still more categorical. No 
doubt is hinted on either side of his brother's 
sovereign authority: the whole proceeding im- 

f>lies it ; and in many of its parts it is express- 
y affirmed. He is to be detained at Vienna, 
if he does not consent to go through England, 
in order to persuade the whole Portuguese 
nation of his sincerity, and to hold out — in 
the already quoted words of the English 
Minister — "a security to the Constitutional 
party," or, in other language, the strongest 

gractical assurance to them, that he was sent 
y Austria, and more especially by England, 
to exercise the Regency, on condition of ad- 
hering to the Constitution. Whence did this 
right of imprisonment arise ? I cannot ques- 
tion it without charging a threat of false im- 
prisonment on all the great Powers. It may, 
perhaps, be thought, if not said, that it was 
founded on the original commitment by John 
VI. for rebellion and meditated parricide, 
and on the, perhaps, too lenient commuta- 
tion of it into a !5entence of transportation to 
Vienna. The pardon and enlargement grant- 
ed by Dom Pedro were, on that supposition, 
conditional, and could not be earned without 
the fulfilment of all the conditions. Miguel's 
escape from custody must, then, be regarded 
as effected by fraud ; and those to whom his 



person was intrusted by Dom Pedro, seem 
to me to have been bound, by their trust, to 
do all that was necessary to repair the evil 
consequences of his enlargement to the King 
and people of Portugal. But the more natu- 
ral supposition is, that they undertook the 
trust, the custody, and the conditional liber- 
ation, in consequence of the application of 
their ally, the lawful Sovereign of Portugal, 
and for the public object of preserving the 
quiet of that kingdom, and with it the peace 
of Europe and the secure tranquillity of their 
own dominions. Did they not thereby con- 
tiact a federal obligation with Dom Pedro to 
complete their work, and, more esjoecially, 
to take care that Miguel should not imme- 
diately employ the liberty, the Unction, the 
moral aid. which they had given him, for the 
overthrow of the fundamental laws which 
they too easily trusted that he would observe 
his promises and oaths to uphold 1 When 
did this duty cease? Was it not fully as 
binding on the banks of the Tagus as on those 
of the Danube ] If, in the fulfilment of this 
obligation, they had a right to imprison him 
at Vienna, because he would not allay the 
suspicions of the Constitutional party by re- 
turning through England, is it possible to con- 
tend that they were not bound to require and 
demand at Lisbon, that he should instantly 
desist from his open overthrow of the Char- 
ter ? 

I do not enter into any technical distinc- 
tions between a protocol and a treaty. I 
consider the protocol as the minutes of con- 
ferences, in which the parties verbally agree! 
on certain important measures, which, being 
afterwards acted upon by others, became 
conclusively binding, in faith, honour, and 
conscience, on themselves. In con.scquencc 
of these conferences, Dom Miguel, on the 
19th of October, wrote letters to his brother, 
His Britannic Majesty, and Her Royal High- 
ness the Regent of Portugal. In the tuo 
former, he solemnly re-afFumed his determi- 
nation to maintain the charter "granted by 
Dom Pedro;" and, in the last, he more fully 
assures his sister his unshaken purpose "to 
maintain, and cause to be observed, the laws 
and institutions legally granted by our august 
brother, and which we have all sworn to 
maintain ; and I desire that you should give 
to this solemn declaration the necessary pub- 
licity." On the faith of these declarations, 
he was suffered to leave Vienna. The Pow- 
ers who thus enlarged him taught the world, 
by this act, that they believed him. They 
lent him their credit, and became vouchers 
for his fidelity. On the faith of these decla- 
tions, the King and people of England re- 
ceived him with kindness, and forgot the 
criminal, to hail the first Constitutional King 
of emancipated Portugal. On the same faith, 
the English ambassadors attended him ; and 
the English flag, which sanctioned his return, 
proclaimed to the Constitutionalists, that they 
might lay aside their fears for liberty and 
their reasonable apprehensions for them- 
selves. The British ministers, in their in- 



ON THE AFFAIRS OF PORTUGAL. 



575 



clructions to Count Villa Real, had expressly 
declared, that his return through England 
was a great security to the Constitutional 
party. Facts had loudly spoken the same 
language J but the very words of the British 
Minister must inevitably have resounded 
through Portugal — hilling vigilance, seeming 
to dispense with caution, and lending to ex- 
tinguish the blackest suspicions. This is 
not all : Count Villa Flor, then a minister, 
who knew his man, on the first rumours of 
Miguel's return obtained the appointment of 
Ambassador to Paris, that he m'ght not be 
caught by the wolf in his den. It was ap- 
prehended that such a step would give gene- 
ral alarm : — he was prevailed upon to remain, 
by letters from Vieima. with assurances of 
Miguel's good dispositions, which were not 
unknown to the British Ministers at Vienna; 
and he continued in office a living pledge 
from the two Powers to the whole Portu- 
guese people, that their Constitution was 
to be preserved. How many irrevocable 
acts were done, — how many dungeons were 
crowded, — how many deaths were braved, — 
how many were suffered — from faith in per- 
fidious assurances, accredited by the appa- 
rent sanction of two deluiled and abused 
Courts I How can these Courts be released 
from the duty of repairing the evil which 
their credulity has caused ! 

I shall say nothing of the Protocol of Lon- 
don of the 12th of January, 1828, except 
that it adopted and ratified the conferences 
of Vienna, — that it provided for a loan to 
Miguel to assist his re-establishment, — and 
that it was immediately transmitted to Dom 
Pedro, together with the Protocol of Vienna. 
Dom Pedro had originally besought the aid 
of the Powers to secure the Constitution. 
They did not refuse it ; — they did not make 
any reservations or limitations respecting it : 
on the contrary, they took the most decisive 
measures on the principle of his proposition. 
So implicitly did Dom Pedro rely on them 
that, in spite of all threatening symptoms 
of danger, he has sent his daughter to Eu- 
rope; — a step from which he cannot recede, 
without betraying his own dignity, and seem- 
ing to weaken her claims ; and which has 
proved a fruitful source of embarrassment, 
vexation, and humiliation, to himself and his 
most faithful councillors. By this decisive 
measure, he has placed his loyal subjects in 
a more lasting and irreconcilable state of 
hostility with those who have mastered their 
country, and has rendered compromise under 
better rulers more difficult. 

Under all these circumstances. Sir, I can- 
not doubt that the Mediating Powers have 
acquired a right imperatively to require that 
Miguel shall renounce that authority which 
by fraud and falsehood he has obtained from 
them the means of usurping. They are 
bound to exercise that right by a sacreti 
duty towards Dom Pedro, who has intrusted 
them with the conditional establishment of 
the Regency, and the people of Portugal, 
with whom their obligation of honour is the 



more inviolable, because it must be informal. 
I shall be sorr)^ to hear that such duties are 
to be distinguished, by the first Powers of 
Christendom, from the most strictly literal 
obligations of a treaty. 

On the 28th of February, Miguel landed 
at Lisbon, accompanied by an English am- 
bassador, who showed as much sagacity and 
firmness as were perhaps ever combined in 
such circumstances. The Cortes met to re- 
ceive the oaths of the Regent to the Emperor 
and the Constitution. A scene then passed 
which is the most dastardly of all his per- 
juries, — the basest evasion that could be 
devisetl by a cowardly and immoral super- 
stition. He acted as if he were taking the 
oaths, slurring them over in apparent hurry, 
and muttering inarticulately, instead of ut- 
tering their words. A Prince of one of the 
most illustrious of Royal Houses, at the mo- 
ment of undertaking the sacred duties of 
supreme magistracy, in the presence of the 
representatives of the nation, and of the 
ministers of all civilized states, had Vecourse 
to the lowest of the knavish tricks formerly 
said (but I hope calumniously) to have been 
practised by miscreants -at the Old Bailey, 
who by bringing their lips so near the book 
without kissing it as to deceive the specta- 
tor, satisfied their own base superstition, and 
dared to hope that they could deceive the 
Searcher of Hearts. 

I shall not follow him through the steps 
of his usurpation. His designs were soon 
perceived : they were so evident that Sir 
Frederick Lamb, with equal sense and spi- 
rit, refused to land the money raised by 
loan, and sent it back to this countr3^ They 
might have been then defeated by the 
Loyalists: but an insurmountable obstacle 
presented itself. The British troops were 
instructed to abstain from interference in 
domestic dissensions : — there was one ex- 
ception, and it was in favour of the basest 
man in Portugal. The Loyalists had the 
means of sending Miguel to his too merciful 
brother in Brazil : they were bound by their 
allegiance to prevent his rebellion ; and loy- 
alty and liberty alike required it. The right 
was not doubted by the British authorities : 
but they were compelled to say that the 
general instruction to protect the Royal Fa- 
mily would oblige them to protect Miguel 
against attack. Our troops remained long 
enough to give him time to displace all 
faithful officers, and to fill the garrison with 
rebels; while by the help of monks and 
bribes, he stirred up the vilest rabble to a 
"sedition for slavery.'"' When his designs 
were ripe for execution, we delivered him 
from all shadow of restraint by recalling 
our troops to England. I do not mention 
this circumstance as matter of blame, but 
of the deepest regret. It is too certain, 
that if they had left Lisbon three months 
sooner, or remained there three months 
longer, in either case Portugal would have 
been saved. This consequence, however 
unintended, surely imposes on us the duty 



576 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



of showing much more than ordinary con- 
sideration towards those who were destroy- 
ed by the effect of our measures. The form 
in which the blockade of Oporto was an- 
nounced did not repair this misfortune. I 
have never yet hoard why we did not speak of 
'• the persons exercising the power of govern- 
ment," instead of calling Miguel '' Prince Re- 
gent," — a title which he had forfeited, and 
indeed had himself rejected. Nor do I see 
%vhy in the singular case of two parties, — 
one falsely, the other truly, — professing to 
act on behalf of Dom Pedro, both might not 
have been impartially forbidden to exercise 
belligerent rights at sea until his pleasure 
was made known. The fatal events which 
have followed are, I have serious reasons to 
believe, no proof of the state of general opi- 
nion in Portugal. A majority of the higher 
nobility, with almost all the considerable in- 
habitants of towns, were and are still well 
afTected. The clergy, the lower gentrj^, 
and the rabble, were, but I believe are not 
now, adverse. The enemies of the Consti- 
tution were the same classes who opposed 
our own Revolution for fourscore years. Ac- 
cidents, unusually unfortunate, deprived the 
Oporto army of its commanders. Had they 
disregarded this obstacle, and immediately 
advanced from Coimbra, it is the opinion of 
the most impartial and intelligent persons, 
then at Lisbon, that they would have suc- 
ceeded without a blow. It is certain that 
the Usurper and his mother had prepared for 
a flight to Madrid, and, after the fatal delay 
at Coimbra, were with difficulty persuaded 
to adopt measures of courage. As soon as 
Miguel assumed the title of King, all the 
Foreign Ministers fled from Lisbon : a nation 
which ceased to resist such a tyrant was 
deemed unworthy of remaining a member 
of the European community. The brand of 
exclusion was fixed, which is not yet with- 
drawn. But, in the mean time, the delay 
at Coimbra, the strength thence gained by 
the Usurper, and the discouragement spread 
by the retreat of the Loyalists, led to the fall 
of Oporto, and compelled its loyal garrison, 
Vv-ith many other faithful subjects, to leave 
their dishonoured country. They were 
doubly honoured by the barbarous inhospi- 
tality of Spain on the one hamd, and on the 
other by the sympathy of France and of 
England. 

At this point, Sir, I must deviate a mo- 
ment from my line, to consider the very pe- 
culiar state of our dipkifmatic intercourse 
with Dom Pedro and Donna Maria, in rela- 
tion to the crown of Portugal. All diplo- 
matic intercourse with the Usurper in posses- 
sion of it was broken off. There were three 
ministers from the legitimate sovereigns of 
the House of Biaganza in London: — the 
Marquess Palmella, ambassador from Portu- 
gal, who considered himself in that character 
as the minister of Donna Maria, the Queen 
acknowledged by us. — the Marquess Barba- 
cena, the confidential adviser appointed by 
Dom Pedro to guide the infant Queen, — and 



the Viscount Itabayana, the recognised min- 
ister from that monarch as Emperor of Bra- 
zil. They all negotiated, or attempted to 
negotiate, with us. The Marquess Palmella 
was told that the success of the usurpation 
left him no Portuguese interests to protect, — 
that his occupation was gone. The Viscount 
Itabayana was repelled as being merely the 
minister from Brazil, a country finally sepa- 
rated from Portugal. The Marquess Barba- 
cena M-as positively apprised that we did not 
recognise the right of Dam Pedro to interfere 
as head of the House of Brazil, eras interna- 
tional guardian of his daughter. By some 
ingenious stiatagem each was excluded, or 
driven to negotiate in an inferior and unac- 
knowledged character. This policy seems 
to me very like what used to be called in 
the courts, "sharp practice." It is not free 
from all appearance of international special 
pleading, which seems to me the less com- 
mendable, because the Government were 
neither guided nor hampered by precedent. 
It is a case. I will venture to say, without 
parallel. The result was. that an infant 
Queen, recognised as legitimate, treated with 
personal honour and kindness, is left without 
a guardian to guide her, or a minister to act 
for her. Such was the result of our interna- 
tional subtleties and diplomatic punctilios! 

To avoid such a practical absurdity, no- 
thing seemed more simple than to hold that 
nature and necessity, with the entire absence 
of any other qualified person, had vested in 
Dom Pedro the guardianship of his Royal 
daughter, for the purpose of executing the 
separation of the two countries, and the ab- 
dication of the Portuguese crown. His cha- 
racter would have had some analogy to that 
of the guardian named in a court of justice 
to a minor party in a law-suit. Ingenuity 
would, I think, have been better employed 
in discovering the legal analogies, or politi- 
cal reasons, which are favourable to this na- 
tural and convenient doctrine. Even the 
rejection of the minister of a deposed sove- 
reign has not always been rigidly enforced. 
Queen Elizabeth's virtues were not indul- 
gent; nordid her treatment of the Queen of 
Scots do honour to her character : yet she 
continued for years after the deposition of 
Mary to treat with Bishop Leslie; and he 
was not pronounced to have forfeited the 
privileges of an ambassador till he was de- 
tected in a treasonable conspiracy. 

A negotiation under the disadvantage of 
an unacknowledged character was. however, 
carried on by the Marquess Palmella. and 
the Marquess Barbacena, between the months 
of November and February last, in which 
they claimed the aid of Great Britain against 
the Usurper, by virtue of the ancient treaties, 
and of the conferences at Vienna. Perhaps 
I must allow that the first claim could not in 
strictness be maintained : — perhaps this case 
\Vas not in the bond. But I have already 
stated my reasons for considering the con- 
ferences at Vienna, the measures concerted 
there, and the acts done on their faith, aa 



ON THE AFFAIRS OF PORTUGAL. 



577 



equivalent to an engagement on the part of 
Austria and England with Dom Pedro. At 
ail events, this series of treaties for four 
hundred and fifty years, from Edward III. to 
George IV. — longer and more uninterrupted 
than any other in history, — containing many 
articles closely approaching the nature of a 
guarantee, followed, as it has been by the 
strong marks of favour showed by England 
to the Constitution, and bj' the principles and 
plan adopted by England and Austria (with 
the approbation of Fiance, Russia, and Prus- 
sia), at Vienna, altogether hold out the strong- 
est virtual encouragement to the Constitu- 
tionalists. How could Portugal believe that 
those who threatened to imprison IMiguel at 
Vienna, would hesitate about hurling him 
from an usurped throne at Lisbon 1 How 
could the Portuguese nation suppose that, in 
a case where Austria and England had the 
concurrence of all the great Powers, they 
should be deterred from doing justice by a 
fear of war? How could they imagine that 
the rule of non-interference, — violated against 
Spain, — violated against Naples, — violated 
against Piedmont, — more honourably violat- 
ed for Greece but against Turkey. — should 
be held sacred, only when it served to screen 
the armies and guard the usurpation of Mi- 
guel ? Perhaps their confidence might have 
been strengthened by what they must think 
the obvious policy of the two Courts. It 
does seem to me that they might have com- 
manded Miguel to quit his prey (for war is 
ridiculous) as a mere act of self-defence. 
Ferdinand VII. is doubtless an able preacher 
of republicanism ; but he is surpassed iji this 
particular by Miguel. I cannot think it a 
safe 2Johcy to allow the performance of an 
experiment to determine how low the kingly 
character may sink in the Pyrenean Penin- 
sula, without abating its estimation in the 
rest of Europe. Kings are sometimes the 
most formidable of all enemies to royalty. 

The issue of our conduct towards Portugal 
for the last eighteen months is. in point of 
policy, astonishing. We are now bound to 
defend a country of which we have made all 
the inhabitants our enemies. It is needless 
to speak of former divisions : there are now 
only two parties there. The Absolutists hate 
us: they detest the country of juries and of 
Parliaments, — the native land of Canning, — 
the source from which their Constitution 
seemed to come, — the model which has ex- 
cited the love of liberty throughout the world. 
No half-measures, however cruel to their 
opponents, can allay their hatred. If you 
doubt, look at their treatment of British sub- 
jects, which I consider chiefly important, as 
indicating their deep-rooted and irreconcil- 
able malignity to us. The very name of an 
Englishman is with them that of a jacobin 
and an alheist. .Look at their treatment of 
the city of Oporto and of the island of Ma- 
deira, which may be almost considered as 
English colonies. If this hatred was in any 
degree excited by the feelings of the Eng- 
lish inhabitants towards them, from what 
73 



could such feelings spring but from a know- 
ledge of the execrable character of the ruling 
faction? Can they ever forgive us for de- 
grading their Government and disgracing 
their minion, by an exclusion from interna- 
tional intercourse more rigorous than any in- 
curred under a Papal interdict of the four- 
teenth century? Their trust alone is in the 
Spanish Apostolicals. The Constitutionalists, 
who had absorbetl and softened all the more 
popular parties of the foimer period, no longer 
trust us. They consider us as having incited 
them to resistance, and as having afterwards 
abandoned them to their fate. They do not 
distinguish between treaties and protocols, — 
between one sort of guarantee and another. 
They view us, more simply, as friends who 
have ruined them. Their trust alone is in 
Constitutional France. Even those who think, 
perhaps justly, that the political value of 
Portugal to us is un.speakably diminished by 
the measures which we have happily taken 
for the security of Ireland, cannot reasonably 
expect that any nation of the second order, 
which sees the fate of Portugal, will feel as- 
surance of safety from the protection of 
England. 

If we persist in an unfriendly neutrality, it 
is absurd voluntarily to continue to submit 
to obligations from which we may justly re- 
lease ourselves. For undoubtedly a govern- 
ment so covered with crimes, so disgraced 
by Europe as that of Miguel, is a new source 
of danger, not contemplated in the treaties 
of alliance and guarantee. If Mr. Canning, 
with reason, held that an alliance of Portugal 
with the Spanish Revolutionists would, on 
that principle, release us from our obligations, 
it cannot be doubted that by the standing in- 
famy of submission to the present Govern- 
ment, she well deserves to forfeit all remain- 
ing claims to our protection. 

Notwithstanding the failure of the nego- 
tiations to obtain our aid as an ally, I believe 
that others have been carried on, and proba- 
bly are not yet closed, in London and at Rio 
Janeiro. It has been proposed, by the Me- 
diating Powers, to Dom Pedro, to complete 
the marriage, to be silent on the Constitu- 
tion, — but to obtain an universal amnesty. 1 
cannot wonder at Dom Pedro-s rejection of 
conditions, one of which only can be effec- 
tual, — that which imposes on his daughtei 
the worst husband in Europe. AVhat wondei 
that he should reject a proposal to put the 
life of a Royal infant under the care of mur- 
derers, — to join her youthful hand, at the 
altar, with one embrued in the blood of hei 
most faithful friends! As for the other con- 
dition;?, what amnesty can be expected fiom 
the wolf of Oporto? What imaginable se- 
curity can be devised for an amnesty, unless 
the vanquished party be shielded by some 
political privileges? Yet I rejoice that these 
negotiations have not closed, — that the two 
Powers have adopted the decisive principle 
of stipulating what Miguel must do, without 
consulting him ; and that, whether from tho 
generous feelings of a Royal mind a* home, 
2Y 



578 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



or from the spirit of constitutional liberty in 
the greatest of foreign countries, or fronm 
both these causes, the negotiations have as- 
sumed a more amicable tone. I do not 
wonder that Dom Pedro, after having pro- 
tested against the rebellion of his brother, 
and the coldness of his friends, should in- 
dignantly give orders for the return of the 
young Queen, while he provides for the as- 
sertion of her rights, by the establishment of 
a regency in Europe. I am well pleased 
however to learn, that the Mediating Powers 
have advised his ministers to suspend the 
execution of his commands till he shall be 
acquainted with the present .state of affairs. 
The monstrous marriage is, at all events, I 
trust, for ever abandoned. As long as a ne- 
gotiation is on foot respecting the general 
question, I shall not despair of our ancient 
Ally. 

Sir. I must own, that there is no circum- 
stance in this case, which, taken singly, I so 
deeply regret as the late unhappy affair of 
Terceira. The Portuguese troops and Roy- 
alists who landed in England, had been sta- 
tioned, after some time, at Plymouth, where 
their exemplary conduct gained the most 
public and general marks of the esteem of 
the inhabitants. In the month of November, 
a proposition to disperse them in the towns 
and villages of the adjacent counties, without 
their oificers, was made by the British Go- 
vernment. Far be it from me to question 
the right of His Majesty to disperse all mili- 
tary bodies in his dominions, and to prevent 
this country from being used as an arsenal or 
port of equipment by one belligerent against 
another, — even in cases where, as in the 
present, it cannot be said that the assemblage 
was dangerous to the peace of this kingdom, 
or menacing to the safety of any other. 1 
admit, in their fullest extent, the rights and 
duties of neutral states. Yet the dispersion 
of these troops, without their officers, could 
scarcely fail to discourage them, to deprive 
them of military spirits and habits, and to 
end in the utter disbanding of the feeble re- 
mains of a faithful anny. The ministers of 
Donna Maria considered this as fatal to their 
hopes. An unofficial correspondence was 
carried on from the end of November to the 
beginning of January on the subject, between 
the Duke of Wellington and the Marquess 
Palmella, — a man of whom I cannot help 
saying, that he is perhaps the individual by 
whom his country is most favourably known 
to foreign nations, — that, highly esteemed as 
he is among statesmen for his share in the 
greatest affairs of Europe for the last sixteen 
years, he is not less valued by his friends for 
his amiable character and various accom- 
plishments, — and that there is no one living 
more incapable of forgetting the severest 
dictates of delicacy and honour. The Mar- 
quess chose rather to send the faithful rem- 
nant of Donna Maria's troops to Brazil, than 
to subject them to utter annihilation. Va- 
rious letters passed on the reasonableness of 
thip dispersion, and the mode of removal, 



from the 20th of November to the 20:h of 
December, in which Brazil was considered as 
the destination of the troops. In a letter of 
t he 20lh of December, the Marquess Palmella, 
for the first time, mentioned the Island of 
Terceira. It had been twice before men- 
tioned, in negotiations, by two ministers of 
the House of Braganza, with totally different 
views, which, if the course of debate should 
call for it, I trust I shall explain: but it was 
first substituted for Brazil by the Marquess 
Palmella on the 20th of December. I anx- 
iously particularize the date, because it is 
alone sufficient to vindicate his scrupulous 
honour. In the month of May, some parti- 
sans of MigTiel had shaken the loyalty of a 
part of the inhabitants: Dom Pedro and the 
Constitution were proclaimed on the 22d of 
June ; the ringleaders of the rebellion were 
arrested ; and the lawful government was re- 
established. Some disturbances, however, 
continued, which enabled the priests to stir 
up a revolt in the end of September. The 
insurgents were again suppressed in a few 
days ; but it was not till the 4lh of December 
that Donna Maria was proclaimed as Queen 
of Portugal in conformity to the treaty of se- 
paration, to the Constitutional Charter, and 
to the Act of Abdication. Since that time I 
have now before me documents which de- 
monstrate that her authority has been regu- 
larly exercised and acknowledged in that 
island, with no other disturbance than that 
occasioned by one or two bands of Guerillas, 
quickly dispersed, and without any pretence 
for alleging that there was in that island a 
disputed title, or an armed contest. 

On the 20th of December, then, the Mar- 
quess Palmella informed the Duke of ' Wel- 
lington, that though he (the Marquess) had 
hitherto chosen Brazil as being the only safe, 
though distant, refuge for the troops, " yet, 
from the information which he had just re- 
ceived of the entire and peaceable submission 
of Terceira to the young Queen, and of the 
disappearance of the squadron sent by the ac- 
tual Government of Portugal to blockade the 
Azores, he now intended to send her troops 
to that part of her dominions where she was 
not only the rightful but the actual Sove- 
reign, and for which he conceived that they 
might embark at Plymouth, without any in- 
fringement of the neutrality of the British 
territories." This letter contains the explana- 
tion of the change of destination. Unarmed 
froops could not have been safely sent to 
Terceira, nor merchant vessels either, while 
there were intestine divisions, or apprehen- 
sions of a blockade, or indeed till there was 
full and authentic information of the esta- 
blishment of quiet and legitimate authority. 
The Marquess Palmella thought that the 
transportation of the troops had now become 
as lawful as it was obviou.sly desirable. To 
remove the Queen's troops to a part of her 
own actual dominions, seemed to him, as I 
own it still seems to me, an act consistent 
even with the cold and stern neutrality as- 
sumed by England. Had not a Queen, ac- 



ON THE AFFAIRS OF PORTUGAL. 



579 



knowledged in England, and obeyed in Ter- 
cel ra, a perfect right to send her own sol- 
diers home from a neutral country? If the 
fact of the actual return of Terceira to its 
allegiance be not denied and disproved, I 
shall be anxious to hear the reasons, to me 
unknown, which authorise a neutral power 
to forbid such a movement. It is vain to 
say, that Great Britain, as mediator in the 
Treaty of 1825, was entitled to prevent the 
separation of the Azores from Portugal, and 
their subjection to Brazil; for, on the 4th of 
December, Donna Maria had been proclaim- 
ed at Terceira as Queen of Portugal, in virtue 
of the possession of (he Portuguese crown. 
It is vain to say that the embarcation had a 
hostile character; since it was immediately 
destined for the territory of the friendly 
sovereign. Beyond this point the neutral is 
neither bound nor entitled to inquire. It 
was not, as has been inconsiderately said, 
an expedition against the Azores. It was 
the movement of Portuguese troops from 
neutral England to obedient and loyal Ter- 
ceira, — where surely the Sovereign might 
employ her troops in such manner as she 
judged right. How far is the contrary pro- 
position to go 1 Should we, — could we, as a 
neutral Power, have hindered IMiguel from 
transporting those of his followers, who might 
be in England, to Lisbon, because they might 
be sent thence against the Azores. It is true, 
the group of islands have the generic name 
of the Azores : but .so, — though the Ameri- 
can islands are called the West Indies, — I 
presume it will not be contended that a re- 
bellion in Barbadoes could authorise a foreign 
Sovereign in preventing British troops which 
happened to be on his territory from being 
despatched by His Majesty to strengthen his 
garrison of Jamaica. Supposing the facts 
which I have stated to be true, I can see no 
mode of impugning the inferences which I 
have made from them. Until I receive a 
satisfactory answei", I am bound to say, that 
I consider the prohibition of this embarca- 
tion as a breach of neutrality in favour of 
the Usurper. 

And even, Sir, if these arguments are suc- 
cessfully controverted, another proposition 
remains, to which it is still more difficult for 
me to conceive the possibility of an answer. 
Granting that the permission of the embarca- 
tion was a breach of neutrality, which might 
be, and must be, prevented on British land, 
or in British waters, where is the proof from 
reason, from usage, — even from example or 
authoritj'j that England was bound, or enti- 
tled, to pursue the expedition over the ocean, 
— to use force against them on the high seas, 
— most of all to levy w-ar against them within 
the waters of Terceira 1 Where are the proofs 
of the existence of any such right or duty? I 
have searched for them in vain. Even if an 
example or two could be dug up, they would 
not affect my judgment. I desire to know 
where the series of examples from good 
times can be found which might amount to 
general usage, and thus constitute a part of 



international law. I never can consider mere 
general reasoning as a sufficient justification 
of such an act. There are many instances 
in which international law rejects such rea- 
sonings. For example, to allow a passage 
to a belligerent through a neutral territory, 
is not in itself a departure from neutrality. 
But to fire on a friendly ship within the wa- 
ters of a friendly state, for a wrong done in 
an English harbour, is an act which appears 
to me a most alarming innovation in the law 
of civilized war. The attack on the Spanish 
frigates in 180.5 is probably reconcilable with 
the stem and odious rights of war : yet I am 
sure that every cool-headed and true-hearted 
Englishrnan would desire to blot the scene 
from the annals of Euiope. Every approach 
towards rigour, beyoncl the common and 
well-known usage of war, is an innovation : 
and it must ever be deplored that we have 
made the first experiment of its extension 
beyond former usage in the case of the most 
ancient of our allies, in the season of her 
utmost need. 

I shrink from enlarging on the scene which 
closed, — I fear for ever, — a friendship of four 
hundred and fifty years. On the 16lh of 
January last, three English vessels and a 
Russian brig, having aboard five hundred 
unarmed Portuguese, attempted to enter the 
port of Praya, in the island of Terceira. Cap- 
tain Walpole, of His Majesty's ship "Ran- 
ger," fired on two of these vessels, which 
had got under the guns of the forts protect- 
ing the harbour: the blood of Her Most 
Faithful Majesty's subjects was spilt; one 
soldier was killed; a peaceable passenger 
was dangerously wounded. I forbear to state 
further particulars. I hope and confidently 
trust that Captain Walpole will acquit him- 
self of all negligence, — of all want of the 
most anxious endeavours to spare blood, and 
to be frugal of violence, in a proceeding where 
such defects would be crimes. Warmly as I 
rejoice in the prevalence of that spirit of li- 
berty, and, as a consequence, of humanity, 
of which the triumph in France is so happy 
for Europe, I must own that I cannot con- 
template without mortification the spectacle 
of the loyal Portuguese exhibiting in a French 
port wounds inflicted by the arms of their an- 
cient ally, protector, and friend. The friend- 
ship of four centuries and a half should have 
had a more becoming close : it should not 
have been extinguished in fire and blood. • 

I will now conclude. Sir, with the latest, 
and perhaps the saddest incident in this tra- 
gic story of a nation's ''hopes too fondly 
raised," perhaps, but surely " too rudely 
crossed." I shall not quote it as a proof of 
the Usurper's inhumanity; — there is no man 
in this House who would not say that such 
proofs arc needless: I produce it, only as a 
sample of the boldness with which he now 
throws down the gauntlet to the govern- 
ments and nations of Christendom. On 
Thursday the 7th of May, little more than 
three weeks ago, in the city of Oporto, ten 
gentlemen were openly murdered on '''f 



580 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



avowed ground, that on the 16lh of May, 
1828, while Miguel himself still pretended 
to be the lieutenant of Dom Pedro, they fol- 
lowed the example of Austria and England, 
in treating Dom Pedro as their lawful sove- 
reign, and in endeavouring to carry into ex- 
ecution the laws established by him. Two 
were reserved for longer suffering by a pre- 
tended pardon:— the tender mercies of the 
wicked are cruel. One of these two was 
condemned to a lingering yet agonizing death 
in the galleys of Angola; the other, the bro- 
ther of the Ambassador at Brussels, was con- 
demned to hard labour for life, but adjudged 
first to witness the execution of his friends; 
— an aggravation light to the hard-hearted, 
heart-breaking to the generous, which, by a 
hateful contrivance, draws the whole force 
of the infliction from the virtues of the suf- 
ferer. The city of Oporto felt this scene 
with a horror not lessened by the sentiments 
which generations of Englishmen have, I 
would fain hope, left behind them. The rich 
fled to their villas; the poor shut up their 
doors and windows ; the peasants of the 
neighbourhood withheld their wonted sup- 
plies from the markets of the tainted city ; 
the deserted streets were left to the execu- 
tioner, his guards, and his victims, — with no 
more beholders than were needful to bear 
witness, that those "faithful found among 
the faithless" left the world with the feel- 
ings of men who die for their country. 

On the 16th of May, 1828, the day on 
whicli the pretended treasons were charged 
to have been committed, the state of Portu- 
gal was, in the light most indulgent to Mi- 
guel, that of a contest for the crown. It was 
not a rebellion : it was a civil war. At the 



close of these wars without triumph, civilized 
victors hasten to throw the pall of amnesty 
over the wounds of their country. Not so 
Miguel : ten months after submission, he 
sheds blood for acts done before the war. 
He has not the excuses of Robespierre and 
Marat : — no army is marching on Lisbon ; no 
squadron is entering the Tagus with the flag 
of deliverance. The season of fulness and 
safety, which stills the tiger, rouses the 
coward's thirst for blood. Is this the Wind 
instinct of ferocity 1 Is it only to carry des- 
pair into the thousands of loyal Portuguese 
whom he has scattered over the earth 1 No ! 
acts of later date might have served that 
purpose : his choice of time is a defiance to 
Europe. The offence here was resisting an 
usurpation, the consummation of which a 
few weeks after made the representatives 
of Europe fly from Lisbon, as from a city 
of the plague. The indignity is chiefly 

Eointed at the two Mediating Powers, who 
ave not yet relinquished all hopes of com- 
promise. But it is not confined to them : 
though he is aware that a breath would blow 
him away without blood or cost, he makes 
a daring experiment on the patience of all 
Europe. He will draw out for slaughter 
handful after handful of those, whose sole 
crime was to trust the words and follow the 
example of all civilized nations. He be- 
lieves that an attempt will at length be made 
to stop his crimes by a recogiiition of hia 
authority, — that by dint of murders he may 
force his way into the number of the dis- 
pensers of justice and mercy. He holds up 
the bleeding heads of Oporto to tell sove- 
reigns and nations alike how he scorns their 
judgment and defies their power. 



SPEECH 

ON THE SECOND READING OF 

THE iiILL TO AMEND THE BEPRESENTATION 

OF THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND AND WALES. 

DELIVEIIED IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS, ON THE 4th OF JULY, 1S3I. 



Mr. Speaker, — I feel no surprise, and cer- 
tainly no regret, at the applause which fol- 
lowed the speech of the Honourable and 
Learned Gentleman,* whose speeches never 
leave any unpleasant impression, but the re- 



— Et 



Mr. Fvnes Clinton, M. P. for Aldborough. 



flection that he speaks so seldom. Much 
of that excellent speech so immediately 
bears on the whole question of Parliamen- 
tary Reform, that it wOI naturally lead me 
to the consideration of the general principle 
of the Bill before us. 

I must. Sir, however, premise a very few 
remarks on the speech of the Honourable 



SPEECH ON THE REFORM BILL. 



58 1 



Baronet ;* though I shall not follow him 
thioujih his account of the squabble between 
the lubouiersaud their employers at Merthyr 
Tidvil, which I leave to the justice of the 
law, or, what is belter, to the prudence and 
principle of both parties. Neither can I 
seriously handle his objection to this Bill, 
that it has produced a strong interest, and 
divided opinions throughout the kingdom. 
Such objections prove too much : they would 
exclude most important questions, and, cer- 
tainly, all reformatory measures. It is one 
of the chief advantages of free governments, 
that they excite, — sometimes to an incon- 
venient degree, but, upon the whole, with 
the utmost benefit, — all the generous feel- 
ings, all the efforts for a public cause, of 
which human nature is capable. But there 
is one point in the ingenious speech of the 
Honourable Baronet, which, as it touches the 
great doctrines of the Constitution, and in- 
volves a reflection on the conduct of many 
Members of this House, cannot be passed 
over, without an exposition of the fallacy 
which shuts his eyes to very plain truths. — 
Mr. Burke, in the famous speech at Bristol, 
told, indeed, his constituents, that as soon as 
he should be elected, however much he 
might respect their opinions, his votes must 
be governed by his own conscience. This 
doctrine was indispLitably true. But did he 
not, by his elaborate justification of his 
public conduct, admit their jurisdiction over 
it, and acknowledge, that if he failed in con- 
verting them, they had an undoubted right 
to reject him? Then, if they could justly 
r^ejoct him, for differing from what they 
thought right, it follows, most evidently, 
that they might, with equal justice, refuse 
their suffrages to him, if they thought his 
future votes likely to differ from those which 
they deemed indispensable to the public 
weal. If they doubted what that future 
conduct might be, they were entitled, and 
bound, to require a satisfactory explanation, 
either in public or in private 5 ami in case 
of unsatigfactory, or of no explanation, to 
refuse their .support to the candidate. This 
duty the people may exercise in whatever 
form they deem most effectual. They im- 
pose no restriction on the conscience of the 
candidate ; they only satisfy their own con- 
science, by rejecting a candidate, of whose 
oonduct, on the most momentous question, 
they have reason to doubt. Far less could 
constituents be absolved, on the present occa- 
sion, from the absolute duly of ascertaining 
the determination of candidates on the sub- 
ject of Parliamentary Reform. His Majesty, 
in his speech from the throne, on the 22d 
©f April, was pleased to declare, " I have 
come to meet you, for the purpose of pro- 
roguing Parliament, with a view to its im- 
mediate dissolution. I have been induced 
to resort to this measure, for the purpose of 

* Sir John Walsh, svho had moved iheamend- 
msnl that tiie Bill be read that dav six months, 
which Mr. Clinton bad seconded. — Ed.. 



ascertaining the sense of my people, in the 
way in which it can be most constitutionally 
and authentically expressed, on the expedi- 
ency of making such changes in the repre- 
sentation as circumstances may appear to 
require; and which, founded upon the ac- 
knowledged principles of the Constitution, 
may tend at once to uphold the just rights 
and prerogatives of the Crown, and to give 
security to ihe liberties of the subject.'' 
What answer could the people have made 
to the appeal thus generously made to them, 
without taking all necessary means to be 
assured that the voles of those, whom they 
chose, would sufficiently manifest to him the 
sense of his people, on the changes neces- 
sary to be made in the representation. 

On subjects of foreign policy, Sir, a long 
silence has been observed on this side of 
the House, — undisturbed, I am bound to add, 
by the opposite side, for reasons which are 
very obvious. We are silent, and we are 
allowed to be silent; becaus.e, a word spoken 
awry, might occasion fatal explosions. The 
affairs of the Continent are so embroiled, 
(hat we have forborne to express those feel- 
ings, which mu.st agitate the breast of every 
human being, at the sight of that admirable 
and afllicting struggle* on which the eyes 
of Europe are constantly, however silently, 
fixed. As it is admitted by the Honourable 
Baronet, that the resistance of the Fiench to 
an usurpation of their rights last year was 
glorious to all who were concerned in it, it 
follows that, being just, it has no need of 
being sanctioned by the approbation of for- 
tune. Who then are morally answerable for 
the unfortunate confusions which followed, 
and for the further commotion, which, if ■ 
heaven avert it not, may convulse France 
and Europe? Who opened the floodgates 
of discord on mankind ? Not the frieiKJe of 
liberty, — not the advocates of popular prin- 
ciples: their hands are clean ; — they took up 
arms oidy to defend themselves against 
wrong. I h(jld sacred every retreat of mis- 
fortune, and defiire not to disturb fallen great- 
ness; but justice compels me to say, that the 
hands of the late King of France were made 
to unlock these gates by his usurping ordi- 
nances, — 

" To open ; but to shut surpassed his power." 

The dangers of Europe do not originate in de- 
mocratical principles, or democratical power, 
but in a conspiracy for the subversion of all 
popular rights, however sanctioned by oaths, 
by constitution, and by laws. 

I shall now. Sir, directly proceed to the 
latter part of the speech of the Honourable 
and Learned Member for Boroughbridge, 
which regards the general principle and 
character of this Bill. In so doing, I shall 
endeavour, as far as may be, not to displease 
the fastidious ears of the Honourable Baro- 
net, by frequently repeating the barbarous 
names of the Tudors and Plantagenets. I 



* The insurrection in Poland.— En. 
2y 2 



582 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



must, however, follow the Honourable and 
Leanuul Member to the fountains of our go- 
vernment and laws, whither, indeed, he 
calls upon me with no unfriendly voice to 
accompany him. 

Thai no example can be found from the 
lime of Simon de Montfort to the present 
year, either in the practice of ancient legis- 
lation, or in the improvements proposed by 
modern Reformers, which sanctions the 
general principle of this Bill, is an assertion, 
which I am sure the Honourable Gentleman 
will discover to be unadvisedly hazarded. 

I shall begin with one of the latest exam- 
ples of a Reformer of great weight and au- 
thority, — that which is afforded by the 
speech and the plan of Mr. Pitt, in 1785, 
because it doe.s not only itself exhibit the 
principle of the schedules of this Bill, but 
because it proves, beyond all possibility of 
dispute, his thorough conviction that this 
principle is conformable to the ancient laws 
and practice of ^he constitution. The prin- 
ciple of Schedules A. and B. is the abolition, 
partial or total, of the elective rights of petty 
and dependent boroughs. The principle of 
Schedules C. D. and E. is the transfer of 
that resumed right to great towns, and to 
other bodies of constituents deemed likely 
to use it better. Let me now state Mr. Pitt's 
oi:)inion, in his own words, on the e.\pediency 
of actmgon both these principles, and on the 
agreement of both with the ancient eo-urse 
and order of the constitution. His plan, it is 
well known, was to take away seventy-two 
members from thiity-six small boroaghs, and 
to add them to the county representation, 
with a permanent provision for such other 
transfers of similar rights to great towns, as 
should from time to tinae seesn necessary. 
His object, in this disfranchisement and en- 
franchisement, was, according to his own 
words, =' to make the House of Commons an 
assembly which should have the closest 
union, and the most perfect sympathy with 
the mass of the people." To effect this 
object, he proposed to buy up these boroughs 
by theestablishm.ent of a fund, {cheers from 
the Opposition,) of which the first effect was 
expected to be considerable, and the accu- 
mulation would prove an irresistible tempta- 
tion. Gentlemen would do well to hear the 
whole- words of Mr. Pitt, before they so 
loudly exult: — "It is an indisputable doc- 
trhie of antiquity, that the slate of the repre- 
sentation is to be changed with the change 
of circumstances. Change in the borough 
representation was frequent. A great num- 
ber of the borouiihs, originally Parliamentary, 
had been disfranchised, — that is, the Crown 
had ceased to summon them to send bur- 
gesses. Some of these had been restored on 
their petitions: the rest had not recovered 
their lost franchise. Considering the resto- 
ration of the former, and the deprivation of 
the latter, the constitution had been grossly 
violated, if it was true {which he denied,) that 
the extension of the elective franchise to 
Kne set of boroughsj and thie resumption of 



it from others, was a violation of the con.sti- 
lution. The alterations were not made from 
principle ; but they were founded on the 
general notion which gave the discretionary 
power to the Crown, — viz., that the prin- 
cipal places, and not the decayed boroughs, 
should exercise the right of election."* I 
know full well that these boroughs were to 
be bought. I also know, that the late Mem- 
ber for Dorset (Mr. Bankes), the college- 
friend, the zealous but independent sup- 
porter of Mr. Pitt, exclaimed against the 
purcha.se, though he applauded the Reform. 
How did INIr. Pitt answer? Did he say, I 
cannot deprive men of inviolable privileges 
without compensation; I cannot promote 
Reform by injustice ? Must he not have so 
answered, if he had considered the resump- 
tion of the franchise as "corporation rob- 
bery?" No! he excuses himself to his 
friend : he declares the purchase to be 
" the tender part of the subject," and apolo- 
gizes for it, as '-having become a necessary 
evil, if any Reform was to take place." 
Would this great master of language, who 
so thoroughly understood and piactised pre- 
cision and propriety of Avords, have called 
that a necessary evil which he thought an 
obligation of justice, — the payment of a 
sacred debt 1 It is clear from the very 
words that follow, — "if 'any Reform were 
to take place," ihat he regarded the price 
of the boroughs merely as a boon to so many 
borough -holders to become proselytes to it. 
It is material also to observe, that as com- 
pensation was no part of his plans or sug- 
gestions in 1782 and 1783, he could not have 
consistently represented it as of right due. 
Another deei.sive reason renders it impos- 
sible to annex any other meaning to his lan- 
guage : — he justifies his system of tiansfer- 
ring the franchise by analogy to the ancient 
practice of ceasing to summon some boroughs 
to send members, while the prerogative of 
summoning others at pleasure was acknow- 
ledged. But the analogy would have failed'^ 
if he thought compensation was due; for it 
is certain that no compensation was dreamt 
of, till his own plan. Would he have so- 
strenuously maintained the constitutional 
authority to disfranchise and enfranchise dif- 
ferent places, if he had entertained the least 
suspicion that it could not be exercised 
without being justly characterised as an act 
of rapine ? Another circumstance is conclu- 
sive : — his plan, as may be seen in his 
speech, was to make the compensation to 
the borough-holders, — nat to the poor free- 
men, the scot and lot voters, the pot -wallop- 
pers, — whose spoliation has been so much 
deprecated on this occasion, — who alone 
could have had any pretence of jiiislice or 
colour of law to claim it. They at least ha t 
legal privileges: the compensation to the 
borough-holders was to be for the loss of 
their profits by breaches of law. One pas- 
sage only in Mr. Pitt'^s speech, may ba 

* ParL Hist. vol. xxv. p. 435.— Ed. 



SPEECH ON THE REFORM BILL. 



583 



thought favourable to another sense : — ''To 
a Reform by violence he had an insurmount- 
nble objection." Now these words might 
mean only an objection to effect his purpose 
by an act of the supreme power, when he 
could introduce the same good by milder 
means. The reports of that period were far 
less accurate than they now are: the general 
tenor of the speech must determine the mean- 
ing of a single word. It seems to me impos- 
sible to believe, that he could have intended 
more than that he preferred a pacific accom- 
modation of almost any sort to formidable 
resistance, and the chance of lasting discon- 
tent. This preference, founded either on 
personal feelings, or on supposed expedi- 
ency, is nothing against my present purpose. 
What an imputation would be thrown on his 
memory, by supposing that he who answered 
the objection of Reform being unconsUtu- 
tional, could pass over the more serious ob- 
jection that it was unjiixt. 

That I may not be obliged to return to this 
case^I shall add one other observation, which 
more strictly belongs to another part of the 
argument. Mr. Pitt never once hints, that 
the dependent boroughs were thought neces- 
sary to the security of pro2)erty. It never 
occurred to him that any one could think 
them intrinsically good. It was impossible 
that he could propose to employ a million 
sterling in demolishing the safeguards of Ike 
British constitution. Be it observed, that 
this remark must be considered by all who 
respect the authority of Mr. Put as of great 
weight, even if they believe compensation 
and voluntary surrender to be essential to 
the justice of transferring the elective fran- 
chise. It must, then, I think, be acknow- 
ledged by the Honourable and Learned Mem- 
ber for Aldborough himself, that there was 
a Reformer of great name before my Noble 
Friend, who maintained the transfer of the 
elective franchise, by disfranchisement and 
enfranchisement, to be conformable to an- 
cient rights or usages, and for that reason, 
among others, fit to be employed as parts of 
a plan of Parliamentary Reform.* 

The two plans of Reform, Sir, that have 
been proposed, during the last seventy years, 
maybe divided into the Simultaneous and the 
Progressive. Of the first it is manifest, that 
the two expedients of resuming the franchise 
from those who cannot use it for the public 
good, and bestowing it where it will proba- 
bly be better employed, are indispensable, 
or rather essential parts. I shall presently 
6how that it is impossible to execute the most 
slowly Progressive scheme of Reformation, 
without sorae application, however limited, 
of these now altogether proscribed principles. 

I do not wish to displease the Honour- 
able Baronet by frequent or extensive excur- 
sions into the Middle Ages; but the Honour- 
able and Learned Gentleman will admit that 



* The Reforms proposed by Mr. Flood in 1790, 
and by Lord Grey in 1797, might have been added 
to those of Mr, Pitt in 1782, 1783 and 1785. 



the right of the Crown to summon new bo- 
roughs, was never disputed until its last ex 
ercise by Charles II. in the well-known in- 
stance of Newark. In the Tudor reigns, this 
prerogative had added one hundred and fifty 
members to this House. In the forty-five 
years of Elizabeth, more than sixty were 
received into it. From the accession of 
Henry VII. to the disuse of the prerogative^ 
the representation received an accession of 
about two hundred, if we include the cases 
where representation was established by 
Parliament, and those where, after a disuse 
of centuries, it was so restored. Let me 
add, without enlarging on it, that foity-four 
boroughs, and a city, which anciently sent 
burgesses to this House, are unrepresented 
at this day. I know no Parliamentary mode 
of restoring their franchises, but by a statute, 
which would be in effect a new grant. I 
believe, that if such matters were cogniza- 
ble by courts of law, the judges would pre- 
sume, or, for greater eecurity, advise a jury 
to presume, after a disuse of so many centu- 
ries, that it had originated either in a sur- 
render, or in some other legal mode of ter- 
minating the privilege. According to the 
common maxim, that there is no right with- 
out a remedy, we may infer the absence of 
right from the absence of remedy. In that 
case, the disuse of granting summonses by 
the King, or his officers, must be taken to 
have been legal, in spite of the authority of 
Serjeant Glanville knd his Committee, who, 
in the reign of James I., held the contrary 
doctrine. But I waive this question, becau.se 
the answer to it is needless to the purpose 
of my argument. It is enough for me that 
the disuse had been practically maintained, 
without being questioned, till the end of 
James' reign ; and that it still shuts our doors 
on ninety persons who might otherwise be 
chosen to sit in this House. The practice 
of resuming the franchise, therefore, prevailed 
as certainly in ancient times, as the exercise 
of the prerogative of conferring it. The 
effect of both combined, was to take from 
the representation the character of immuta- 
bility, and to bestow on it that flexibility 
which, if it had been then properly applied, 
might have easily fitted it for every change 
of circumstances. These powers were never 
exercised on any fixed principle. The pre- 
rogative was often grievously abused ; but 
the abuse chiefly consisted in granting the 
privilege to beggarly villages, or to the manor 
or demesne of a favoured lord : there are few 
examples of withholding the franchise from 
considerable towns. On a rapid review of 
the class of towns next in importance to Lon- 
don, such as York, Bristol, Exeter, Norwich^ 
Lincoln, &c., it appears to me, that they all 
sent Members to the House of Commons of 
Edward I. Boston did not occur to me • but, 
admitting the statement respecting that place 
to be accurate, the Honourable and Learnevl 
Gentleman must allow thi.s instance to be at 
variance with the general spirit and ten 
dency of the ancient constitutiouj in the dis- 



584 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



tribution of elective privileges. I do not 
call it an exception to a rule ; for there were 
no rules: it was no departure from principle ; 
for no general principle was professed, or, 
perhaps, thought of: but it was at variance 
with that disposition not to leave grant towns 
unrepresented, which, though not reduced to 
system, yet practically influenced the coarse 
good sense of our ancestors, and, what is re- 
markable, is most discernible in the earliest 
part of their legislation.* 

It was not the Union with Scotland that 
stopped the exercise of the prerogative. With 
the exception of Newark, there was no in- 
stance of its exertion for nearly seventy 
years before that date. We know that the 
Stuart Kings dreaded an increase of mem- 
bers in this House, as likely to bestow a more 
democratical character on its proceedings: 
but still the true cause of the extinction of 
the prerogative, was the jealousy of a people 
become more enlightened, and suspicious of 
a power which had already been abused, 
and which might be made the means of en- 
slaving the kmgdom. The discussions in 
this House respecting the admission of the 
members for Newark, though they ended 
favourably to the Crown in that instance, 
afforded such a specimen of the general sen- 
timents and temper respecting the preroga- 
tive, that no man was bold enough to advise 
its subsequent exercise. 

The course of true wisdom would have 
been to regulate the employment of the pre- 
rogative by a law, which, acting quietl}', 
calmly, but constantly, would have removed 
or prevented all gross inequality in the re- 
presentation. It would have then been ne- 
cessary only to enact that every town, which 
grew to a certain number of houses, should 
be summoned to send members to Parlia- 
ment, anil that every town which fell below 
a certain number, should cease to be so sum- 
moned. The consequence of this neglect 
became apparent as the want of some re- 
medial power was felt. The regulator of 
the representation, which had been injuri- 
ously active in stationary times, w^as suffered 
to drop from the machine at a moment when 
it was much needed to adapt the elective 
system to the rapid and prodigious changes 
which have occurred in the state of society, 
— when vast cities have sprung up in every 
province, and the manufacturing world may 
be said to have been created. There was 
no longer any renovating principle in the 
frame of the constitution. All the marvel- 
lous works of industry and science are un- 
noticed in our system of representation. The 
changes of a century and a half since the 
case of Newark, — the social revolution of the 
last sixty years, have altered the whole con- 
dition of mankind more than did the three 
centuries which passed before: — the repre- 
sentation alone has stood still. It is to this 



* For a more detailed reference lo the earlier 
statutory regulations affecting the franchise, see 
Appendix A. — Ed. 



interruption of the fis medicatrix et conserva- 
trix of the commonwealth that we owe the 
necessity of now recurring to the extensive 
plan of Simultaneous Reform, of which I do 
not dispute the inconveniences. We are 
now called on to pay the arrears of a hundred 
and sixty years of an unreformed represen- 
tation. The immediate settlement of this 
constitutional balance is now ditficull; — i* 
may not be without danger : but it is become 
necessary that we may avoid ruin. It may 
soon be impossible to save us by that, or by 
an}' other means. 

But, Sir, we are here met by a serious 
question, which, being founded on a princi- 
ple generally true, acquires a great effect by 
specious application. We are reminded by 
the Honourable and Learned Gentleman, that 
governments are to be valued for their bene- 
ficial effects, — not for their beauty as inge- 
nious pieces of machinery. We are asked, 
what is the practical evil which we propose 
to remove, or even to lesson, by Ileform '? 
We are told, that the representative system 
" works well," and that the excellence of the 
English constitution is attested by the ad- 
mirable fruits, which for at least a century 
and a half it has produced. I dare not take 
the high ground of denying the truth of the 
facts thus alleged. God forbid that I should 
ever derog-ate from the transcendent merits 
of the English constitution, which it has been 
the chief occupation of my life to study, 
and which I now seek, because I love it, lo 
reform ! 

Much as I love and revere this constitu- 
tion, I must say, that, during the last century, 
the representative system has not worked 
well. I do not mean to undervalue its gene- 
ral results; but it has not worked well for 
one grand purpose, without \\ hich, no other 
benefit can be safe : — the means employed 
in elections, has worked all respect for the 
constitution out of the hearts of the people. 
The foulness and shamefulness, or the fraud 
and mockery of borough elections, have 
slowly weaned the people from their ancient 
attachments. With less competence, per- 
haps, than others, to draw up the general 
comirarison between the good and evil re- 
sults, they were shocked by the barefaced 
corruption which the increasing frequency 
of contests constantly brought home to them. 
These disgusting scenes could not but uproot 
attachment to the government to which they 
seemed to pertain. The people could see 
nothing venerable in venality, — in bribery, — 
in the sale of some, and in the gift of other 
seats, — in nominal elections carried on by in- 
dividuals, under the disguise of popular forms. 

It is true, that the vile machinery of openly 
marketable votes, was the most powerful 
cause which alienated them. But half the 
nomination-boroughs were so marketable. 
Though I know one nomination borouah*- 



* Knaresborough, the property of the Duke 
of Devonshire, which he had represented sirce 
1818.— Ed. 



SPEECH ON THE REFORM BILL. 



585 



>vhere no seat was ever sold, — where no 
Member ever heard a whisper of the wishes 
of a patron, — where One Member at k;ast 
was under no restraint beyond the ties of 
political opinion and friendship, which he 
voluntarily imposed upon himself. It does 
not become me to say how the Member to 
whom I advert would have acted in other 
circumstances; but I am firmly convinced 
that the generous nature of the other Party 
would as much recoil from imposing de- 
pendency, as any other could recoil from 
submitting to it. I do not pretend to say 
that this is a solitary instance : but I believe 
it to be too favourable a one to be a fair sam- 
ple of the general practice. 

Even in the best cases, the pretended 
election was an eye-sore to all that witnessed 
it. A lie was solemnly acted before their 
eyes. While the popular principles of the 
constitution had taught them that popular 
elections belonged to the people, all the acts 
that the letter of the law had expressly for- 
bidden were now become the ordinary means 
of obtaining a Parliamentary seat. The.se 
odious and loathsome means became more 
general as the country increased in wealth, 
and as the people grew better informed, — 
more jealous of encroachment on their rights, 
and more impatient of exclusion from power. 
In the times of the Stuarts and Tudors, the 
burgesses, as we see from the lists, had been 
very generally the sons of neighbouring gen- 
tlemen, chosen with little contest and noise, 
and so seldom open to the charge of bribery, 
that when it occurred, we find it mentioned 
as a singular event. It was not till after the 
Revolution that monied candidates came from 
the Capital to invade a tranquillity very 
closly allied to blind submission. At length, 
the worst of all practical effects was pro- 
duced : — the constitution sunk in popular 
estimation; the mass of the peo])le were 
estranged from the objects of their here- 
ditary reverence. An election is the part 
of our constitution w'ith which the multitude 
come into most frequent contact. Seeing in 
many of them nothing but debauchery, — 
riot; — the sale of a right to concur in making 
Jaw, — the purchase in open market of a 
share' in the choice of lawgiver.?, — ab.solute 
nomination under the forms of election, they 
were conscious that many immoral, many 
illegal practices became habitual, and were 
even justified. Was it not natural for the 
majority of honest men to form their judg- 
ments rather by means of their moral feel- 
ings, than as the results of refined argu- 
ments, founded on a calm comparison of 
evils'? Such at least was the effect of this 
mo.st mischievous practice, that when any 
misfortune of the country, any error of the 
Government, any commotion abroad, or any 
disorder at home arose, they were all as- 
cribed, with exaggeration, but naturally, to 
the corruption, which the humblest of the 
people saw had tainted the vital organs of 
the commonwealth. 

My Honourable and Excellent Friend, the 
74 



Member for the University of Oxford,* in- 
deed told the last Parliament, that the cla- 
mours about the state of the representation 
were only momentary cries, which, however 
magnified at the moment, always quickly 
yielded to a vigorous and politic government. 
He might have looked back somewhat far- 
ther. What were the Place Bills and Trien- 
nial Bills of Sir Robert Walpole's time? 
Were they not, in truth, demands of Parlia- 
mentary Reform 1 The cry is therefore one 
of the symptoms of a distemper, which has 
lasted for a century. But to come to his 
more recent examples : — in 1770, Lord Chat- 
ham was the agitator; Mr. Burke was the 
incendiary pamphleteer, who exaggerated 
the importance of a momentary delusion, 
which was to subside as quickly as it had 
risen. Unfortunately for this reasoning, 
though the delusion subsided after 1770, it 
revived again in 1780, under Sir George 
Saville; under Mr. Pitt in 1782. 1783, and 
1784: it was felt at the time of Mr. Flood's 
motion in 1790. Lord Grey's motion in 1797 
was supported by respectable Tories, such 
as Sir William Dolben, Sir Rowland Hill, and 
by con.scientious men, more friendly to Mr. 
Pitt than to his opponents, of whom it is 
enough to name Mr. Henry Thornton, then 
Member for Surrey. Instead of being the ex- 
pressions of a transient delusion, these con- 
stantly recurring complaints are the symp- 
toms of a deep-rooted malady, sometimes 
breaking out. sometimes dying away, some- 
times repelled, but always sure to return, — 
re-appearing with resistless force in the elec- 
tions of 1830, and still more decisively in 
those of 1831. If we seek for proof of an 
occasional provocation, which roused the peo- 
ple to a louder declaration of their opinions, 
where shall we find a more unexceptionable 
witness, than in one of the ablest and most 
unsparing opponents of the Ministers and of 
their Bill. Mr. Henry Drummond, in his 
very able Address to the Freeholders of Sur- 
rey, explicitly ascribes the irritation which 
now prevails to the unwise language of the 
late Ministers. The declaration of the late 
Ministers against Reform, says he, "proved 
their gross ignorance of the national feeling, 
and drove the people of England to desjoair." 
Many allege, Sir, that the people have 
gained so much strength and influence 
through the press, that they need no formal 
privileges or legal franchises to reinforce it. 
If it be so, I consider it to be a decisive rea- 
son for a reformation of the scheme of the 
representation. A country in which the 
masses are become powerful by their intel- 
ligence and by their wealth, while they 
are exasperated by exclusion from political 
rights, never can be in a safe condition. 1 
hold it to be one of the most invariable 
maxims of legislation, to bind to the consti- 
tution, by the participation of legal privilege, 
all persons who have risen in wealth, — in in- 
telligence, — in any of the legitimate source* 

* Sir Robert Harry Inglia, Bart.— Er 



586 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



of ascendancy. I would do now what our 
forefathers, though rudely, aimed at doing, 
by calling into the national councils ever}- 
rising eleinent in the body politic. 

The grand objection to this Bill, Sir, is 
what ought to be fatal to any Bill, if the ob- 

{"ection had any foundation but loud and 
)old assertTon, — that it is unjust. This ar- 
gument was never, indeed, urged by the 
Right Honourable Baronet, and it seems to 
be on the eve of being abandoned. But the 
wails of the House still seem to resound 
with the vociferations of my Honourable and 
Learned Friend, the INIember for Borough- 
bridge.* against what he called '-corporation 
robbery." Now many of these boroughs have 
no corporations at all : while none who have 
will bo deprived of their corporate rights. 
But if all these corporations had been about 
to be divested of their character, — divested 
of rights which have been, or are likely to 
be abused, the term "robbery" would have 
been ridiculously inapplicable. Examples 
are more striking than general reasonings. 
Was the disuse of i.ssuing Writs of Summons, 
as a consequence of which near a hundred 
Members are excluded from this House, an 
act of " robbery?" Was the Union with Scot- 
land, which reduced the borough leprcsenta- 
tion from sixty-five to fifteen, an act of "rob- 
bery"?" Yes, surely it was, if the term can 
be properly applied to this Bill. The Scotch 
boroughs were thrown into clusters of four 
and five, each of v.diich sent a burgess. But 
if it be '• robbery'" to take away the Mhole 
of a franchise, is it not in principle as violent 
an invasion of properly to take away four- 
fifths or three-fourths of it. What will be 
said of the Union with Ireland ? Was it 
'• robbery" to reduce her representation from 
three hundred to one hundred Members ? 
Was it " robbery" to disfranchise, as they did 
then, one hundred boroughs, on the very 
principle of the present Bill, — because they 
were decayed, dependent, and so unfit to 
exercise the franchise? Was it "robbery" 
to deprive the Peers of Scotland of their 
birthright, and compel them to be contented 
with a bare possibility of being occasionally 
elected 1 Was it " robbery" to mutilate the 
legislative rights of the Irish Peerage 1 No ! 
because in all these cases, the powers taken 
away or limited were trusts resumable by 
Parliament for the general well-being. 

Further, I contend that if this be "'rob- 
bery," every borough disfranchised for cor- 
ruption has been "robbed" of its rights. 
Talk not to me of the guilt of these bo- 
roughs: individuals are innocent or guilty, 
— bodies politic can be neither. If disfran- 
chisement be considered as a punishment, 
where is the trial, — where are the wit- 
nesses on oath, — where are the precautions 
Hgainst partiality, — where are the responsible 
judges? — who, indeed, are the judges? men 
who have avowedly committed and have 
justified as constitutional the very offence. 
Why, in such cases, are the unborn punished 

* Sir Charles Weinereli.— EdI 



for the ofTences of the present generation * 
Why should the innocent minority sufi^'er for 
the sins of a venal majority ? If the rights 
of unofiendiiig parties are reserved, of what 
importance is the reservation, if they are to 
be merged in those of hundreds or thousands 
of fellow-voters? Would not the opening 
of the sufll'rage in the city of Bath be as de- 
structive to the close Corporation as if they 
were to be by name disfranchised ? Viewed 
in that light, every Bill of Disfranchisement 
is a Bill of Pains and Penalties, and in the 
nature of a Bill of Attainder. How are these 
absurdities avoided ? — only by the })rinci]>le 
of this Bill, — that political trust may be 
justly resumed by the supreme power, when- 
ever it is deemed injurious to tlie common- 
wealth. 

The test, Sir, which distinguishes property 
from trust, is simple, antl easily apjilied : — 
property exists for the benefit of the pro- 
prietor j political power exists oidy for the 
service of the state. Property is, indeed, 
the most useful of all human institutions: it 
is so, because the power of every man to do 
what he will with his own, is beneficial and 
even essential to the existence of society. 
A trustee is legally answerable for the abuse 
of his power: a proprietor is not amenable 
to human law for any misuse of his property, 
ntdess it should involve a direct violation of 
the rights of others. It is said, lliat property 
is a trust J and so it may, in figurative km- 
guage, be called : but it is a moral, not a 
legal one. In the present argument, we have 
to deal only with the latter. The confusioa 
of the ideas misled the Stuarts so far, that 
they thought the kingdom their property, till 
they were undeceived by the Revolution, 
which taught us, that man cannot have a 
property in his fellows. As all government 
is a trust, the share which each voter has in 
the nomination of lawgivers is one also. 
Otherwise, if the voter, as such, were a pro- 
prietor, he must have a property in his fel- 
low citizens, who are governed by laws, of 
which he has a share in naming the makers. 
If the doctrine of the franchise being pro- 
perty be admitted, all Reform is for ever pre- 
cluded. Even the enfranchisement of new 
boroughs, or districti^, must be renounced: 
for every addition diminishes the value ot 
the previous sufiiage : and it is no more law- 
ful to lessen the value of property, than to 
take it away. 

Of all doctrines which threaten the prin- 
ciple of property, none more dangerous was 
ever promulgated, than that which confounds 
it with political privileges. None of the dis- 
ciples of St. Simon, or of the followers of the 
ingenious and benevolent Owen, have struck 
60 deadly a blow at it, as those who would 
reduce it to the level of the elective rights 
of (Jatlon and Old Sarum. Properly, the 
nourisher of mankind, — the incentive to in- 
dustry, — the cement of human society, — will 
be in a perilous condition, if the people be 
taught to identify it with political abuse, and 
to deal with it as being involved in its ira« 



SPEECH ON THE REFORM BILL. 



587 



pending fate. Let us not teach the ppoilors 
of future times to represent our resumption 
of a right of suffrage as a precedent for iheir 
seizure of lands and possessions. 

Much is said in praise of the practice of 
nomination, which is now called "the most 
unexceptionable part of our representation." 
To nomination, it .seems, we owe the talents 
of our } oung Members, — the prudence and 
e.xpericnce of the more aged. It supplies 
the colonies and dependencies of this great 
empire with virtual representation in this 
House. By it commercial and funded pro- 
perty finds skilful advocat(;s and intrej)iil de- 
fenders. Ail these happy consequences are 
ascribed to that flagrant sysl(!rn of breaches 
of the law, which is now called "the prac- 
tice of the English constitution.'' 

Sir, I never had, and have not now, any 
objection to the admission of representaliv(;s 
of the colonies into this House, on fair and 
just conditions. But I cannot conceivi; that 
a Bill which is objected to, as raising the 
commercial interest at the expense of the 
landed, will also le.ssen the safViguards of 
their property. Considering the well-known 
and most remarkable subdivision of funded 
hicome, — the most rniinUely divided of any 
mass of property, — I do not believe that any 
representatives, or even any constituents, 
could be ultimately disposed to do them- 
selves so great an injury as to invade it. Men 
of genius, and men of exp<;rience, and men 
of opulence, have found their way into this 
House through nomination, or worse means, 
— through any channel that was open : the 
same classes of candidates will now direct 
their ambition and their efforts to the new 
channels opened by the present Bill; they 
will attain their end by only varying their 
means. 

A hst has been read to us of illustrious 
men who found an introduction to Parlia- 
ment, or a refuge from unmerited loss of 
popularity, by means of decayed boroughs. 
What does such a catalogue piove, but that 
England, for the last sixty years, has been a 
country full of ability, — of knowdedge, — of 
intellectual activity. — of honourable ambi- 
tion, and that a large portion of these quali- 
ties has flowed into the House of Commons'? 
Might not the same dazzling commoii-[)laces 
have been opposed to the abolition of the 
court of the Star Chamber? "What," it 
might have been said, "will you, in your 
frantic rage of innovation, demolish the tri- 
bunal in which Sir Thomas More, the best of 
men, and Lord Bacon, the greatest of philo- 
sophers, presided, — where Sir Edward Coke. 
the oracle of law, — where Burleigh and Wal- 
singham, the most revered of English states- 
men, sat as judges, — which Bacon, enlight- 
ened by philosophy and experience, called 
the peculiar glory of our legislation, as being 
'a court of criminal equity?' Will you, in 
your paroxysms of audacious frenzy, abo- 
lish this Prastorian tribunal, — this sole instru- 
ment for bridling popular incendiaries? Will 
you dare to persevere in your wild purpose, 



at a moment when Scotland is agitated by a 
rebellious League and Covenant, — when Ire- 
land is threatened with insurrection and 
massacre? Will you surrender the shield 
of the crown, — the only lormidable arm of 
prerogative, — at a time when his Majesty's 
authority is openly defied iu the capital 
where we are as.seinblcd?" 

I cannot, indeed. Sir, recollect a single 
instance in that long course of reformation, 
which constitutes the history of the English 
constitution, where the same plausible argu- 
ments, and the same exciting toj)ic.s, might 
not have been emijloyed as are now pointed 
airainst the present measure. Tin; Honoura- 
ble and Learned Gentleman has alluded to 
Simon d(! Mouifort, — the lirst and most ex- 
tensive Parliamentary Beforiner, — who pla- 
ced the r(;presentativt's of the burges.ses in 
Parliament. The haughty and unlettered 
Barons disdained argument' but their mur- 
murs were doubtless loud and vehement. 
Even they could exclaim that the new con- 
stitution was an "untried scheme,'' — tliat it 
was a "daring experiment," — that it "would 
level all the distinctions of society," — that it 
would throw the power of the slate into the 
haiuls of traffickers and burgesses. Were 
men but yesterday slaves, now to be seated 
by the side of Plantagenets engaged in the 
arduous duly of making laws? Are these 
not the topics which are substantially used 
against Parliamentary Reform? They are 
now belied by experience, which has taught 
us that the adojjtion of the lower classeu 
into the constitution, the concessions made 
to them, and the widening of the foundation 
of the legislature, have been the source of 
peace, of order, of harmony, — of all that in 
excellent in our government, and of all that 
secures the frame of our society. The Ha- 
beas Corpus Act, in the reign of Charles the 
Second, was obtained only by repented, j)er- 
severing, unwearied exertions of the Earl of 
Shaftesbury, after a meritorious struL'gle of 
many years. I mention the facts with plea- 
sure in the presence of his descendant.* 
It is now well known, from the confidential 
correspondence of Charles and his brother 
James, that they both believed sincerely 
that a government without the power of 
arbitrary imprisonment would not long exist; 
and that Shaftesbury had forced this Act 
upon them, in order either to expose them 
unarmed to the populace, or to drive them 
to have recourse to the odious and precarious 
protection of a standing army. The belief 
of the Royal Brothers was the more incorri- 
gible, because it was sincere. It is the fatal 
effect of ab.solute power to corrupt the judg- 
ment of its possessors, and to insinuate into 
their minds the false and pernicious opinion, 
that power is always weakened by limitation. 

Shall I be told, that the sale of seats is 
not in itself an evil? The same most inge- 
nious persont who hazarded this paradox, 

* Viscount Ashley. — Ed." 
t It would not seem easy to specify the person 
alluded to. — Eo. 



688 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



quoted the example of the sale of the judi- 
cial office in Old Franco, with a near ap- 
proach to approbation. That practice has 
been vindicated by French writers of great 
note; and it had, in fact, many guards and 
limitations not to be found in our system of 
marketable boroughs: but it has been swept 
away by the Revolution; and there is now 
no man disposed to palliate its shameless 
enormity. The grossest abuses, as long as 
they prevail, never want advocates to find 
out specious mitigations of their eflects : 
their downfall discovers their deformity to 
every eye. For my part, I do not see, why 
the sale of a power to make laws should not 
be as immoral as the sale of a power to ad- 
minister them. 

We have heard it said. Sir, that the Peer- 
age, and even the Monai'chy, cannot survive 
the loss of these boroughs ; and we are re- 
ferred to the period that has elapsed since 
the Revolution, as that during which this 
influence has been their main guard against 
popular assault and dictation. I respectfully 
lay aside the Crown in this debate ; and in 
the few words that I am now about to utter, 
I am desirous to express myself in cautious 
and constitutional language. Since the Re- 
volution, — since the defeat of the attempts 
to establish absolute monarchy, the English 
government has undoubtedly become Parlia- 
mentary. But during that time, also, the 
hereditary elements of the constitution have 
been uniformly respected as wholesome 
temperaments of the rashness of popular 
assemblies. I can discover nothing in this 
proposed change which will disable the 
Peers from usefully continuing to perform 
this duty. If some inconvenient diminution 
of the influence of great property should 
follow, we must encounter the risk; for no- 
thing can, in my judgment, be more certain, 
than that the constitution can no longer bear 
the weight of the obloquy thrown upon it by 
our present mode of conducting elections. 
The community cannot aflbrd to purchase any 
advantage at such an expense of private cha- 
racter. But so great is the natural influence 
of properly, esjiecially in a country where 
the various ranks of society have been so 
long bound together by friendly ties as in 
ours, that I can scarcely conceive any laws 
or institutions which could much diminish 
the influence of well-spent wealth, whether 
honourably inherited, or honestly earned. 

The benefits of any reformation might 
indeed be hazarded, if the great proprie- 
tors were to set themselves in battle array 
against the permanent desires of the people. 
If they treat their countrymen as adversa- 
ries, they may, in their turn, excite a hostile 
spirit. Distrust will beget distrust: jealousy 
will awaken an adverse jealousy. I trust 
these evil consequences may not arise. The 
Nobility of England, in former times, have 
led their countrymen in the battles of liber- 
ty, those among them who are most distin- 
ffuished by ample possessions, by historical 
Jiames, or by hereditary fame, interwoven 



with the glory of their country, have, on thin 
occasion, been the foremost to show their 
confidence in the people, — their unsuspect- 
ing liberality in the enlargement of popular 
|)rivilege, — their reliance on the sense and 
honesty of their fellow-citizens, as the best 
safeguard of property and of order, as well 
as of all other interests of society. Already, 
this measure has exhibited a disinterested- 
ness which has luiited all classes, from the 
highest borough-holder to the humblest non- 
resident freeman, in the sacrifice of their 
own exclusive advantages to what they 
think a great public good. There must be 
something good in what produces so noble a 
sacrifice. 

This, Sir, is not solely a reformatory mea- 
sure; it is also conciliatory. If it were pro- 
posed exclusively for the amendment of in- 
stitutions, I might join in the prevalent cry 
"that it goes too far," or at least "travels 
too fast." — farther and faster than the max- 
ims of wise reformation would warrant. But 
as it is a means of regaining national confi- 
dence, it must be guided by other maxims. 
In that important view of the subject, I con- 
sider the terms of this plan as of less conse- 
quence than the temper which it breathes, 
and the spirit by which it is animated. A 
conciliatory measure deserves the name only 
when it is seen and felt by the simplest oi 
men, to flow from the desire and determina- 
tion to conciliate. At this moment, when, 
amidst many causes of discord, there is a 
general sympathy in favour of reformation, 
the superior classes of society, by opening 
their arms to receive the people, — by giving 
to the people a signal and conspicuous proof 
of confidence, — may reasonably expect to be 
trusted in return. But to reach this end, they 
must not only be, but appear to be, liberally 
just and equitably generous. Confidence can 
be purchased by confidence alone. If the 
leading classes follow the example of many 
of their own number. — if they show, by 
gracious and cheerful concessions, — by strik- 
ing acts, not merely by specious language or 
cold formalities of laM', — that they are will- 
ing to rest on the fidelity and conscience of 
the people, I do not believe that they will 
lean on a broken reed. As for those wise 
saws which teach us that there is always 
danger in trust, and that policy and genero- 
sity are at perpetual variance, I hold them 
in little respect. Every unbending maxim 
of policy is hollow and unsafe. Base princi- 
ples are often not the more prudent because 
they are pusillanimous. I rather agree with 
the beautiful peroration of Mr. Burke's se- 
cond speech on North America : — " Mag- 
nanimity in politics is not seldom the truest 
wisdom : a great empire and little minds go 
ill together. If we are conscious of our 
situation, and glow with zeal to fill our place, 
as becomes our station and ourselves, we 
ought to auspicate our proceedings r^spect- 
ing America, with the old warning of the 
Church, — 'Siirsum Corda.' We ought to 
elevate our minds to the dignity of that trust, 



SPEECH ON THE REFORM BILL. 



589 



to which the order of Providence has called 

us." 

Whether we consider this measure, either 
as a scheme of reformation, or an attempt to 
form an alliance with the people, it must be 
always remembered, that it is a question of 
the comparative safety or danger of the only 
63'stems now before us for our option ; — that 
of undistinguishing adherence to present in- 
stitutions, — that of ample redress and bold 
reformation, — and that of niggardly, evasive, 
and unwilling Reform. I say ^'comparative" 
safety or danger; for not one of those who 
have argued this question seem to have re- 
membered that it has two sides. They have 
thrown all the danger of the times upon the 
Reform. They load it with as much odium 
as if the age were otherwise altogether ex- 
empt from turbulence and agitation, and first 
provoked from its serene quiet by this wanton 
attempt. They make it answerable for mis- 
chiefs which it may not have the power to 
prevent, and which might have occurred if 
no such measure had ever been attempted. 
They, at least, tacitly assume that it must ag- 
gravate every evil arising from other sources. 
In short, they beg the whole question in dis- 
pute. They ask us, Whether there be not 
danger in Reform 1 I answer by asking them, 
Is there no danger in not reforming? To 
this question, to which they have never yet 
attempted to answer. I expect no answer 
now; because a negative one would seem 
to me impossible, while an affirmative would 
reduce the whole discussion to a cool com- 
putation and calm comparison of the different 
degrees of danger opening upon us. 

A niggardly Reform, Sir, seems to me the 
most unsafe step of all systems. It cannot 
conciliate ; for it is founded in distrust. It 
practically admits an evil, of which dissatis- 
faction is a large part ; and yet it has been 
already proved by experience that it yet 
satisfied nobody. Other systems may be 
unsatisfactory : this scheme is so already. 
In the present temper of the people, and 
circumstances of the world, I can see no one 
good purpose to be answered by an evasive 
and delusive Reform. To what extent will 
they trust the determined enemies of the 
smallest step towards reformation, — who, to 
avoid the grant of the franchise to Birming- 
ham, have broken up one Administration, 
and who, if they be sincere, must try every 
expedient to render impotent a measure 
which they can no longer venture avowedly 
to oppose. 

On the other hand, Sir, the effect of the 
Bill before us has hitherto confirmed the 
opinion of those who thought that a measure 
of a conciliatory temper, and of large and 
liberal concession, would satisfy the people. 
The tone and gcope of their petitions, which 
were at first extravagant, became moderate 
and pacific, as soon as the Bill was known. 
As soon as they saw so unexpected a project 
of substantial amendment, proceeding from 
sincere Reformers, they at once sacrificed all 
vague projects of indefinite perfection. No- 



thing can be more ludicrously absurd, than the 
supposition which has been hazardrd among 
us, that several millions of men are such deep 
dissemblers, — .such dark conspirators, — as to 
be able to conceal all their farther projects, 
till this Bill arms them with the means of 
carrying them into execution. The body ol a 
people cannot fail to be sincere. I do not ex- 
pect any measure of legislation to work mira- 
cles. Discontent may and will continue ; but 
I believe that it will be by this measure per- 
manently abated. Others there doubtless are, 
who foretell far other effects : it seems to me, 
that the favourers of the Bill rest their pre- 
dictions on more probable foundations. 

Among the numerous assumptions of our 
opponents, there is none which appears to 
me more remarkable, than their takhig for 
granted that concession is always, or evea 
generally, more dangerous to the stabihty of 
government than resistance. As the Right 
Honourable Baronet introduced several happy 
quotations from Cicero on this subject, which 
he seemed to address more particularly to 
me, I hope I shall not be charged with pe- 
dantry, if I begin my proofs of the contrary, 
with the testimony of that great writer. In 
the third book of his work, " De Legibus," 
after having put an excellent aristocratical 
speech, against the tribunhian power, into 
the mouth of his brother Quintus, he proceeds 
to answer him as follows: — " Conces.sa Plebi 
a Patribus ista potestate. arma ceciderunt, 
restincta seditio est, inventum est tempera- 
raentum quo tenuiores cum principibus 
aequari se putarint; in quo uno fuit civitatis 
salus." It will not be said, that Cicero was 
a radical or a demagogue, or that he had any 
personal cause to be favourable to the tn- 
bunitian power. It will not be said, that to 
grant to a few, a right to stop the progress 
of every public measure, was a slender, or 
likely to be a safe concession. The ancients 
had more experience of democracy, and a 
better knowledge of the character of dema- 
gogues, than the frame of modern society 
allows us the means of attaining. This great 
man, in spite of his natural prejudices, and 
just resentments, ascribes to this apparently 
monstrous power, not merely the spirit and 
energy which may be expected even from 
the excess of popular institutions, but what- 
ever safety and tranquillity the common- 
wealth enjoyed through a series of ages. 
He would not, therefore, have argued as has 
been argued on this occasion, that if the rnul- 
titude appeal to violence, before legal privi- 
leges are conferred on them, they will be 
guilty of tenfold excesses when they become 
sharers in legitimate authority. On the con- 
trary, he lays it down in the context of the 
passage quoted, that their violence is abated, 
by allowing a legal vent to their feelings. 

But it appears. Sir, to be taken for granted, 
that concession to a people is always more 
dangerous to public quiet than resistance, is 
there any pretence for such a doctrine ? I 
appeal to history, as a vast magazine of facts, 
all leading to the very opposite conclusion, — 
2Z 



590 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



teaching that this fatal principle has over- 
thrown more thrones and dismembered more 
empires than any other — proving that late 
reformation, — dilatory reformation, — reform- 
ation refused at the critical moment, — which 
may pass for ever, — in the twinkling of an 
eye, has been the most frequent of all causes 
of the convulsions which have shaken states, 
and for a time burst asunder the bonds of 
society. Allow me very briefly to advert to 
the earliest revolution of modern times : — 
was it by concession that Philip II. lost the 
Netherlands? Had he granted timely and 
equitable concessions, — had he not plotted 
the destruction of the ancient privileges of 
these flourishing provinces, under pretence 
that all popular privilege was repugnant to 
just authority, would he not have continued 
to his death the master of that fair portion 
of Europe 1 Did Charles I. lose his throne 
and his life by concession ? Is it not notori- 
ous, that if, before losing the confidence of 
the Parliament and the people (after that loss 
all his expedients of policy were vain, as 
in such a case all policy is unavailing), he 
had adhered to the principles of the Petition 
of Right, to which he had given his Royal 
Assent, — if he had forborne from the perse- 
cution of the Puritans, — if he had refrained 
from levying money without a grant fiom 
Parliament, he would, in all human proba- 
bility, have reigned prosperously to the last 
day of his life. If there be any man who 
doubts it. his doubts will be easily removed 
without punsuing his studies farther than the 
first volume of Lord Clarendon's History. 
Did the British Parliament lose North America 
by concession ? Is not the loss of that great 
empire solely to be ascribed to the obstinate 
resistance of this House to every conciliatory 
proposition, although supported by their own 
greatest men, tendered in the loyal petitions 
of the Colonies, until they were driven into 
the arms of France, and the door was for 
ever closed against all hopes of re-union ? 
Had we yielded to the latest prayers of the 
Americans, it is hard to say how long the 
two British nations might have been held 
together : the separation, at all events, if ab- 
solutely necessary, might have been effected 
on quiet and friendly terms. Whatever may 
be thought of recent events (of which it is 
yet too early to firm a final judgment), the 
history of their origin and progress would of 
itself be enough to show the wisdom of those 
early reformations, which, as Mr. Burke 
says, "are accommodations with a friend in 
power." 

I feel, Sir, some curiosity to know how 
many of the high-principled, consistent, in- 
flexible, and hitherto unyielding opponents of 
this Bill, will continue to refuse to make a 
declaration in favour of any Reform, till the 
last m.oment of this discussion. Although I 
differ from them very widely in opinion, I 
know how to estimate their fidelity towards 
each other, and their general fairness to 
others, as well as their firmness under cir- 
cumstances of a discouraging and disheart- 



ening nature, calculated to sow distrust and 
disunion in any political party. What I 
dread and deprecate in their system is, that 
they ofl'er no option but Reform or coercion. 
Let any man seriously consider what is the 
full impoit of this la?t tremendous word. Re- 
strictions will be lirst laid on the people, 
which will be assuredly productive of new 
discontents, provokhig in turn an incensed 
Government to measures still more rigorous. 
Discontent will raidile into disafl'ection : dis- 
affection will break out into revolt, which, 
supposing the most favourable termination, 
will not be quelled without spilling the blood 
of our comitrymen, and will leave them in 
the end full of hatred for their rulers, and 
watching for the favourable opportunity of 
renewing their attack. It is needless to con- 
sider the consequences of a still more disas- 
trous and irreparable termination of the con- 
test. It is enough for me to say, that the long 
continuance of such wretched scuffles be- 
tween the Government and the people is abso- 
lutely incompatible with the very existence 
of the English constitution. But although a 
darkness haiigsover the event, is there nothing 
in the present temper, — in the opinions, — in 
the circumstances of all European nations, 
which renders the success of popular princi- 
ples probable ? The mode in which this mat- 
ter has been argued, will excuse me for once 
more reminding the House that the question 
is one of compaiative danger. I vote for the 
present Bill, not only because I approve of it 
as a measure of Reform, but becau.'^e i con- 
sider it as affording the greatest probability 
of preserving the integrity of our fundamental 
laws. Those who shut their eyes on the 
tempests which are abroad, — on the gloomy 
silence with which the extreme parties look 
at each other, may obstinately persist in 
ascribing the present agitation of mind in 
Great Britain to a new Cabinet in November, 
or to a Reform Bill in March. 

Our opponents. Sir, deal much in prophecy : 
they foretell all the evils which will spiirg 
from Reform. They do right: such antici- 
pations are not only legitimate arguments ; 
but they form the hinge on which the whole 
case turns. But they have two sets of weights 
and measures: — they use the probability of 
future evil resulting from Reform as their 
main stay ; but when we employ the proba- 
bility of future evil from No-Reform, in sup- 
port of our opinion, they call it menace, and 
charge us with intimidation. 

In this;, and indeed in every other branch 
of the case, the arguments of our opponents 
have so singular a resemblance to those em- 
ployed by them on the Catholic Question, 
that we might quote as answers to them 
their own language. Then, as now. Minis- 
ters were charged with yielding to clamour 
and menace, and with attempting to frighten 
other men from their independence. As a 
brief, but conclusive answer, I have only to 
say, that all policy consists in suchconsidera- 
tioirs as to whether a measure be safe and 
beneficial, — that every statesman or lawgivei 



SPEECH ON THE REFORM BILL. 



591 



ought to fear what he considers as dangerous 
to the public, — and that I avow myself a 
coward at the prospect of the civil disorders 
■which I think impending over ray country. 

Then. Sir, we are tolii, — as we were told 
in the case of the Catholics, — that this mea- 
sure ]s not final, and that it is sought only as 
a vantage ground from which it will be more 
easy to effect other innovations. I denied 
the disposition to encroach, with which the 
Catholics were charged ; and however afflict- 
ing the condition of Irelanil may now be, I 
appeal to every dispassionate man, whether 
the relief granted to them has not, on the 
whole, bettered the situation, aud strength- 
ened the security of the country. I was 
then taught by the Right Honourable Raro- 
net.* that concession would divide loyal from 
disaffected opponents, and unite all friends 
of their country against those whose demands 
were manifestly insatiable. Ls it not rea- 
sonable to expect some degree of the same 
benefits on the present occasion ? 

Nothing human is, in one sense of the 
word, final. Of a distant futurity I know 
nothing; and I am, therefore, altogether un- 
fitted to make laws for it. Posterity may 
rightly measure their own wants, and their 
capacity, — we cannot; the utmost that we 
can aspire to, is to remove elements of dis- 
cord from their path. But within the very 
limited horizon to which the view of politi- 
cians can reach, I have pointed out some 
reasons why I e.xpect that a measure of con- 
cession, made in a spirit of unsuspecting 
confidence, may inspire the like sentiments, 
and why I believe that the people will 
acquiesce in a grant of these e.xtensive privi- 
leges to those whose interests must be al- 
ways the same as their own. After all, is it 

* Sir Robert Peel.— Ed. 



not obvious that the people already possess 
that power through their numbers, of which 
the exercise is dreaded 1 It is ours, indeed, 
to decide, whether they are to exert their 
force in the market-place, in the street, in 
the field, or in discussion, and debate in this 
House. If we somewhat increase their legal 
privileges, we must, also, in the same mea- 
sure, abate their supposed disposition to use 
it ill. 

On the great proprietors, much of the 
grace, — of the generous character. — of the 
conciliatory effect of this measure, must cer- 
tainh' depend. But its success cannot ulti- 
mately depend upon a single class. If ihey 
be deluded or enraged by tales of intimida- 
tion and of riot. — if they can be brought to 
doubt that there is in the public mind on the 
necessity of Reform any more doubt than is 
necessary to show the liberty of publishing 
opinion, — whenever or wherever they act on 
these great errors, they may abate the heal- 
ing efficacy of a great measure of concilia- 
tion and improvement ; but they cannot pre- 
vent its final adoption. Above all other 
considerations, I advise these great proprie- 
tors to cast from them those reasonings which 
would involve property in the approaching 
downfall of political abuse. If they assent 
to the doctrine that political privilege is 
property, they must be prepared for the in- 
evitable consequence, — that it is no more 
unlav,-ful to violate their possessions, than to 
resume a delegated trust. The suppression 
of dependent boroughs is at hand : it will be 
the truest wisdom of the natural guardians 
of the principle of property, to maintain, to 
inculcate, to enforce the essential distinction 
between it and political trust, — if they be 
not desirous to arm the spoilers, whom they 
dread, with arguments which they can never 
consistently answer. 



APPENDIX. 



The first article in a wise plan of reformation, 
would, in our opinion, be the immediate addition 
of twenty Members to the House of Commons, lo 
be chosen by the most opulent and populous of 
the communnies which are at present without di- 
rect representation ; with such varieties in the right 
of suffrage as the local circumstances of each com- 
munity might suggest, but in all of them on the 
principle ot a widely diffused franchise. In Scot- 
land, Glasgow ought to be included : in Ireland 
we think there are no unrepresented communities 
to which the principle could be applied. 

In endeavouring to show that this proposal is 
strictly constitutional, according to the narrowest 
and most cautious use of that term, — that it re- 
quires only the exercise of an acknowledged right, 
and the revival of a practice observed for several 
ages, we shall abstain from those controverted 
questions which relate to the obscure and legend- 



ary part of our Parliamentary history. A very 
cursory review of the authentic annals of the 
House of Commons, is sufficient for the present 
purpose. In the writs of summons of the llth of 
Edward I,, the Sheriffs were directed (as they are 
by the present writ) to send two Members from 
each city and borough within their respective baili- 
wicks. The letter of this injunction appears, from 
the beginning, lo have been disobeyed, The 
Crown was, indeed, desirous of a full attendance 
of citizens and burgesses, a class of men then sub- 
servient to the Royal pleasure, and who, it was 
expected, would reconcile their neighbours in the 
provinces to the burthen of Parliamentary grants; 
but to many boroughs, the wages of burgesses in 
Parliament were a heavy and sometimes an in- 
supportable burthen: and this struggle between 
the policy of the Crown and the poverty of the 
boroughs, occasioned great fluctuation in the towns 
who sent Members to the House of Commons, i.i 



592 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



the course of die fourteenth century. Small bo- 
roughs were ofien excused by the Sheriff on ac- 
count of their poverty, and at other times negieci- 
ed or disobeyed liis order. When he persisred, 
petitions wure presented to the King in Parlia- 
ment, and perpetual or temporary charters of ex- 
emption were ubiained by ihe pciiiioiiiiig boroughs. 
In the IslofEdward III. the county ot Northum- 
berland, and the town of Newcastle, were ex- 
empted, on account of the devastations of the 
Scotch war. The boroughs in Lancashire sent 
no Members from the reign of Edward III. to 
that of Henry VI.; the Sherifi" staling, in his re- 
turns, that ihere was no borough in his bailiwick 
able to bear the expense. Of one hundred and 
eighty-four cities and boroughs, summoned to 
Parliament in the reigns of the three first Ed- 
wards, only ninely-one continued to send Mem- 
bers in tlie reign of Richard II. In the midst of 
this great irregularity in the composition of the 
House of Commons, we still see a manifest, 
though irregular, tendency to the establishment 
of a constitutional principle, — viz. that deputies 
from all the most important communiiies, with 
palpably distinct inleresis, should for:n part of a 
national assembly. The separate and sometimes 
clashing interests of the town and the country, 
were not intrusted to the same guardians. The 
Knights of the .Shire were not considered as suf- 
ficient representatives even of the rude industry 
and infant commerce of that age. 

The dangerous discretion of the Sheriffs was 
taken away by the statutes for the regulation of 
elections, [mssed under the princes of the House 
of Lancaster. A seat in the House of Commons 
had now begun to be an object of general ambi- 
tion. Landed gentlemen, lawyers, even courtiers, 
served as burgesses, instead of those traders, — 
sometimes, if we may judge from their names, of 
hum!)l8 occupation, — who filled that station in 
former times. Boroughshad already fallen under 
the influence of neighbouring proprietors: and, 
from a curious passage in the Paston Letters, (vol. 
i. p. 9G,) we find, thai in the middle of the fifteenth 
century, the nomination of a young gentleman to 
serve lor a borough, by the proprietor, or by a 
great man of the Court, was spoken of as not an 
unusual transaction. From this time the power 
of the Crown, of granting representation to new 
boroughs, formed a part of the regular practice of 
the government, and was exercised without inter- 
ruption for two hundred years. 

In the cases of Wales, Chester, and long after 
of Durham, representation was bestowed by sta- 
tute, probably because it was thought that no in- 
ferior authority could have admitted Members 
from those territories, long suliject to a distinct 
government, into the Parliament of England. In 
these ancient grants of representation, whether 
made by the King or by Parliament, we discover 
a great uniformity of principle, and an approach 
to the maxims of our present constitution. In 
Wales and Chester, as well as in England, the 
counties were distinguished from the towns; and 
the protection of their separate interests was com- 
mitted to different representatives: the rights of 
election were diversifii;d, aciording to the hical 
interests and municipal constitution of ihe several 
towns. In the preamble of the Chester Act, re- 
presentation is stated to be the means of securing 
the county from the wrong whicii it hail suffered 
while it was unrepresented. It was bestowed on 
Wales with the other parts of the laws of Eng- 
land, of which it was iliouglit the necessary com- 
panion: and the exercise of popular privileges is 
distinctly held out as one of the means whicli 
were to quiei atid civilize that principality. In the 
cases of Calais and Berwick, the frontier fortresses 
against France and Scotland, — where modern poli- 
ticians would have been fearful of introducing the 
disorders of elections, — Ileury the Vlllih granted 



the elective franchise, apparently for (he purpose 
of strengthening the attachment, and secflring the 
fi lelity of their inhabitants. The Knights of the 
Shire for Norihumberlatid were not then thought 
to represent Berwick sufficiently. 

While we thus find in these ancient examples 
so much solicitude for an adequate representation 
of the separate inleresis of classes and districts, it 
is particularly worthy of remark, that we find no 
trace in any of them of a representation founded 
merely on numbers. The statute that gave repre- 
sentatives to Wales, was within a century of the 
act of Henry VI. for regulating the qualifications 
for the voters in counties ; and on that subject, as 
well as others, may be regarded as no inconsider- 
able evidence on the ancient state of the consUtu- 
tion. Had universal suffrage prevailed till the fif- 
teenth century, it seems wholly incredible, that no 
trace of it should be found in the numerous Royal 
and Parliamentary grants of representation, which 
occur in the early part of the sixteenth. Mere ac- 
cident must have revived it in some instances ; for 
it certainly had not l/ie7i become an argument of 
jealousy or apprehension. 

In the reigns of Edward the Vlth, Mary, and 
Elizabeth, the struggles between the Catholic and 
Protestant parties occasioned a great and sudden 
increase of the House of Commons. Fourteen 
boroughs were thus privileged by the first of these 
Sovereigns, ten by the second, and twenty-four 
by Elizabeth. The choice, in the reign of Edward 
and Elizabeth, was chiefly in the western and 
southern counties, where the adherents of the 
Reformation were most numerous, and the 
towns svere most under the influence of the 
Crown. By this extraordinary exertion of prero- 
gative, a permanent addition of ninety-four Mem- 
bers was made to the House in little more than 
fifty years. James and Charles, perhaps, dread- 
ing the accession of strength which a more nu- 
merous House might give to the popular cause, 
made a more sparing use of this power. But 
the popular party in the House, imitating the 
policy of the ministers of Elizabeth, began to 
strengthen their Parliamentary influence by a 
similar expedient. That House had, indeed, no 
pretensions to the power of making new Parlia- 
mentary boroughs ; but the same purpose was 
answered, by the revival of those which had long 
disused their privilege. Petitions were obtained 
from many towns well effected to the popular 
cause, alleging that they had, in ancient times, 
sent Members to Parliament, and had not legal- 
ly lost the right. These petitions were relerred 
to the Committee of Privileges; and, on a fa- 
vourable report, the Speaker was directed to issue 
his warrant for new writs. Six towns (of which 
Mr. Hampden's borough of Wendover was one) 
were in this manner empowered to send Members 
to Parliament in the reign of James. Two were 
added in 1C28 by like means, and six more by the 
Long Parliament on the very eve of the civil war. 

No further addition was made to the represen- 
tation of England except the borough of Newark, 
on which Charles H., in 1672, bestowed the pri- 
vilege of sending burgesses to the House of Com- 
mons, as a reward for the fidelity of the inhabitants 
to his father. The right of the first burgesses re- 
turned by this borough in ll)73 was questioned,^ 
though on what ground our scanty and conl'used 
accounts of the Parliamentary transactions of that 
period do not enable us to determine. The ques- 
tion was suspended for about three years; and at 
last, on the 26ih of March, 1676, it was determin- 
ed by a majority of one hundred and twenty-five 
against seveniy-lhree, that the town had a right to 
send burcesses. But on a second division, it was 
resolved, by a majority of one, that the Members 
relumed were not duly elected. And thus sud- 
denly, and somewhat unaccountably, ceased the 
exercise of a prerogative which, for several ccnlu 



SPEECH ON THE REFORM BILL. 



593 



ries, had conlinued to augment, and, in some 
measure, to regul;itc the English represenlation. 

Neither ihis, nor any other coiisliiutiDnal power, 
originated in foresight and contrivance. Occa- 
sional convenience gave rise to its first exercise : 
the course of tiir.c gave it a sanction of law. It 
was more often exercised for purposes of tempo- 
rary policy, or of personal favour, than with any 
regard to the interest of the constitution. Its en- 
lire cessation is, however, to be considered as 
forniing an epocli in tiie progress of our govern- 
ment. However its exercise might have been 
abused, its existence might be defended, on the 
ground that ii was the constitutional means of re- 
medying the defects of the representation. It was 
a tacit acknowleJginent that a representative sys- 
tem must, from time to time, require amendment. 
Every constitutional reasonermusi have admitted, 
that it was rightly exercised only in those cases 
where it contributed to the ends for the sake of 
wiiich alone it could be ji_istified. Its abuse con- 
sisted much more in granting the siiffragi! to in- 
significant villages, than from withholding it from 
large towns. The cases of the latter sort are very 
few, and may be imputed to accident and negli- 
gence, which would probably have been corrected 
in process of time. No such instance occurs with 
respect to any town of the first, or even of the 
second class. And, indeed, it cannot be supposed, 
that, before the disuse of that prerogative, four or 
five of the principal towns in the kingdom should 
have continued without representatives for more 
than a century. Whatever the molive might have 
been for granting representatives to Westminster 
by Edward VI., no reason could have been as- 
signed for the grant, but the growing importance 
of that city. Lord Clarendon's commendation of 
the constitution of Cromwell's Parliament, to 
which Manchester, Leeds, and Halifax, then towns 
of moderate size, sent represetitatives, may be 
considered as an indication of the general opinion 
on this subject. 

In confirmation of these remarks, we shall close 
this short review of the progress of the represen- 
tation before the Revolution, by an appeal to two 
legislative declarations of the principles by which 
it ought to be governed. 

The first is the Chester Act, (34 & 35 Hen. 8. 
c. 13,) the preamble of which is so well known as 
the basis of Mr- Burke'g plan for conciliation with 
America. It was used against him, to show that 
Parliament might legislate for unrepresented 
counties; but it was retorted by him, with much 
greater force, as a proof from experience, and an 
acknowledgment froin the Legislature, that coun- 
ties in that situation had no security against mis- 
rule. The Petition of the inhabitants of Che- 
shire, which was adopted as the preamble of the 
Act, complained that they had neither knight nor 
burgess in Parliament for the said county-pala- 
tine ; and that the said inhabitants, "for lack 
thereof, have been oftentimes touched and grieved 
with acts and statutes made within the said court." 
On this recital the Statute proceeds: — "For 
remedy thereof may it please your Highness, that 
it may be enacted, that from the end of this pre- 
sent session, the said county-palatine shall have 
two knights for the said county-palatine, and 
likewise two citizens to be burgesses for the city 
cf Chester." 

The Statute enabling Durham to send knights 
and burgesses to Parliament, which has been less 
frequently quoted, is still more explicit on the pur- 
poses of the present argument : — 

" Whereas the inhabitants of the said county- 
paiatine of Durham have not hitherto had the 
liberty and privilege of electing and sending any 
knights and burgesses to the High Court of Par- 
liament, although the inhabitants of the said 
county-palatine are liable to all payments, rates, 
and subsidies granted by Parliament, equally 
75 



with the inhabitants of other cojnties, cities, and 
boroughs in this kingdom, who have their knights 
and burgesses in the Parliament, and are there- 
fore concerned equally with others the inhabitants 
of this kingdom to have knights and btirgesses 
in the said High Court of Parliament, of their 
own election, to represent the condition of their 
county, as the inhabitants of other counties, cities, 
and boroughs of this kingdom have .... Where- 
fore, be it enacted, that the said county-palatine 
of Durham may have two knights for the same 
county, and the city of Durham two citizens to 
be burgesses for the saine city, for ever here- 
afier, to serve in the High Court of Parliament . . . 
The elections of the knights to serve for the 
said county, from time to time hereafter, to be 
made by the greater number of freeholders of the 
said co'unty-palaiine, which from time to time 
shall be present at such elections, accordingly as 
is used in other counties in this your Majesty's 
kingdom ; and the eleciion of the said burgesses 
for the city of Durham, to be made from time to 
time by the major part of the mayor, aldermen, 
and freemen of the said city of Durham, which 
from time to time shall be present al such elec- 
tions." 'I'his Statute does not, like ihe Che.ster 
Act, allege that any specific evil had arisen from 
the previous want of representatives ; but it re- 
cognises, as a general principle of the English 
consiiiuiion, that the interests of every unrepre- 
sented district are in danger of being overlooked 
or sacrificed, and that the inhabitants of such dis- 
tricts are therefore interested to have knights and 
burgesses in Parliament, " of their own election, 
to represent ihe condition of their country." 

The principle is, in eflTect, as applicable to towns 
as to counties. The town of Newcastle had then 
as evident an interest in the welfare of the county 
of Durham, as the county of Warwick can now 
have in the prosperity of the town of Birming- 
ham ; but the meinbers for Newcastle were not 
considered, by this statute, as sufficient guardians 
of the prosperity of the county of Durham. Even 
the knights who were to serve for the county, 
were not thought to dispense with the burgesses 
to serve for the city. As we have before observed, 
the distinct interests of country and town were 
always, on such occasions, provided for by our 
ancestors ; and a prhiciple was thereby established, 
that every great community, with distinct interest, 
ought to have separate representatives. 

It is also observable, that the right of suffrage 
is not given to all the inhabitants, nor even to all 
the taxable inhabitants, but to the freeholders of 
the county, and freemen of the city, — who have a 
common interest and fellow-feeling with the whole. 
As these electors were likely lo partake the senti- 
ments of the rest of the inhabitants, and as every 
public measure must affect both classes alike, 
the members chosen by such a part of the people 
were considered as virtually rcprer-enting all. — 
The claim to representation is acknowledged as 
belonging to all districts and communities, to all 
classes and interests, — but not to all men. Some 
degree of actual election was held necessary to 
virtual representation. The guardians of the in- 
terest of the country were to be, to use the Ian. 
guage of the preamble, "of their own election;" 
though it evidently appears from the enactments, 
that these words imported only an election by a 
considerable portion of them. It is also to bs 
observed, that there is no trace m this Act of a 
care to proportion the number of the new repre- 
sentatives to the population of the district, though 
a very gross deviation on eiilier side would prob;*- 
bly have been aroided. 

When we speak of prifiriples on this suVjeci, 
we are not to-be understood as ascribing to ilitiii 
the character of rules of law, or of tixioms id 
science. They were maxims of const itutiotial 
policy, to which there is a visible, though not <» 
2z 2 



594 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



uniform, reference in the acts of our forefathers. 
They were more or less regarded, according to 
the character of those who directed tlie public 
councils : the wisest and most generous men made 
the nearest approaches to their observance. But 
in the application of these, as well as of all other 
political maxims, it was often necessary to yield 
to circumstances, — to watch for opportunities, — 
to consult the temper of the people, the condition 
of the country, and the dispositions of powerful 
leaders. It is from want of due regard to con- 
siderations like these, that the theory of the Eng- 
lish representation has, of late years, been dis- 
figured by various and opposite kinds of reasoners. 
Some refuse to acknowledge any principles on 
this subject, but those most general considera- 
tions of expediency and abstract justice, which 
are applicable to all governments, and to every 
situation of mankind. But these remote princi- 
ples shed too faint a light to guide us on our path ; 
and can seldom be directly applied with any ad- 
vantage to human affairs. Others represent the 
whole constitution, as contained in the written 
laws ; and treat every principle as vague or vision- 
ary, which is not sanctioned by some legal au- 
thority. A third class, considering (rightly) the 
representation as originating only in usage, and 
incessantly though insensibly altered in the course 
of time, erroneously infer, that it is altogether a 
matter of coarse and confused practice, incapable 
of being reduced to any theory. The truth is, 
however, that out of the best parts of that prac- 
tice have gradually arisen a body of maxims, 
which guide our judgment in each particular case ; 
and which, though beyond the letter of the law, 
are better defined, and more near the course of 
business, than general notions of expediency or 
justice. Often disregarded, and never rigorously 
adhered to, they have no support but a general 
conviction, growing with experienoe, of their fit- 
ness and value. I'he mere speculator disdains 
them as beggarly details: the mere lawyer asks 
for the staiuie or case on which they rest: the 
mere practical politician scorns them as airy vi- 
sions. But these intermediate maxims constitute 
the principles of the British constitution, as dis- 
tinguished, on the one hand, from abstract notions 
of government, and, on the other, from the pro- 
visions of law, or the course of practice. " Civil 
knowledge," says Lord Bacon, "is of all others 
the most immersed in matter, and the hardliest 
reduced to axioms." Politics, therefore, if they 
should ever be reduced to a science, will require 
the greatest number of intermediate laws, to con- 
nect its most general principles with the variety 
and intricacy of the puhlic concerns. But in every 
branch of knowledge, we are told by the same 
great Master, (Novum Organum,) "that while 
generalities are barren, and the multiplicity of 
single facts present nothing but confusion, the 
middle principles alone are solid, orderly, and 
fruitful." 

The nature of virtual representation may be illus- 
trated by the original contioversy between Great 
Britain and America. The Americans alleged, 
perhaps untruly, that being unrepresented they 
could not legally be taxed. They, added, with 
truth, that being unrepresented, they ought not 
consiiiutionally to be taxed. But they defended 
this true position, on a ground untenable in argu- 
ment. They sought for the constituiion in the 
works of abstract reasoners, instead of searching 
for it in its own ancient and uniform practice. 
They were told that virtunl, not actual, represen- 
'ation, was the principle of the consiitution ; and 
that they were as much virtually represented as 
the majority of the people of England. In answer 
to this, they denied that virtual representation was 
a constitutional principle, instead 8f denying the 
fdct, that they were virtually represented. Had 
they chosen the latter ground, their case would 



have been unanswerable. The unrepresented part 
of England could not be taxed, without taxing the 
represented: the laws affected alike the members 
who passed ihem, their constituents, and the rest 
of the people. On the contrary, separate laws 
might be, and were, made for America: separate 
taxes might be, and were, laid on her. The case 
of that country, therefore, was the very reverse of 
virtual representation. Instead of ideniiiy, there 
was a contrariety of apparent interest. The Eng- 
lish land-holder was to be relieved by an Ameri- 
can revenue. The prosperity of the English manu- 
facturer was supposed to depend on a monopoly 
of the American market. Such a system of go- 
verning a great nation was repugnant to the princi- 
ples of a constitution which had solemnly pro- 
nounced, that the people of the small territories of 
Chester and Durham could not be virtually repre- 
sented without some share of actual representa- 
tion. — Edinburgh Review, vol, xxxiv. p. 477. 



B. 

The principle of short Parliaments was solemn- 
ly declared at the Revolution. On the 29ih of 
January 1689, seven days afier the Conveiuioa 
was assembled, the following resolution was adopt- 
ed by the House of Commons: — " That a com- 
mittee be appointed to bring in general heads of' 
such things as are absolutely necessary to be con- 
sidered, for the better securing our Religion, Laws, 
and Liberties." Of this Committee Mr. Somera 
was one. On the 2d of February, Sir George Tre- 
by, from the Committee thus appointed, reported 
the general heads on which they had agreed. The 
lllh article of these general heads was as follows ; 
— " That the too long continuance of the same Par- 
liament be prevented." On the 4th of February 
it was ordered, " 'J'hat it be referred to the Com- 
mittee to distinguish such general heads as are in- 
troductive of new laws, from those that are decla- 
ratory of ancient rights." On the 7th of the same 
month, the Committee made their Second Re- 
port ; and, after going through the declaratory part, 
which constitutes the Bill of Rights as it now 
stands, proposed the following, among other 
clauses, relating to the introduction of new laws: 
— " And towards the making a more firm and per- 
fect settlement of the said Religion, Laws, and 
Liberties, and for remedying several defects and 
inconveniences, it is proposed and advised by 
[blank left for 'Lords'] and Commons, that there 
be provision, by new laws, made in such manner, 
and with such limitations, as by the wisdom and 
justice of Parliament shall be considered and or- 
dained in the particulars; and in particular, and to 
the purposes following, viz. for preventing the too 
long continuance of the same Parliament." The 
articles which required new laws being thus dis- 
tinguished, it was resolved on the following day, 
on the motion of Mr. Somers, "that it be an in- 
struction to the said Committee, to connect, to 
the vote of the Lords, such parts of the heads 
passed this House yesterday as are declaratory of 
ancient rights ; leaving out such parts as are intro- 
ductory of new laws." The declaratory articles 
were accordingly formed into the Declaration of 
Rights; and in that state were, by both Houses, 
presented to the Prince and Princess of Orange, 
and accepted by them, with the crown of England. 
But the articles introductive of new laws, thougt- 
necessarily omitted in a Declaration of Rights, 
had been adopted without a division by the House 
of Commons; who thus, at the very moment of 
the Revolution, determined, " that a firm and per- 
fect settlement of the Religion, Laws, and Liber- 
ties," required provision for a new law, "for pre- 
venting the too long continuance of the same Par 
liament." 



SPEKCH ON THE REFORM BILL. 



695 



But though the principle of short Parliaments 
was thus solemnly recognised at the Revolution, 
the lime of introducing ihe new law, the means 
by which its object was to be attained, and the 
precise term to be fixed for their duration, were 
reserved for subsequent deliberation. Attempts 
were made to give effect to the principle in 1692 
and 1693, by a Triennial Bill. In the former 
year, it passed both Houses, but did not receive 
the Royal Assent : in the latier, it was rejected by 
the House of Commons. In 1694, after ^^ir John 
Soniers was raised to the office of Lord Keeper, 
the Triennial Bill passed into a law.* It was not 
confined, like the bills under the same title, in the 
reigns of Charles I. and Charles II., (and with 
which it is too frequently confounded.) to provisions 
for securing the frequent sitting of Parliament: it 
for the first time limited its duration. Till the 
passing of this bill. Parliament, unless dissolved 
by the King, might legally have continued till the 
demise of the Crown, — its only natural and ne- 
cessary termination. 

The Preamble is deserving of serious considera- 
tion : — "Whereas, by the ancient laws and 
Btaiutes of this kingdom, frequent Parliaments 
ought to be held ; and whereas frequent and new 
Parliaments tend very much to the happy union 
and good agreement of the King and People." 
The Act then proceeds, in the first section, to 
provide for the frequent holding of Parliaments, 
according to the former laws; and in the second 
and third sections, by enactments which were be- 
fore unknown to our laws, to direct, that there 
shall be a new Parliament every three years, and 
that no Parliament shall have continuance longer 
than three ^/ears at the farthest. Here, as at llic 
time of the Declaration of Rights, the holding ot 
Parliaments is carefully distinguished from their 
election. The two parts of the Preamble refer 
separately to each of these objects: the frequent 
holding of Parliaments is declared to be conlorm- 
able to the ancient laws; but the frequent election 
of Parliament is considered only as a measure 
highly expedient on account of its tendency to 
preserve harmony between the Government and 
the People. 

The principle of the Triennial Act, therefore, 
seems to be of as high constitutional authority as 
if it had been inserted in the Bill of Rights itself, 
from which it was separated only that it might be 
afterwards carried into eflfect in a more convenient 
manner. The particular term of three years is an 
arrangement of expediency, to which it would be 
folly to ascribe any great importance. This Act 
continued in force only for tsventy years. Its op- 
ponents have often expatiated on the corruption 
and disorder in elections, and the instability in the 
national councils which prevailed during that 
period: but the country was then so much dis- 
turbed by the weakness of a new government, 
and the agitation of a disputed succession, that it 
is impossible to ascertain whether more frequent 
elections had any share in augmenting the dis- 
order. At the accession of George I. the dura- 
tion of Parliament was extended to seven years, 
by the famous statute called the " Septennial 
Act," 1 Geo. I. St. 2. c. 38, the preamble of which 
asserts, that the last provision of the Triennial 
Act, " if it should continue, may probably at this 
juncture, when a restless and Popish faction are 
designing and endeavouring to renew the rebel- 
lion within this kingdom, and an invasion from 
abroad, be destructive to the peace and security 
of the government." This allegation is now jis- 
certained to have been perfectly true, 'i'here is 
the most complete historical evidence that all the 
Tories of the kingdoin were then engaged in a 
conspiracy to effect a counier-revoluiion, — to 
wrest from the people all the securities which they 

* 6 W. & M. c, S. 



had obtained for liberty, — to brand them as rebels, 
and to siigmatise their rulers as usurpers, — and to 
re-establish the principles of slavery, by the resto- 
ration of a family, whose claim to power was 
founded on their pretended authority. It is beyond 
all doubt, that a general election at that period 
would have endangered all these objects. In 
these circumstances the Septennial Act was pass- 
ed, because it was necessary to secure liberty. 
But it was undoubtedly one of the highest exer- 
tions of the legislative authority. It was a devia- 
tion from the course of the constitution too exten- 
sive in its efl^ects, and too dangerous in its exam- 
ple, to be warranted by motives of political expe- 
diency : it could be justified only by the necessity 
of preserving liberty. The Revolution itself was 
a breach of ihe laws ; and it was as great a devia- 
tion from (he principles of monarchy, as the Sep- 
tennial Act could be from the constitution of the 
House of Commons : — and the latter can only be 
justified by the same ground of necessity, with 
that glorious Revolution of which it probably con- 
tributed to preserve — would to God we could say 
perpetuate — the inestimable blessings. 

It has been said by soiue, that as the danger 
was temporary, the law ought to have been passed 
only for a tiiue, and that it should have been de- 
layed till the approach of a general election should 
ascertain, whether a change in the temper of the 
people had not rendered it unnecessary. But it 
was necessary, at the iiistant, to confound the 
hopes of conspirators, who were then supported 
and animated by the prospect of a general elec- 
tion : and if any period had been fixed for its du- 
ration, it might have weakened its effects, as a 
declaration of the determined resolution of Par- 
liament to stand or fall with the Revolution. 

It is now certain, that the conspiracy of the 
Tories against the House of Hanover, continued 
till the last years of the reign of George II. The 
Whigs, who had preserved the fruits of the Revo- 
lution, and upheld the tottering throne of the 
Hanoverian Family during half a century, were, 
in this state of things, unwilling to repeal a law, for 
which the reasons had not entirely ceased. The 
hostility of the Tories to the Protestant succession 
was not extinguished, till the appearance of their 
leaders at the court of King George III. proclaim- 
ed to the world their hope, that Jacobite principles 
might re-ascend the throne of England with a 
monarch of the House ol Brunswick. 

The effects of the Septennial Act on the consti- 
tution were materially altered in the late reign, by 
an innovation in the exercise of the prerogative of 
dissolution. This important prerogative is the 
buckler of the monarchy : it is intended for great 
emergencies, when its exercise may be the only 
means of averting immediate danger from the 
throne : it is strictly a defensive right. As no ne- 
cessity arose, under the two first Georges, for its 
defensive exercise, it lay, during that period, in a 
state of almost total inactivity. Only one Parlia- 
ment, under these two Princes, was dissolved till 
its seventh year. The same inoffensive maxima 
were pursued during the early part of the reign 
of George III. In the year 1784, the power of 
dissolution, hitherto reserved for the defence of the 
monarchy, was, for the first time, employed to 
support the power of an Administration. The 
majority of the House of Commons had, in 1782, 
driven one Administration from office, and com- 
pelled another to retire. Its right to interpose, 
with derisive weight, in the choice of ministers, 
as well as the adoption of measures, seemed by 
these vigorous exertions to be finally established. 
George II. had, indeed, often been compelled to 
receive ministers whom he hated : but his succes- 
sor, more tenacious of his prerogative, and more 
inflexible in his resentment, did not so easily brook 
the subjection lo which he thought himself about 
to be reduced. When the latter, in 1784, again 



596 



MACKINTOSH'S MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 



saw his Ministers ilireatencd with expulsion by a 
majority of the ILiiise of Commons, he found a 
Prime Minister wlnj, trusting to liis popularity, 
ventured to make common cau-^e with him, and 
To brave that Parliaineniary disapprobation to 
which the prudence or principle of both his prede- 
cessors liad induced tliem to yield. Not content 
wiiji this great victory, he proceeded, by a disso- 
lution of Parliament, to inflict such an exemplary 
punishment on the majority, as migiit deter all 
i'liture ones from following their dangerous ex- 
ample. 

The ministers of 1806 gave some countenance 
to Mr. Pitt's precedent, by a very reprehensible 
dissolution: and in 1807, its full consequences 
were unfolded. Tha House of Commons was 
then openly threatened with a dissolution, if a 
majority should vote against Ministers; and in 
pursuance of this threat, the Parliament was actu- 
ally dissolved. From that moment, the new pre- 
rogative of penal dissolution was added to all the 
ether means of ministerial influence. 

Of all the silent revolutions which have materi- 



ally changed the English government, without 
any alteration in the hitter of the law, there is, 
perhaps, none more fatal to the consiiiuiion than 
the power thus introduced by Mr. Pitt, and 
strengthened by his followers. And it is the 
more dangerous, because it is hardly capable of 
being counteracted by direct laws. 'I'he preroga- 
tive of dissolution, being a means of defence on 
sudden emergencies, is scarcely to be limited by 
law. There is, however, an indirect, but efTeciiial 
mode of meeting its abuse: — by shortening the 
duration of Parliaments, the punishment of disso- 
lution will be divested of its terrors. While its 
defensive power will be unimpaired, its efficacy, 
as a means of infliicnce, will be nearly destroyed. 
I'he attempt to reduce Parliament to a greater 
degree of dependence, will thus be defeated ; due 
reparation be made to the constitution ; and future 
ministers taught, by a useful example of just re- 
taliation, that the Crown is not likely to be finally 
the gainer, in struggles to convert a necessary 
prerogative into a means of unconstitutional influ- 
ence. — Ibid. p. 494. 



TBI XNO. 



cr. 









33> ' 
























>:5 5>"> >>a 



.»^> JSJJ 






























3^ >>j. ,a5 









3> i>i> :> 



^^ ^ ):-s> ^> '3> ^>^ 

5> > >T> -?» :g> J ^ 

'i I'm s.^^ ' 















^^S 






3» ;>>>^ 



, "S* » 


> 


^sro 


> 


^ o 


"> 


) i> 


"::? 


:>i> 


~> 


>s> 


'> 


:»» 


0> 


>S> 


:> 


~>i'_ 


2> 


5X>„ 


-> 


>*> , 


. z> 


>!> 


^ 


->.5> 


-» 


J>^ 









.3o^'2? 









c^> 3^ -^ 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: April 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 



• >'^ \S 


TfTZ 


> -'^T^ 


>:2> 


>C 


> :J,i^ 


^3> 


C^TV-.^^ 1 


■k~^ 




^J>3> 






;^* 


»_j>-->^ ::2» 


►> -^-^ 




fr i» ^ - 


as> ^^^^ 


^i^ 


■^ :>T> ~> 


:38> V^ 


:>^ 


W^ >•> > 


^>:> > 


^1 


t» >j>> 


oo \^ 


^J 


■» :>^^ > 


^^ '^ 


-*^ 


» >^>:> 


^ jp 


J^^-^ 


> T> J^ 


^** -^ 


^ti'^^E 


». >2> > 


t:» ^ 


I^^^J 


» >? ^ 


::*> ^ -= 


^^~3 


>j> :> 


^^^'^ -^ -> 


^^ ^=^^ 



>^ >J> x> 


















!>->-£> J»'^ » :> >:> 












':5»^ ? 






V2> '>^ 



»^:5)^^ )2> > >3 >^ -. 
^ >^ > :> ^> 3> :> • ^ :> J> :> > 

> > :> ^ > ^ 



■^ ^^ > > ^ J 

^5 '>> ;^.^ 

> ^ ;• ^ _^.! J 



5^ >^>^.?^,^ 



>^> i> 



>^J>>^^^ ^.) f^ 3^- 






> > 



o> :s> >^ 



'■>^o> '^:>' 





>> > >^ J1K^~^ 


> T* ^*>r>" -^ 


^ ^ 


•> 3> :> "^'^'^s^ 


U%^^> ^ 


^C2»^ 




► J . i> :>">'»:' ^ 


r>-. >,s> ::^iiS'^ . 


^OZ*" 


j>> i> > :» j:* 


»^^ Tt) 3Ei|^:> 


>•>-»' 


^-5 7> :, >>^ 


»^^^1> '^lX^*^ 


^^^J*' 


^'-j> 3 ■>■> :: 


>^^ >2> ^3:s»^ 


>'-i>::»' 


>> 5> ^ :> J :: 


>3»3 vs) :>TOK> 






::>':>^>i>z>5l!5> 




»:> J j» »^" 


"^ -21^^ 


:» i> > :>> "^ 


»^' ■ o::» >J2»:-> 






ve> 






:> ^ > i> 












LIBRARY OF CO! iGRESS 



:'A'AA^rv;. 







014 525 781 5 









'«s'«;«^'«; 







^Pt^WAa 



, .mm 



r-^W^-W^ 









\ '•■ 



"■^^^'V^C^^^Ai^ 






mM 



^^ 



h^.^^ 



■^..e.sMikJ^ik 



y^f^j 



miTffl 



